Re: Anyone have an interesting (vinyl) digging experience to relate?
Posted: Sun Aug 19, 2018 4:01 pm
Back to the subject:
Blind Child does not really have any strange occurances digging stories.
You see, when I said I was a star-digger, I lied. To be a star-flipper you have to take risks and be sorta an Indiana Jones. You have to be determined / dogged enough to venture to strange terrain. Expend lotta sheckles on gasoline. Many of the great historical finds were in barns and shacks in poor small towns. Inbred pestholes where few dare to venture. THAT is where its less likely to be picked - over.
Okay, I have dug in rather precarious places - but mainly for books. (There is this massive 3 story used book store called King Books in Detroit, just beefwhore it turns to rich Gross Point. The store ( back then - I havent been there in decades -) is surrounded by blasted city wasteland. For maybe a half-mile on all sides. The blacks torched it all down back in the early 70s riots. So then you have this massive bookstore surrounded by nothing but remnants of a city in perpetual decay. And the store's parkinglot is all fenced-in with wire on top like a concentration camp. First time I visited there, I could not get into the parking lot, so I parked outside. Two minutes later, Im walking to the store and I look back at my car and there is this jig working my car door. Where the feck he had popped-out of is anyone's guess. I started running back , not sure what I'd do if the negro prooved resiliant, but he just took off. It goes without saying that that day I did not visit the store. This was my first time in America!)
So because Blind Child has led a sheltered life and does not go looking for trouble ,I don't have good stories. Its always the safe way, not the adventurous way.
Regards pulling vinyl joints, let me explain:
I do the safe route: record conventions, flea market stalls, garage sales, chazzas, pawn shops, used record stores. Yes, these are "safe" venues and usually do not award you with much, since they are usually picked-over.
Radio stations were a good bet back in the early 90s when they were disposing of vinyl and bringing in the new boy: cd. No longer.
Also, junk yards, are impossible in the big city. Impossible to access.
Its a good idea to make friends with garbage collectors. Peeps wot do "clearances" or - in my case - the guy in charge of the records and books in your local "re-use" center.
................
Okay then, here is my boring/shitty record-hunting adventure.
There is this rather large Sundays-only "market" in the farmlands outside my city. I used to frequent it back in the days when gas was cheap - which is to say some 20 years back. There were three large barns with vendours of used jewelry,toys,collectables of all sorts. 4 used record vendours in all (and when the weather was good, peeps would set up for free outside the barns.
There also was this quonset hut (i call them "quantas huts") I don't know if you Brits are familiar with these farmland structures. They are real simple: corrugated steel arched buildings. This hut was mebbe fifty feet deep and full of fuzzy warbles. A paradise for the scurvy likes of yours truley. (I once found a prog record there; group from INDEPENDANT Saint Pierre and Miquelon Island, Canada and pressed/recorded there!)
Now the place had a second story which was made evident by the - I loosely call it- stairway curving up the OUTSIDE arch. I asked the old proprietor could I have a digg up there -assuming he had records there.
Looking at the rickety state of them stairs, I figured few had dared venture up there.The stairs looked like they were made for some hillbilly monkey-child mutant to scamper up.
The old gaffer said, yes, there's records up there but he hasn't been in ages and, yes, I can go, if you please.
This took me completely by surprize since I thought no way is anyone gonna let me go up there and risk falling thru.
The "stairway" was just planks and there was no bannister. Halfway up, two planks in a row were missing and I had to do the gymnastics bit.
Up on the second "floor" it was deadly cold - this was the dead of Canadian winter and my knackers were frozen to each other. It was dark but the old man had warned me and supplied me with a flashlight.
First thing, something moves in the distance as my beam of light falls on its face. You know the look you get when a deer is paralized beefwhore the headlights? Like some white-faced fecking nosferatu. Well this musta been a bastard-large raccoon. It bolted past me and out and down the stairs.
There was no proper floor. Had to balance a way on beams.
AND THERE WERE BASICALLY VERY FEW RECORDS. Four or five boxes deep within, on the far side , and all pressed against the curved walls. Nothing whatsoever in the middle of the open space.
Well,I precariously went through all those boxes and only found one record of worth, which I will now try to post a piccy of.
Sorry to disappoint but THAT is Blind Child's big fuzzy warbles adventure.
Blind Child does not really have any strange occurances digging stories.
You see, when I said I was a star-digger, I lied. To be a star-flipper you have to take risks and be sorta an Indiana Jones. You have to be determined / dogged enough to venture to strange terrain. Expend lotta sheckles on gasoline. Many of the great historical finds were in barns and shacks in poor small towns. Inbred pestholes where few dare to venture. THAT is where its less likely to be picked - over.
Okay, I have dug in rather precarious places - but mainly for books. (There is this massive 3 story used book store called King Books in Detroit, just beefwhore it turns to rich Gross Point. The store ( back then - I havent been there in decades -) is surrounded by blasted city wasteland. For maybe a half-mile on all sides. The blacks torched it all down back in the early 70s riots. So then you have this massive bookstore surrounded by nothing but remnants of a city in perpetual decay. And the store's parkinglot is all fenced-in with wire on top like a concentration camp. First time I visited there, I could not get into the parking lot, so I parked outside. Two minutes later, Im walking to the store and I look back at my car and there is this jig working my car door. Where the feck he had popped-out of is anyone's guess. I started running back , not sure what I'd do if the negro prooved resiliant, but he just took off. It goes without saying that that day I did not visit the store. This was my first time in America!)
So because Blind Child has led a sheltered life and does not go looking for trouble ,I don't have good stories. Its always the safe way, not the adventurous way.
Regards pulling vinyl joints, let me explain:
I do the safe route: record conventions, flea market stalls, garage sales, chazzas, pawn shops, used record stores. Yes, these are "safe" venues and usually do not award you with much, since they are usually picked-over.
Radio stations were a good bet back in the early 90s when they were disposing of vinyl and bringing in the new boy: cd. No longer.
Also, junk yards, are impossible in the big city. Impossible to access.
Its a good idea to make friends with garbage collectors. Peeps wot do "clearances" or - in my case - the guy in charge of the records and books in your local "re-use" center.
................
Okay then, here is my boring/shitty record-hunting adventure.
There is this rather large Sundays-only "market" in the farmlands outside my city. I used to frequent it back in the days when gas was cheap - which is to say some 20 years back. There were three large barns with vendours of used jewelry,toys,collectables of all sorts. 4 used record vendours in all (and when the weather was good, peeps would set up for free outside the barns.
There also was this quonset hut (i call them "quantas huts") I don't know if you Brits are familiar with these farmland structures. They are real simple: corrugated steel arched buildings. This hut was mebbe fifty feet deep and full of fuzzy warbles. A paradise for the scurvy likes of yours truley. (I once found a prog record there; group from INDEPENDANT Saint Pierre and Miquelon Island, Canada and pressed/recorded there!)
Now the place had a second story which was made evident by the - I loosely call it- stairway curving up the OUTSIDE arch. I asked the old proprietor could I have a digg up there -assuming he had records there.
Looking at the rickety state of them stairs, I figured few had dared venture up there.The stairs looked like they were made for some hillbilly monkey-child mutant to scamper up.
The old gaffer said, yes, there's records up there but he hasn't been in ages and, yes, I can go, if you please.
This took me completely by surprize since I thought no way is anyone gonna let me go up there and risk falling thru.
The "stairway" was just planks and there was no bannister. Halfway up, two planks in a row were missing and I had to do the gymnastics bit.
Up on the second "floor" it was deadly cold - this was the dead of Canadian winter and my knackers were frozen to each other. It was dark but the old man had warned me and supplied me with a flashlight.
First thing, something moves in the distance as my beam of light falls on its face. You know the look you get when a deer is paralized beefwhore the headlights? Like some white-faced fecking nosferatu. Well this musta been a bastard-large raccoon. It bolted past me and out and down the stairs.
There was no proper floor. Had to balance a way on beams.
AND THERE WERE BASICALLY VERY FEW RECORDS. Four or five boxes deep within, on the far side , and all pressed against the curved walls. Nothing whatsoever in the middle of the open space.
Well,I precariously went through all those boxes and only found one record of worth, which I will now try to post a piccy of.
Sorry to disappoint but THAT is Blind Child's big fuzzy warbles adventure.
