fact: i have a very large record collection. so huge it is that it’s actually embarrassing. well, it was embarrassingly large by the time i was 16. now, it’s way past embarrassing. it’s a full wall of vinyl. when someone walks into my living room for the first time, instead of sitting down they just stand there and try not to look at it, they glance sideways, awestruck. i usually look at my shoes and mumble “oh yeah…. i worked in record stores for a long time.”

the first record i ever actually bought was ‘mad dogs and englishmen’ so hypnotized was the smaller version of me by the cover art. i was 10 and i knew that the record represented the best kind of carnival i had never seen. i still have it and i still smile everytime i see it. the last record i bought was about six months ago, ‘jesus of cool’ anniversary reissue on heavy duty vinyl or maybe bright eyes ‘cassadaga’.

fact: i have not owned a turntable in at least 15 years. i can’t even remember the last turntable i owned. my music has been fully digital for ages.  the problem is there are numerous rare gems in my vinyl collection that are out of print, never been released digitally. very often i’ll walk past the wall of vinyl and think of something in particular that i would give almost anything to hear. i haven’t touched these records in years and years except to add a new one. enter my new friend david with a usb turntable and an offer to convert anything i want. alright! so i begin the selection of the rare and few and wonderful. another fact: this record collection is not alphabetized, no use of the dewey decimal system, nothing. it i had to give a name to its order it would be “willy nilly.”

i begin my looking in the southeast corner of the wall of vinyl. if it was a map it would be the lower east side. i tilt my head to the right and read and smile. thinking, reading, and all of a sudden i see something that looks like barbra streisand which cannot possibly belong to me. squinting, indeed it is barbra. disturbed, right next to barb i squint even closer to see cris williamson, dan fogelberg, harry chapin (i begin to panic) and i actually gasp out loud to see hank williams JUNIOR. wtf…. this isn’t my hank. this is the horrifying ridiculous spawn of my hank. i hate him. what clever demon slipped this crap into my sacred record collection??? i take a deep breath, it doesn’t help. i smoke a cigarette. it helps. whew.

i’ve had roommates. it occurs to me that one or two did have access to the wall of vinyl and also may have had awful taste in music. who knew? and just when i think it can’t get any worse, wedged in between kirsty maccoll’s ‘desperate character’ and ‘thier satanic majesties request (original lenticular cover art ::::sob::::),’ touching them, standing arrogantly as if they belong there are holly near, neil diamond and the queen mother of all crap, chicago. i sigh audibly in resignation. i quickly remove all evidence of the offensive LPs, put ‘em in a bag and take them outside. it took about a week, but i did eventually recover and was able to deliver the rare and wonderful to my friend david to be digitally digitized by modern technology.

you may be wondering why i tell you this tragic story. if not for the trauma oulined herein, neither you nor i would be listening to the amazing gift from Jimmy Destri posted above, called “Numbers…Don’t Count On Me”. also, if you don’t love it as much as i do, i have some rarely used dan fogelberg and hank jr. records for you. leave your name at the door.

dd