Moldy oldies

There are those who make a plan and boldly put it into action, come hell or high water. Then there are those of us who float like a fallen leaf upon the breezes of fate. Well, actually, all of us have a little bit of both tendencies, otherwise we’d starve to death. Certainly each way of relating to the world has its pleasures. The pleasure of accomplishment is one thing, but when it comes to getting music, there’s a peculiar joy in having something enter your life with little will exercised other than noticing it in the trash and pulling it out. Fate left it there for you to hear, so the least you can do is take it home, drop it onto the turntable, and give it a spin.

Many times records in the trash belong in the trash—they’re scratched so badly it would be impossible to listen to them. Other times, though, they’re salvageable (just a bit dirty and easily washed, or not in as bad as they look). Judging the condition of records and how salvageable they are is something I could write a whole other essay on. I’ll just say that things are not always as they seem, but with experience one can learn what’s really OK and what’s beyond redemption. Still other times, records are in virtually mint condition, but are not the genre or format that is readily saleable by the person who until recently had them. Typical situation: an old person dies, and their heirs have no interest in the deceased’s music. Thus, one often finds such things as cantorial records, easy listening, big band jazz, ’50s pop vocalists, the Harmonica Rascals, Jerry Vale, and schmaltzy Christmas music in the city’s trash. Much of this is of no particular interest to me, but there is plenty of interesting listening to be culled from it, including lots of what would now be called Space Age Pop. (Easy-listening versions of hard-rock hits of the ’60s are a particular fave of mine.) Classical music is by far the most common thing to find in large quantities, and it’s often in tip-top shape. I daresay that if I started from scratch today, I could have a large and varied collection of classical LPs in less than a year’s time at absolutely no cost. A few weeks ago, for example, I took home about 100 more or less mint classical LPs, many of them on Deutsche Grammophon; I had to make two trips from the Dumpster.

And if something is not my cup of tea, I try to pass it on. For example, I’m not a huge fan of hip-hop, though I certainly like some of it. Whenever I show up at my local with a pile of records I’ve scavenged, André, one of the barmen, will probably say, sounding genuinely offended, “How come you never get any for me?” A few months ago, I spotted a gigantic stack of mostly hip-hop 12-inches awaiting the Sanitation Dept. I grabbed a gigantic pile, as many as I could carry, and made my way back to the bar, where I’d just seen him. “Hey, André, I got a present for you…” I said, and dropped the discs on the bar. “I’ll be right back—there’s more.” It was worth it just to see the startled look on his face. (Out of the whole bunch of maybe 250 I kept about 8 or 10.)

And then there are 78s, which most people don’t have the machinery to play. I’ve become interested in old 78rpm records ever since my father gave me his collection of jazz records—as well as a turntable to play them on—not long before his death. While there were some LPs in the bunch—and some of those were amazing ones—the majority of the collection consisted of jazz 78s, mostly from the 1940s, but some dating back as early as 1929, which means I’m the third generation to own them, since my father was only 15 that year and obviously acquired those records secondhand.

A few years after I got Dad’s jazz collection, I acquired a box of about 130 78s, mostly from the mid-1950s, for what I can only call a nominal sum ($80, or about 61¢ apiece). This proved to be a treasure trove of doo-wop, blues, rock ’n’ roll, honkers-and-screamers sax maniacs, rockabilly, boogie woogie, etc., and included quite a few records that are actually pretty rare, I believe.

Now, I knew when I got this box that records by Little Richard, Larry Williams, the Everly Brothers, the [original] Drifters, the Clovers, etc. would rock, because I’ve heard them before on oldies stations or, in many cases, on reissue LPs. To listen to them on 78s, even with the “bacon frying” noise in the background of some of the more scratched examples, is really exciting: for all the surface noise, there’s a presence that a cleaner but more condensed remastered CD just doesn’t capture. It can take getting used to, but there’s some vivid quality behind the hiss that seems to be lost on CD. But what really interested me then and still fascinates me is the stuff I’ve never heard before, or even heard of. For example, “Mother Fuyer” [sic], by Dirty Red, a “dirty” jukebox record, is a monsterpiece of gravelly mumbling. (You can hear an mp3 of this record, as “Dirty Mother for You,” by Red Nelson, at http://www.thehound.net/19941217/ [an outstanding website].) I’m still discovering new treasures in this box.

The trash has yielded a number of outstanding finds. (Just how, where, when, and why piles of 78s, as well as LP records, 45s, and even CDs, end up in the trash, is something I must keep to myself--but know that they do.) Last winter I actually had to hail a cab, even though I was only a few blocks from home, in order to carry home the stack of 78s I found (book after book of near-mint Artie Shaw records, as well as Mel Torme, 1950s mariachi bands, some other odd Latin stuff, etc.—the fact that they were in such great shape had a lot to do with my taking them). And the other night I found another great stash. This one is mostly jazz—much of it by well-known artists such as Count Basie, Lester Young, and Coleman Hawkins, and some fine work by them indeed. And while I’m certainly glad to have copies of such classics as “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Cry (Over You)” by Roy Hamilton (Epic), “Caldonia” by Louis Jordan (Decca), and “Santa Baby” by Eartha Kitt (RCA Victor), once again it’s the oddball stuff that captures my fancy.

I’d never heard of the Charioteers before, but what a beauty their record “The Last Thing I Want Is Your Pity” is. They’re a close harmony vocal group much in the mold of the Ink Spots, the Ravens, or the Mills Brothers, with an impossibly high clear tenor as well as a smooth bass who sometimes takes the lead à la Jimmy Ricks of the Ravens. I can now tell you that they started out at Wilberforce University and that they backed up, among other people, Frank Sinatra. And they have a best-of CD compilation out on Collector’s Choice, which I went out and picked up. There are some great tracks, including a novelty song with mumbling. Well worth getting if you like vocal groups and/or doo-wop. (Memo to RIAA: You see, free music helps people learn about new artists.)

You know a record called “Blues and the Beat”(by Paul Bascomb, released ca. 1953 on States, a label I’ve got a bunch of great gospel on) is going to be good. And of course it is. The other side, “Blackout,” is even better—a smooth, sultry sigh of saxophone that was designed to be played late at night in the smoky depths of a pre-Bloomberg dive bar—hell, a pre-Lindsay one. While I would have to call it a jazz record, and the solo is a fine one, this record is more about the melody, and a reminder of that more innocent time when jazz, swing, rock ’n’ roll, blues, and something called “boogie” all lived on the same block. (You can hear a sample of the intro to “Blackout,” though not the solo, at www.barnesandnoble.com, by searching for Bascomb’s CD Bad Bascomb, another item I plan to search out. Bascomb also has a couple tracks on the 4-CD box Big Horn: The History of the Honkin’ & Screamin’ Saxophone, which looks to be an outstanding set.)

I’ve since learned that Bascomb was for years a member of the Erskine Hawkins orchestra, which started out as Erskine Hawkins and His ’Bama State Collegians. My father’s collection has a number of their early 78s, and I also have an RCA LP from the early 1960s that collects a number of their early recordings. This outfit was one of the most wildly swinging and syncopated bands of its day. Anyone who enjoys the wilder side of Ellington, Basie, et al. will probably be pleasantly surprised by how out there this “territory band” could play.

Who knows what will turn up tomorrow?