Showing posts with label still digging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label still digging. Show all posts


Still Digging: Out of the Silent Gamut


My music accruing days started when I received my first cassette player at age seven. It was a stylish, bright yellow Sony portable cassette player and radio. The very first tapes I ever played on it were the Toy Story soundtrack by Randy Newman and News of the World by Queen. These tapes would invariably became my only music choices for the next five years of my life. My brother, who I shared a room with, had the same Sony boombox that he would play his Space Jam soundtrack on, so we took turns, listening to Bugs Bunny and D’Angelo one moment, and Freddie Mercury the next. The only rest these albums got would be at Christmas when Bing Crosby and Alvin and The Chipmunks cassettes were in heavy rotation, so naturally they soon began to wear out. To compensate, we discovered we could use blank tapes to record the originals using one player to play the tape and the other to record it. After that we found out that we could make mix tapes by recording the radio. We recorded imaginary talk shows. I wrote and recorded original scores for Jurassic Park and Mrs. Doubtfire with a recorder I bought for music class, I even drew and colored little pictures and album artwork to accompany my homemade tapes. 

Even with such limited resources, I became fascinated with the idea that music and sound could be so diversely and accessibly recorded, compiled, and packaged, even so far as to influence the impact of the music itself. I never recorded something to tape over it later, I wanted to catalog each piece of music and commit it to my memory. I wanted to be able to listen to a song over and over so that I could sing it on the school bus, or while I was sitting on the bench during a baseball game. I wanted music to be portable through memorization, so that it could be applied to all times and places, in this way, it was relatable and malleable to me.

Because I grew up largely unexposed to a diverse range of music, nonetheless during the steady rise of the shopping mall, I never knew that independent record stores formally existed. Media Play was down the street and I would ride my bike there, mostly to look at the tapes and CDs, to image what they sounded like by what the packaging looked like. Having no knowledge of taste outside my immediate collection, (which now included Will Smith, Elton John, and a sampler CD I sent away for using Hi-C juice box POPs) and a cornucopia of Celine Dion and Cat Stevens that made up my mother’s CD collection, and having no money to buy anything, I started gaining a taste for music by what most of my friends liked. This was a problem. I found myself becoming lazy with music and liking certain bands or artists simply because my friends did, and this resulted in a musical identity crisis that lasted throughout most of my adolescence.

I really owe my entire individual listening foundation to one record store in downtown Syracuse which I visited with a friend after stopping by a science museum in Armory Square. I was 14 when The Sound Garden first mesmerized me; I hadn’t seen anything like it before. From the moment of entrance the two-story store was a portal of discovery, an oasis of culture and creativity, and a place that I wanted to embody. A smattering of posters concealed the walls, rows and rows of CDs and records featuring artists and artwork I had never heard or laid eyes on before greeted me, the smell was similar to that of a library, and I treated it as such, going in and sampling everything that looked worthy of a listen, and learning that I no longer had to judge a book by its cover or try so hard to like something that I didn’t. Even if I couldn’t buy anything, I was welcomed to engage and indulge myself in the selection that was there, which was massive.

The Sound Garden remains my favorite record store, even after visiting so many great shops in much larger cities, not only because of its first influence on my musical life, but because of its relentless devotion and integrity to selling the most diverse range of music, from well-known, Grammy-winning artists to the most obscure punk or indie rock. You can still to this day head down to Armory Square, walk into The Sound Garden, (which has its roots at a parent store in Baltimore) and find a new release or dig up any number of used selections, both at discounted and affordable prices. 

Record Stores have accounted for dozens of other similar stories and experiences, as they account for a most important thread in the fabric of the independent music industry and its subsequent culture, which is forever tied to any social or political movement in the last century, and then some. Record stores should be celebrated, not only because they serve as the liaisons to the wide range of musicians and artists, but because they serve as cultural epicenters to the public and the represent a most immediate and accessible force of artistic influence in our world today. Plus, if it wasn't for record stores, I'd still be digging in my parents basement after all these years, and all I'd find would be tattered copies of the Grease soundtrack and Bob Seger best-ofs. 



Tom Dennis


Still Digging: My Vinyl Weighs a Ton


(Ed. Note: This entry in our "Still Digging" Record Store Day series was penned by Patrick Simons, Editorial Assistant for Block Club magazine. Photo Credit: P. Simons, with a look at some of the goods discussed below.)

The first record I ever bought was Less Than Jake’s Hello Rockview on 12” picture disc. “Pezcore” and “Losing Streak” were pretty good, and despite being a total ska nut growing up, Less Than Jake never really did it for me. I just bought it because it looked cool.

That was at Sit and Spin Records, the now-defunct punk and hardcore record store that made its home on Transit Road in Depew. My visits there probably began in 2001. Maybe 2000. I used to nag my father to drive me the 15 minutes because I was only 12 or 13 years old.

Until then, I remember having to special order CDs from Media Play because they never had what I wanted. That all changed when I discovered Sit and Spin. Aus-Rotten’s Not One Single Fucking Hit Discography: check. A Taang! Records music video compilation on VHS, complete with Negative FX fight scene: you bet. Reagan Youth, Bright Eyes, Conflict, Waxwing, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Saves the Day: they had me covered.


After nearly eight years, a couple bumps in the road forced Sit and Spin to vacate their home in Depew. Shortly before the move, I remember landing myself a decent chunk of someone’s old emo collection. The City of Caterpillar self-titled 12” and their split 7” with Pg. 99; an Orchid/Red Scare split 7”; Yaphet Kotto and Bread and Circuits LPs; Angel Hair’s Pregnant with the Senior Class on CD. A righteous bounty indeed.


I never made it to Sit and Spin’s new location after the store relocated to North Buffalo in 2007. Rest in peace. I did, however, end up moving in to the building next door to Spiral Scratch just a few months before Dave opened it. It should come as no surprise that this new living arrangement would prove to be both a blessing and a curse.

My first real lasting memory at Spiral Scratch came when I decided I needed a copy of Tommy James & the Shondell’s “I’m Alive.” I walked over, slightly optimistic but mostly doubtful, to dig through towers of loose 45s. I told Dave what I’d come for and asked if he knew if there was a copy laying around. My best bet was to search the stacks of wax. You already know your boy jumped like a little girl when I saw that “I’m Alive” was the very top record on the very first pile I looked at. I went upstairs and listened to that track probably 10 times in a row.


I even met Scott Mancuso for the first time at Spiral Scratch on Record Store Day in 2010. I brought him a donut. We’ve been bros ever since.

My last visit to the old Spiral Scratch location is a vivid one, for some reason. Although rather uneventful, it sticks out quite a bit. I stopped by in passing, just to browse. My search ended abruptly, in the “A” section. Adam & the Ants’ Kings of the Wild Frontier was screaming at me.


Two days later, a fire forced Spiral Scratch to close its doors on Delaware. Thanks to a massive outcry of support, Dave was able to reopen only a few months later, in August, 2010. 

Since then, there have been two visits that left a pretty lasting impression. The first came early in 2011 when I received a paycheck from the Buffalo News. It was the first time that I’d been paid to write something. It felt good, and it felt like I needed to treat myself. You know - spend it on something I’d remember. At that point in my life, my compensation could have, at any given time, gone toward any combination of shitty food, 40s and half-eighths, so I had to make that stop at Spiral Scratch count.

As luck would have it, a copy of Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s Xtra-Acme was stocked earlier that day. So now every time I dig through my crates and I see that Blues Explosion album, I remember how I paid for it: with the first stack the kid made as a writer. That’s forever, man.


The second [impression] came a few months later, on my birthday in the summer of 2011. Took a stroll over to the Bryant Street location from the old Block Club offices on Elmwood, with no agenda in mind. Left shortly after entering with a first pressing of Pedro the Lion’s Winners Never Quit for $25. I’d been browsing eBay at the time, and considered paying nearly $100 for that album. Happy birthday to me.

So, with all this being said, it’s clear that I can rant and ramble. It just so happens that I think I do it best when it involves music. 

This is what I collect. This is what I search for. These items, these albums, these songs - all have a story. I remember when and where I got them, and most of them mean something special. So days like Record Store Day and places like Spiral Scratch: these are important to me.

To quote the old homie, Peanut Butter Wolf: “My vinyl weighs a ton.”

I’m getting there.


Other notable records that strike an in-store chord:

J Dilla’s Donuts on double LP, Raekwon’s “Glaciers of Ice” 12” single and Prince’s Purple Rain for $6 from Book Outlet and More on Main Street near Lafayette. I think it was before the store came under new ownership. I dropped in on a whim and the records were barely organized. I had some time to kill, so I started digging. A couple hours later I came out with those gems. The digging is almost always worth it.

Juelz Santana’s From Me 2 U on double LP from some vendor at the old Super Flea. $0.50 for that beaut.

The Live Adventures of Mike Bloomfield and Al Kooper on double LP from Record Baron on Delaware Avenue in Kenmore. My dad used to play me Mike Bloomfield records all the time when I was growing up. If it wasn’t for my pops, music wouldn’t be the same.


Upcoming Record Store Day anticipations:

I’ve never gone super crazy on Record Store Day in the past, and don’t foresee it happening this year, but these are the releases I’m most excited about this year:

Codeine – What About the Lonely

Hanni El Khatib – Skinny Little Girl / Pay No Mind 7”

GZA – Liquid Swords Vinyl / Chess box set

Pussy Galore – Groovy Hate Fuck

Ty Segall -  Ty Rex 2 7”


~ Patrick Simons


Still Digging: It All Started With Led Zeppelin


Since I was young, I was fascinated with record stores. The poetry of walking around, flipping through, being mesmerized by the artwork ranging from obscure to classic. For years and years, I put "record player" on my Christmas lists, birthday lists, and would inconspicuously drop hints here and there. For the longest time, I wanted to start building a vinyl collection but thought it purposeless until I actually had something to play them on. A crate of records with no player is the equivalent of that fresh out of the oven pie sitting on a windowsill that you happen to notice, and you're hungry. An outdated metaphor, but a solid one at that.

My 21st birthday came and went: no turntable. I made a mental note that if I didn't get it for Christmas, I would just take one of my unbelievably low work-study paychecks and make the big purchase. While at a Tragically Hip show with my family in my hometown, Syracuse, my Dad turns to me and asks if my little brother, Vincent, told me what he got for his birthday. "No," I replied. A turntable. Brushing off the oncoming vibes of my Middle Child Syndrome, I shrugged. "Guess what vinyl he got?" Knowing my Dad's occasional instigation indulgences, I knew I wasn't going to like the answer. "What...?" He told me. My heart dropped. Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy. Was I happy that Vincent finally started listening to Zeppelin after years of me playing him songs and him saying "eh, it's okay, I guess" with a shrug? Yes, proud of his graduation of music taste. Maybe this was my struggle as the 'only girl, middle child' ordeal in the Greco household. I still tell myself it's a matter of passionate principle. I used to envision the day that I'd be walking around in a record store, and see the orange sky landscape, the naked blonde children climbing rocks to the top of a cliff. I'd run to the counter, dig for the money out of my purse, and finally buy the album that changed my life.

Christmastime came around. Alas! I opened a beautiful red Crosley turntable. Along with it was a $20 gift certificate to Sound Garden, Syracuse's finest music shop. I opened my gift from my little brother: Houses of the Holy. I'm not going to lie, I literally cried tears of joy. And nearly suffocated him with a hug.



The day I bought my first vinyl was a pivotal moment for me.  I spent a long time flipping through. Making mental notes of which ones I wanted so when I got to the end of my search I could decide. I went home with two: an album I loved, and an album to explore. Sleigh Bells Reign of Terror has been an obsession of mine for about a year now. The other, Raven in the Grave by the Raveonettes.

Just a couple days later, Vincent and I went back to Sound Garden together. It was a Sibling Night Out, sifting through vinyl followed by a $2.50 showing of Killing Them Softly at Mattydale's "finest" Hollywood Theater. While at Sound Garden, Vincent and I talked. The atmosphere, the vibe of the place...it inspired conversation of music, life, and laughing about the hometown hum-drum of 'Cuse.

I am an avid multifaceted listener of music. The technology to listen to music today is incredible; Spotify is one of the best creations. But (as any passionate lover of anything) there is something to the physicality of music that should remain alive and intact. Book enthusiast I'm sure can vouch that statement. It's sad that people already find me outdated when I tell them I want to "burn a mix CD." In a matter of four years I went from being the girl that would carry around a CD in her purse to play in peoples' cars as we cruise, to just plugging an AUX cord into the headphone jack of my iPhone.

My collection is slowly growing. Quite honestly, the fact that vinyl stores have survived this long is a godsend. Cheers to hoping it stays that way. If you haven't explored a record store, do it. Regardless of whether you own a player or not. You may find that one record that has you digging into your bank account.


Alicia Greco


Still Digging: About Me


I’ve had nightmares where all my records are stolen, more real and terrifying than those filled with monsters and Batman villains. Looking at my collection, it’s not only albums and singles, but also my last five years, alphabetized on a shelf. It tells more than any “about me” section could ever do, or at least I hope it does. I want it to reflect the parts of me I can’t communicate, a wanderlust in sound, a love of the sonic.

The record store has always been a home for me, a place filled with possibility and discovery, the tactile pleasure of flipping through albums between your fingers bettered only by the brief flashes of color of their covers.  I have my favorites outside of Buffalo, the electronic sections at Rotate This and Sonic Boom in Toronto providing me something I can’t get here, but Spiral Scratch is really my favorite place to buy records. Whether it’s walking into the store and hearing a Thai Psych compilation blasting through the speakers, or getting a record for five dollars cheaper than at Record Theatre (I see you new Kurt Vile), it’s something I’m proud to have in Buffalo. It’s also the only place that’s worth checking the used bin, like the day I stumbled on someone’s 70’s and early 80’s Brian Eno records, or finding Remain In Light at the old location.

I’m sure Record Store is going to be crazy this year, with longer lines, a little too many limited edition remix albums, and needless reissues of classic rock albums, so go in on a weekday sometime. Take your time, talk to Dave at Spiral Scratch about garage rock or fantasy baseball or something. It’s fun; it could be your haven.






Still Digging: Mike Makes a New Friend


I think (hopefully) that it is almost a cliché to reiterate just how important record stores remain, even with many commercial transactions shifting to the internet. For many of the writers on this site, our music taste evolved as a result of regularly going to record shops, looking around, trying to find that release you heard about online or from friends, talking with the clerks, and maybe even buying something based on their recommendations. It is, again, another cliché to note that there is a distinct nostalgia for physical cultural products today, or at least an understanding that digital media cannot totally supersede these formats. Finally, in the end, nothing can really surpass the simple pleasure of looking through piles of records and coming home to play your new purchases.

With all of that in mind, we are kicking off a short series in anticipation of Record Store Day, which will be this coming Saturday, April 20th.  It is ultimately our goal to write these not as eulogies for a passing format and model (because that simply is not the case) but a celebration of something we see as remaining vital and necessary, even with the internet and the explosion of digitally distributed music. Record stores thankfully endure despite their thinning numbers. Consider this buffaBLOG’s yearly reminder that your local record store is still a great place for buying, selling, and learning about new music as well as the classics you didn’t know existed.

Over the years, Buffalo has seen some great record stores come and go. While I miss Home of the Hits and New World Records , there is still Record Theater, Spiral Scratch, and a host of smaller shops specializing in used records scattered throughout WNY. With so many places, I am actually having some trouble trying to pin down a specific memory to speak to all of the others. However, in a strange way, one stands out as being emblematic of the particular community that can only arise in record stores.

The Summer of 2003, directly following my freshman year of college, was one of constant discovery, filled with new books, new movies and new music. Much of it was not actually new thoughn, but it was new to me. One particularly warm day in July, I was bored and decided to New World Records on Elmwood to add to my then nascent vinyl collection. On the recommendation of a friend, I purchased Big Black's seminal LP, Songs About Fucking. The proto industrial classic, featuring songs like "Columbian Necktie," and, in my opinion, the best version of Kraftwerk's "The Model," had a rather distinct cover...it looked like this:



So, I was not particularly surprised when, while in line at the adjacent Spot Coffee, I was being eyed by a father accompanying what looked like his little league team. I was rather nervous that I was about to offend this man and be yelled at for  carrying around this record in public. It was then that he said one of the the most surprising things I have ever heard, "Big Black...that is a great album man." I agreed and we briefly discussed my excitement about taking it home.

I think this story points to something great about record stores, the opportunity for community, for sharing your passion for bands and albums with other people, especially when it is most unexpected. Whether it be the clerks recommending you something based on your taste or being as excited about your purchase as you are. There is the serendipitous opportunity to  grab something on a whim or because it happens to be near the record you came for and then coming home to learn you found something great. Finally, there is the pleasant conversation with a stranger over a shared favorite record at the adjacent coffee shop. It is nearly impossible to duplicate these experiences online.


Michael Torsell