More Confessions of a Vinyl Addict, Part 1
Friends, my name is Al and I am a vinyl addict. It is necessary for me to confess once again because I have had yet another setback. Remember my mission to pare down my collection, which I have labeled The Great Jazz Vinyl Countdown? Well, as part of that endeavor I decided it would be wise to take inventory of my records so that I would know what I actually have, in intimate detail: Record, condition, provenance, value. I had never actually done this before, so yesterday I set up a spreadsheet and began the process. I started, naturally, with the Blue Notes, the 1500 series, Blue Note 1501, Miles Davis Volume 1. I pulled the record off the shelf, looked at the record, cleaned it, typed the information into the spreadsheet, put it back on the shelf and then pulled the second record, Blue Note 1502, Miles Davis Volume 2. Same deal: Looked at the record, cleaned it, wrote it down, then moved on to the next record.
What a mistake.
I was moving along fine through the first eight records in the
Blue Note 1500 series. I had all of the records, and they were all original pressings. Then I got to Blue Note 1509, Milt Jackson and the Thelonious Monk Quintet. I was sure I owned an original pressing of this and was breezing along confidently when I pulled the record off the shelf. Then I took it out of the sleeve, and looked at the label, and horror of horrors, what I saw was quite alarming.
I did not see 767 Lexington Avenue in beautiful script. I didn’t even see 47 West 63rd. Nor did a see a deep groove, nor did I feel the weight of heavy vinyl. What I saw was a label that had the address: New York USA. And my heart sank, and I looked down at the record, then looked up at the shelves in my room, where there are at least 3,000 records, and I thought to myself: “How can you call yourself a Jazz Collector when you don’t even have an original pressing of Milt Jackson and the Thelonious Monk Quintet, Blue Note 1509.” And then the old adrenaline kicked in as I obsessively, manically pulled Blue Note after Blue Note off of my shelves and once again I felt the familiar feeling of Jazz vinyl addiction pulsing through my veins.
What happened next? Stay tuned.