Let me start this new adventure with a post from Jazz Collector from Sept. 29, 2009. I had the audacity to call it The Great Jazz Vinyl Countdown, and this an abridged version of how it began:

“I counted my records the other day. At least I counted most of them. I have more records than I want. I have them in four separate rooms in two separate homes. I have records I have owned for more than 25 years and have never put on a turntable. I have records by artists I don’t especially like. I have collected them because I am a collector. It’s what I do. That is why my site is called Jazz Collector.

“I counted the records because I have made a fairly momentous decision, and that decision is this: I am going to get rid of many of them. This is heresy, is it not? These are my friends, all hand selected personally by me. I have invited them into my home, to share my space, to give me comfort and joy in times of stress or sorrow. And they have served me well, all of them, in whatever way they could. But the time has come to part with many of them.”

As I said at the time, this was a fairly momentous decision.

I don’t think it lasted more than a few days. I either didn’t want to do it or simply couldn’t do it. Whatever the reason, there never really was a Great Jazz Vinyl Countdown here at Jazz Collector. In fact, I went in the opposite direction. Within two weeks of that post, I sold 12 records and bought 300. I had a net gain of 288 records: “At the rate I’m going,” I wrote at the time, “in three years I’ll have half a million records and I’ll be living in a straitjacket.”

Less than three years later, I purchased the Irvin Kalus collection, about 2,500 records in all. A year and a half later, I purchased the Bruce M. West collection, about 1,500 vinyl, plus a few hundred 78s. There’s collection here in my neighborhood that I first saw more than five years ago. I’m still pursuing it.

Instead of shrinking, the collection has grown in both quality and quantity in the 13-plus years since the beginning of The Great Jazz Vinyl Countdown. I love hunting for and buying records. Been doing it since I can remember. It’s been a major part of my life. People know me as a jazz collector. You all know me as Jazz Collector. It’s an important part of my identity.

But . . . .

Obviously, the idea of paring the collection down has been on my mind for a while, at least since Sept. 29, 2009. Why did I finally decide to act on it now, and how did about 700 of my records end up in Durham, North Carolina with Carolina Soul Records? Stay tuned.

A couple of weeks ago, if you recall, I wrote a post titled More Adventures, More Obsessions. In that post, I extended the adventure story about the 10-inch records I had recently bought and, as a kicker, wrote yet another obsessive lament about Shades of Redd, wherein Clifford had sent me a link to a beautiful, mint copy from Academy Records. By the time I went to view the Academy copy, however, it had already been gobbled up by a smart collector because, as I noted at the time, the price was, IMHO, more than fair and probably well under the current market value, considering the condition of the record and, of course, the fact that it is one of the most highly sought Blue Notes and, again, IMHO, one of the very best of the Blue Notes.

Anyway, I thought nothing of it and then went about my business, which is actually picking up these days because a couple of my clients are in cybersecurity and are anxious to get articles out there about the COVID-19 pandemic. I was in the midst of one of these articles when this note came into my mailbox from a sender whom I instantly identified as one of our loyal Jazz Collector people. The note said:

“Hi Al. Just reading your page this morning and noticed the post about Shades of Redd.  I happen to be the individual who bought the review copy from Academy which means I now have a spare (see attached pictures).  It’s been professionally clean by “Perfect Vinyl Forever” on 6/19/18, however it still grades as VG due to numerous clicks on the first track of both sides.  Other than that it plays really nice (VG+).  I know we’ve discussed it before, but if you’re interested in trading there is a lot of stuff I’m looking for.”

This was followed by a link to 796 pages, each with 25 records. I went through many pages, but it was a bit too much to absorb, so I sent a note backing asking my correspondent to perhaps narrow the list down. When the much shorter list came back, I could see that there were items that I had in duplicate and could thus spare. Our faithful reader, whose name I will withhold for now, but whom I invite to share his end of the story in either a comment or a separate post, was extremely generous, and sent me a link to listen to his spare copy of Shades of Redd, having warned me of the “numerous clicks.”

Frankly, I never listened. Hey, it’s Shades of Redd, it’s original, if it has a few clicks, I could deal with that, easily. When I started collecting used jazz records, back 50 years ago (really?????), I was almost disappointed if a record didn’t have clicks. It was just what you expected and, over the years, I got used to it and never minded it unless it really got in the way of my enjoyment of the record and/or the record presented so poorly that I would be afraid to put it on my turntable. I don’t have any records like that anymore, I am happy to say, having weeded them out and typically replaced them with cleaner copies.

Anyway, a few clicks weren’t going to scare me away from Shades of Redd after all this time, particularly if I could make a trade for a duplicate. There was a catch, however: I am in The Berkshires and my duplicates in my studio apartment in New York City. And I have no intention of returning to New York for any reason until I get the all-clear from health authorities, and even then I’m sure I will wait a good while to really make sure the city is safe, or at least safer. So, even if we were to come up with a deal, it would likely be months before I would see Shades of Redd. But that was fine. I’ve already waited 50 years.

After a few simple back-and-forth emails we came up with a deal. I have a nice mint, West 63^rd Street pressing of Sonny Clark, Sonny’s Crib, Blue Note 1576, sitting in my New York apartment as a duplicate (lucky me). This was another record I had sought for many, many years, particularly because of the presence of John Coltrane. Then, incredibly, in quick succession, I found two copies in beautiful condition: First in the Irving Kalus Collection and then in the Bruce M. West collection in Baltimore. These copy in New York doesn’t have have the New York 23 address, but it is in sweet condition and plays beautifully, and it has all of the other key markings of an original Blue Note from that era.

This was to be the deal, but, of course, the copy I wanted to trade is in New York and I am in Massachusetts. But, again with great generosity, came this reply: “I don’t mind you sending the Sonny album later. I have no reason to keep the Shades when you could be enjoying it now.”

Three days later, I trudged on over to the local post office, wearing gloves and a makeshift bandana mask around my face and, standing six feet away from the teller’s window, with no one else in the building, the local postmaster handed me a well-packed record box that contained the long-anticipated, much-appreciated copy of Shades of Redd that was finally in my hands.

That night, I put it on the turntable and had a big shit-eating grin on my face as the first tune, Thespian, came on. If there were clicks and surface noise, I didn’t notice. To me, the sound was perfect, the cover was in beautiful condition, the music, as always, outstanding. I swept through Side One, marveling at the cohesion of the unit, and the great, inspired solos by Jackie McLean and Tina Brooks, in particular. I have always loved Jackie and this has to be one of his best records. And Tina Brooks is a constant revelation, clearly having absorbed a lot of Coltrane already, but also making the sound his own.

At one point, The Lovely Mrs. JC strolled into the room, during the ballad on Side Two, Just a Ballad for My Baby. “Oh my God,” she said, “That is really beautiful. What record is that?”

I replied: “That, my dear, is Shades of Redd.”