It was strange walking down the steps into Burlington, Vermont‘s Pure Pop Records this past Saturday, because I’d been there before. Six years ago, when The Patient Mrs. and I were first married, we took off headed north on the Thruway, just as a kind of mini-getaway post-wedding. Our actual honeymoon was still a few months off, and we ended up in Burlington by happenstance, just because it was there, and we must have hit Pure Pop on that trip — don’t ask me what I bought — so being back there was a dreamy deja vu. No, it didn’t affect the shopping experience.

I’d already been in and out of Burlington Records and Downtown Records (?) with no finds. I almost bought a jewel case copy of Scissorfight‘s Mantrapping for Sport and Profit from the latter, because I only own the digipak and because we’re situated right next to New Hampshire and I consider everything north of Massachusetts to be Scissorfight country, but changed my mind last minute. A choice I lived to regret. I didn’t have high hopes for Pure Pop, because it’s one of those super-indie stores that so loves being indie, but I did alright in the end.

They have an experimental/post-metal/doom/stuff-snobs-like section that runs a gamut from Acid Mothers Temple to Sleep to John Zorn, and Slayer was filed under rock, not metal, but most of what I found was in the comedy section anyway. I grabbed Mitch Hedberg‘s Do You Believe in Gosh?, Patton Oswalt‘s Feelin’ Kinda Patton and 222, which is the same show, just unedited, and from the regular old metal section on in the far corner of the store, Ereb Altor‘s second album, The End, which I haven’t listened to yet, but can only imagine from what I remember of 2008′s By Honour sounds like Bathory-style Viking metal played at half speed. Translation: awesome.

I don’t suppose it was the best haul ever — I was at least momentarily more psyched by the shaved ice flavor “Tiger Blood” that was available at the nearby outdoor market — but screw it, comedy records are good for long drives, and I’ve been doing plenty of that lately. And honestly, I’d have grabbed some stuff out of that avant/pretentious section if I didn’t already own everything I wanted from it, so no slight on Pure Pop, which had a reasonably well-organized layout and broad range of available goods.

The dude behind the counter, who seemed to have some kind of animal tooth inserted in his septum (an instant reminder of the unintentionally hilarious Walking with Cavemen; Alec Baldwin‘s finest moment of voice-over) was polite and friendly enough, not condescending to my less than stellar finds, and all in all I felt positive about the experience. Cap the day off with a trip to the Ben and Jerry’s factory off the I-89 in Waterbury and mark it a win.

It’s funny, but when CBS Radio does its traffic reports of Hudson River crossings, they never mention Route 7 in Albany. Maybe that’s because the station doesn’t come in up there (I know for trying to listen to the Yankees), or maybe they’re just lazy. Seems like an oversight to me, in any case.

On my way back for a few days to Jersey and my humid, humid valley yesterday, I made a brief pitstop at Albany‘s Last Vestige Music Shop on Quail St. It was my first time there, and I thought initially they were closed since the neon “Open” sign was off and it looked like there were no lights on. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

All hail the dying breed of independent music stores. They had vinyl galore, up front and in a back room, but since my buying proclivities lean me else-wise, I paid little attention to it, focusing instead on the vaguely alphabetized racks of used CDs. In the “Recent Arrivals” bin I found Lewis Black‘s latest, Stark Raving Black, which was alright, Blind Guardian‘s Live, which I apparently already own, and the Wino Daze compilation by Lost Breed on Helltown Records of Glenville, NY, a mere 40 minutes south from where I was.

It wasn’t an easy store to search through, as there was a lot in a relatively small amount of space and the organization wasn’t great, but Last Vestige seemed like a killer shop for classic rock mainstays. They had a small metal section from whence I grabbed the Lost Breed and Blind Guardian discs, but there was also most of the Judas Priest and Iron Maiden catalogs available used as well. If they’d had Rocka Rolla, I would have bought it, but no dice.

I was glad to have found Last Vestige, even if it wasn’t the most successful haul I’ve ever had. The Lost Breed disc is an interesting curio, and for that and the much-needed moment to regroup before getting on the terminally boring New York Thruway, it was easily worth the trip. I’d recommend stopping in to anyone passing through or by Albany, and as Last Vestige‘s Saratoga shop recently went out of business, and Albany‘s Music Shack also went under a few years ago, the store might just be living up to its name.

I bought three CDs from Turn it Up! in Brattleboro, Vermont, after taking the hour trip south from where The Patient Mrs. and I are staying in Belmont. They were as follows: Goatwhore‘s Funeral Dirge for the Rotting Sun (which I’ll never listen to), Eric Idle‘s solo comedy effort, The Rutland Isles (which I’ll listen to but not laugh at), and the self-titled disc by August Born, which features Ben Chasny of Six Organs of Admittance (which I’ll probably listen to but am not 100 percent sure I don’t already own). It was kind of a bummer trip.

Turn it Up! is a pretty hip shop. There’s a picture of local resident/Tee Pee Records mainstay Dave Sweetapple (of Witch and Sweet Apple) up on the wall — and the numerous used Tee Pee promos for sale make me think maybe he’s been to the store once or twice — and they seem to cater mostly to the town’s abundance of hippie/jam rockers, though there was a small metal section. My major disappointment (aside from how visibly creeped out the girl stocking the bins was by me) came in a lack of Black Sabbath bootlegs. They had Metallica, they had Beatles out the ass, Neil Young and even Led Zeppelin, but not one Sabbath boot. Nothing. Come on, man. Give me one. Anything!

No dice. Don’t mean to harsh your mellow, trust fund hippies willingly living in poverty, but you’re a long way away from Coachella. I took my time looking around the store, partially because I seemed to be imposing on the staff by doing so (they were open until 10PM and I was in there around 5:30), then clumsily bought my three discs and left, feeling like a sucker for having made the trip. I didn’t expect a fucking haven of desert rock overflowing with Man’s Ruin discs, where I’d walk in, be handed a beer and get instantly pointed to the Kyuss, Etc. section, but give me a break. The attitude, the selection, the hyper-indie mindset: blech. Keep it. If I wanted to deal with that kind of bullshit, there are any number of stores in New York I could go to, and they’d probably have the new Woven Hand in stock, which no one on the planet seems to, myself included.

Using the Record Store Day website as my guide, there are a couple stores up in Burlington I might want to visit, but after Turn it Up!, I’m not going to imagine either much success or a particularly friendly reception. Seriously, it made the passive apathy with which I’m generally greeted at Generation Records, or Vintage Vinyl, or even Resurrection Records in CT seem like a warm hug. Was a long way to go for Eric Idle, I’ll tell you that much.

I’ve been on a real Black Sabbath kick lately, which is about as close as I come to religion. You know how it is, you come and go with those records. You know them front and back, and it’s almost like you don’t have to put them on to hear them in your head. Well, lately I’ve been putting them on anyway, so when I stepped into one of Jersey‘s premiere indie stores (I’m not going to name which), the first place I went was the Sabbath section to see if there were any good looking bootlegs.

There were. I guess since Ronnie James Dio died last month the market has called for an upswing in material with him on it, because I was able to grab two discs from the 1980 Heaven and Hell tour. Yeah, it’s a little crass, but I had the demand before they had supply, so I don’t really feel all that bad feeding the machine on this one. Both Angel and Demon (live in Tokyo, Nov. 18, 1980) and We Blind the Sky (live in Sydney, Nov. 27, 1980) are CDR/inkjet jobs, but the covers are quality prints, the recordings are soundboards and they were only $15 a pop. I’ll pay that. $20′s pushing it, but I’ll go $15.

The setlists on Angel and Demon and We Blind the Sky (a bootleg formerly known as Burning the Cross because of a stage gimmick you can hear on the disc) are identical save for replacing “Lady Evil” on the former with “Die Young” on the latter, which also ends with “Paranoid” instead of “Iron Man,” and the mix sounds better on Angel and Demon, but you really can’t beat having Dio forget the words to the end of “Children of the Sea” as he does on We Blind the Sky. Other highlights include the sundry vocal effects that crop up and Geezer Butler‘s bass tone. Yes, on everything.

I know I’ve had some issues in the past with buying Black Sabbath bootlegs, so it seemed only fair to report an experience as positive as this one has proven to be. I also got Deep Purple, Made in Japan, and the 2CD version of the new Karma to Burn, the former used and the latter John Garcia-fied. All in all, chalk up a win, and for bonus points I’ll note they were playing Goatsnake when I walked into the store. Good things are bound to happen when you stumble on that.

If you’re looking for info on Sabbath bootlegs, there’s only one place to go: black-sabbath.de. They’re helpful in the way only true obsessives can be and they make the rest of us fanboys look like lightweights.

On my most recent trip there, the dude behind the counter of Wallingford, Connecticut‘s Red Scroll Records pretty much had me pegged. I don’t know if it was the shirt I was wearing (I don’t remember which it was, but all I wear are band shirts, so it could have been anyone) or what, but shortly after I walked into the store, the strains of the aforementioned Dopesmoker by Sleep started coming through the stereo system. I guess I’m an easy mark.

As most of my previous excursions to Red Scroll have been, this one was successful, yielding used records from The Gates of Slumber, Quitter, Slough Feg, reissues of the first two Enslaved albums (also used), recent comedy records by David Cross and Eugene Mirman and, as I stood at the register, like a candy bar at a grocery store checkout, a six dollar pink cassette of Torche‘s Meanderthal Demos.

Of course, I was psyched at the CD haul, but the Torche went in first. I buy cassettes because I have a tape player in my car and I feel like if I don’t use it, I’m somehow missing out on an opportunity. The Patient Mrs. thinks this is ridiculous, and she’s a little right. I enjoy the absurdity, and in the case of Torche‘s Meanderthal Demos, I was stoked to hear the band’s material in a rawer form, since, though the finished album was enjoyable, it was also incredibly polished, production-wise.

Getting to hear the roots of songs like “Grenades” and “Across the Shields” was both interesting and exciting, since it sounded good and was a cool experiment for the ears in this new context. The songs are different, obviously less developed, but enjoyable anyway, and though Torche‘s capable grasp of melody is present, there’s more edge to the demos that makes them sound a little rougher than Meanderthal itself. In other words: right fucking on.

A pink cassette is a little more hip irony than I usually allow myself to engage in, but whatever, it sounds good and it only cost six dollars, so I’d be a bigger asshole for not hearing it. And it was worth every penny, since the tracks still show off Torche‘s high-quality songwriting in their rudimentary form. I didn’t expect to come out of Red Scroll having just paid six dollars for a pink cassette, but it wound up being the highlight of the trip and something I’ve gone back to for multiple listens already. All hail the impulse buy.

Sometimes, when a band has a catalog that seems to go on for miles (or even when they don’t), it’s hard to know where to begin. You want something that best represents the whole, but you want the best too, so you can hear them at their peak. Well, it’s an age-old question, “Where do I start with…?” that I’m hopefully going to help answer for at least a handful of bands.

Below you’ll find just a smattering of recommendations for beginning points for bands you may or may not be curious about. I do a lot of assuming that the people reading this site know this stuff already, but maybe there are some newcomers who aren’t sure which Kyuss record is the way to go.

If you have any to add to this list, please leave a comment. Maybe I’ll finally figure out how to kick off my Robin Trower collection.

Acid King, Busse Woods

Alabama Thunderpussy, River City Revival

Bathory, Twilight of the Gods

Brant Bjork, Jalamanta

Black Sabbath, Just get the first eight, go from there.

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In light of the badassery of Ufomammut‘s subsequent releases — 2005′s Lucifer Songs, 2008′s Idolum and this year’s excellent Eve — the band’s second album, Snailking, is a record whose legend has grown much in the six years since its 2004 release. While the Italian drone metallers made their debut in 2000 with Godlike Snake, more and more, Snailking has become the measure by which fans judge each new album.

The band did a vinyl reissue last year through their own Supernatural Cat label, but the CD has been out of print in the US since The Music Cartel, which handled the original release, went under in 2005. Amazon regularly has copies for over $100, which is unreasonable (even half that is ridiculous), and mostly on eBay it’s just the vinyl being sold and resold. Fine.

I first encountered the album when it came out and was sent a CDR with a photocopied cover as a promo that I still have today for use on the college radio show I was hosting at the time. I never bought it before it was too late, until recently I came a chance to do so in a forum listing on StonerRock.com and decided to make an offer. Sure enough, for $25, I finally got a full copy of Snailking.

Not only do I feel good about the price — which I think is a rational amount of money to pay for an album that’s legitimately out of print and rare — but it’s given me a chance to go back and actually enjoy the record instead of just frustratedly staring at the CDR’s jewel case, mad at myself for not having bought the real thing when I could have. If you’ve never heard Ufomammut‘s Snailking and collect vinyl, the reissue is probably the way to go, but given my disposition otherwise, I was glad to have stumbled upon the opportunity the way I did. Sometimes you have to take what you can get.

For anyone who’s never been to Amoeba Music in San Francisco, please just take my word for it when I say there’s a reason that, after flying out of Newark at 7AM local time and landing on the West Coast at 10:30, I wanted to go there before even checking into the hotel, before showering, changing my clothes or any of it. Six hours on a plane — get me some shwarma and get me to Amoeba. So it went.

If Heaven is an ideal locale and God is a mythical being reigning over that ideal locale, Amoeba Music is both God and Heaven at the same time. I had to draw up a wishlist before I got there, because I knew that once I walked in, I’d be like a hyperstimulated three year old and forget everything I’d wanted to buy. I had a few necessities. For example, I’d have felt like a failure if I didn’t find something on Man’s Ruin. I wanted something specifically Californian, and I wanted something rare.

For the first, I was pleased to find Drunk Horse‘s Tanning Salon/Biblical Proportions, for the second, Citay‘s Dream Get Together (reviewed here) and for the third, the Sheavy/Church of Misery split on Game Two Records. Because it was there and I could, I also grabbed Boris‘ Smile (Live at Wolf Creek) in the grey die-cut foam case, and just because it has Los Natas covering “Paranoid,” the Black Sabbath tribute, Sabbath Crosses, which is all South American bands.

Not all of that was on my list — Drunk Horse specifically was — and I didn’t get to pick up either of the first two Fu Manchu albums or any Kyuss promos or either of the first two Desert Sessions releases, but there’s always Amoeba in Berkeley to give it another go, and for my first day here (which also included a brief stop at Shaxul Records right across the street), I did pretty well. Here’s a full rundown of the haul:

Blind Guardian, Tokyo Tales
Boris, Smile (Live at Wolf Creek)
Burst, Prey on Life
Citay, Dream Get Together
Drunk Horse, Tanning Salon/Biblical Proportions
Khanate, Clean Hands Go Foul
Rainbow, Rainbow on Stage
Trouble, Live in Los Angeles
Various Artists, Church of Misery/Sheavy, Born too Late
Various Artists, Sabbath Crosses: Tributo a Black Sabbath
The Wizar’d, Follow the Wizard

More to come…

It was a recent Monday night in NYC and I was in town for a Precious Metal show at Lit Lounge, but having some time to spare, figured I’d hike over to St. Mark’s and see what was doing in the used CD bins at Kim’s Video, which was nothing, since Kim’s Video has apparently closed shop since the last time I was there. That’ll show me to not leave the house but twice a year.

Consolation came from Rockit Scientist Records right down the block across the street. The step-down-to-enter hole in the wall has long been a source of obscure psychedelic/proto-prog wonders, and among the assorted treasures — I’m looking at you, Popul Vuh remasters — I found the 1971 solo offering from Japanese guitarist Shinki Chen (hailed as the Hendrix of the rising sun), called simply Shinki Chen and His Friends, with a sticker on the front reading “Early 70′s Japanese Heavy Psych Jams.” Sold.

I’ve been on a kick for some old man rock lately, and digging into the early tape loops and King Crimson mid-”Moonchild” nosies of Shinki Chen and His Friends opener “The Dark Sea Dream” was right in line with what I was looking for, but the real deal surprise was the kick of fuzzier cuts like “Requiem of Confusion,” “Freedom of a Mad Paper Lantern,” the organ-diced “Gloomy Reflections,” and the hard-panned “Farewell to Hypocrites.” There’s an untenable current of weird running throughout — the drums are so far away that sometimes you forget they’re there at all — and man, it’s clear to see who’s got a remastering hyper-budget and who doesn’t, but I’m digging the hell out of the disc and thought I’d pass along the word to anyone else who might be interested (I don’t know if Rockit Scientist has another copy, but it might be worth hitting them up, since true independent record stores in Manhattan are getting fewer and father between). Hopefully that’s you.

After this album — the version of which I have is a 2005 Korean reissue distributed by World Psychedelia — Shinki Chen joined the trio Speed, Glue and Shinki, which as you might imagine didn’t last long. They put out one album and sort of another after breaking up, and that’s allegedly when Mr. Shinki decided he vastly preferred not recording to recording and stopped making albums. Shinki Chen and His Friends is still out there though for anyone willing to stumble on it, and although I’m still very much in the process of getting to know the album and the guitarist (and his friends, for that matter), I’d definitely suggest you figure out a way to do so.

I always try to pay attention to international exchange rates. Aside from being interested in the political implications thereof, it’s interesting to see what our tiny pieces of paper are worth compared to everyone else’s tiny pieces of paper. Occasionally you can get a bargain too, if you play your cards right.

As of today, the euro is worth $1.36, which isn’t bad. Of course, the market is turbulent (if you don’t believe me, search your favorite news site for the words “Greece” and “economy”), but I managed recently to hit up The Stone Circle, the mailorder of Spanish label Alone Records and come out of it on the positive side of the equation. Not financially, of course, but existentially.

It was Fatso Jetson‘s 1999 outing, Flames for All, that hooked me. Aside from being a Man’s Ruin release — anyone who’s been around this site for a while should know of my Kozik fetish — it’s also the only record they did as a four-piece, the lineup including Mario and Larry Lalli, drummer Tony Tornay and, as the fourth for doubles, Gary Arce of Yawning Man. It’s like a desert party pressed to plastic and I had to have it, so after a relatively exhausting search for comparison prices/conditions, The Stone Circle won out.

And I figured, hey, while I’m on the site, might as well see what else they’ve got lying around, right? If you could have just one CD, they wouldn’t have shaped them so similarly to potato chips (krinkle-cut notwithstanding).

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Okay, maybe not, but I was intensely glad to be able to get my hands on a copy of the first Fuzzorama Records release (fuzz CD001), Fuzzsplit of the Century, featuring Truckfighters and Firestone. Neither band is stranger to these parts, Truckfighters having released one of my favorite albums of last year in Mania, and Firestone‘s Stonebeliever EP having been covered in a previous Buried Treasure, but to get them both on this split CD from 2003, when Truckfighters were really just getting going and Firestone was on their way out, was too much for me to resist. Fortunately, Freebird Records had a copy on the (relatively) cheap and I grabbed it from their mailorder.

In a way, it’s a “what you see is what you get”-type scenario. While the “of the Century” is as debatable as any claim of anything being the greatest anything ever is, I won’t argue it’s a fantastic bit of fuzz both bands grow from out their Orange amps. We already know Oskar Cedermalm is the link between the groups (he played guitar in Firestone and handles bass and vocals in Truckfighters), but what’s more interesting about Fuzzsplit of the Century is precisely what was alluded to in the paragraph above: hearing Truckfighters in their beginnings and what could probably be called the most realized version of Firestone before their dissolution.

As someone who encountered Truckfighters first with the Gravity X album, their more nascent approach here is less assured, and, though it carries the seeds that in context can be seen as what would later become Mania‘s progressive bent, less established. They were a young band in 2003. Firestone, on the other hand, had their mission clear from the outset and so sound like the tighter unit. Of course, it’s worth saying that both bands were fuzzy as all hell at this stage in their careers.

It was a kind of curiosity purchase, bought basically so I could hear the roots of one of Sweden’s top riffing outfits, and though Fuzzsplit of the Century certainly isn’t their best group of songs, it’s a fascinating go-through nonetheless, and worth investigation for anyone who’s been mesmerized by their work since. And since Firestone remains a mystery to me (they released several EPs that, so far, seem impossible to find), having five more tracks of them at their best is definitely a win.

If there’s one buzzword The Patient Mrs. can’t stand hearing me say, it’s “completist.” Now, whether that’s because she doesn’t think the term accomplishes anything that “collector” doesn’t or because she just doesn’t like being married to one, I don’t really know, but it drives her up the god damn wall.

On the other hand, I think “completist” describes a very specific mindset — particularly as it relates to music — that “collector” just doesn’t capture. It gets to a certain point where it’s not even about the music anymore, about the bands, their songs or any of that. It’s about the thing, about having that thing that you don’t have yet, getting it before someone else can, finishing the band’s catalog or just having one more record with that band’s name on it to sit on the shelf with the others.

Case in point: I recently purchased a Kyuss promo off eBay, titled Sky Valley Part III. After shipping and a five dollar donation to Haiti, I paid a whopping $17.98. It came in the mail yesterday, and it is, as I knew when I bought it, just the last four songs from the classic 1994 album, Welcome to Sky Valley. You get “Odyssey,” “Conan Troutman,” “N.O.” and “Whitewater” (still as one track, mind you), and that’s it.

I’m not sorry I bought it, but I don’t think there could possibly be an argument made on the side of my needing this CD. I already have two copies of Sky Valley itself (a standalone and one in the 3 for One box set), and with nothing more than the last four songs and separate artwork — an interesting journey back in time to when a label could afford something like putting a jewel case promo like this together — even I can’t say I had to own Sky Valley Part III.

Maybe it’s a status thing? Bragging rights? Like the douchebag banker and his Ferrari? I’m certainly not a better person for having paid for what someone initially got for free, but it was an impulse I couldn’t have fought if I’d wanted to, and even now, I don’t really have buyer’s remorse for having snatched it just before the auction ended. This is what I do. I’m a completist. If I’m going to be obsessive compulsive about something, at least I’m not hurting anyone other than myself, and that only fiscally.

But I think there’s a strong case to be made for the differences between collecting and completism. And if anyone needs me to make that case for them, I’d be more than happy to do so just as soon as I’m done seeing if I can get a copy of Masters of Reality‘s Reality Show cheap on any of the international Amazon.com sites.

The reason this is a Buried Treasure and not a review or something — aside from album’s having been already reviewed — is that I just finally got around to buying a physical copy last night at Vintage Vinyl. I was there for the Crippled Black Phoenix, The Resurrectionists/Night Raider box and figured since opening track “As Horizons End” has been in my head for a couple days, I’d grab the 2009 Paradise Lost release as well. Maybe there was some subliminal connection because both bands are British. In any case, I had some store credit to burn.

Faith Divides Us – Death Unites Us is not an album I’ve consistently gone back to, but for some reason, I recently clicked open the folder of promo mp3s from which the review was written and gave it another shot. It’s still formulaic, but as I stood with the copy of it in my hands and debated taking it to the register, I realized formulaic was exactly what I wanted. There’s no question there’s some filler toward the record’s back half — I know that now even more than the first time around — but that’s what I wanted. A metal album. Something I could put on and not think about. A couple catchy choruses, some decent guitar work, and done. Mind-boggling complexity is wonderful, but sometimes you just want to relax.

I felt way back in August and still feel “As Horizons End” is the strongest cut on the record. It’s the one that led me back to Faith Divides Us – Death Unites Us, and a good portion of motivation for any subsequent listens will be to hear that one song. But what follows it, at least for the next four songs until you get past the title track, isn’t half bad either. I doubt the purchase will instill in me a wholesale new affection for the album, but hey, at least I know it’s on the shelf should I decide to pay it another visit half a year from now.

I was kind of bummed when CD World on Rt. 46 in Totowa went out of business, and couldn’t have cared less when Coconuts right down the road did the same. As I stood in the FYE on Rt. 10 in East Hanover with the “LAST 3 DAYS!” sign outside and all the yellow “Going out of Business — Everything Must Go!” paraphernalia strewn about the place, I was appreciative of the fact that the indies, the Vintage Vinyls and Sound Exchanges, are still going. Who knows for how long.

Everything was at least half off, and I was down that way anyway picking up my car at long last after the whole key/toilet debacle, so I figured I’d pop in. They had a few copies of Behemoth‘s Evangelion left, one of which I grabbed just for the hell of it, and a disc called Super Duper by the band Valentine Saloon that was $1.99 (before the sale) and had artwork that looked like it was by Frank Kozik. It wasn’t. The album was, however, produced by Jack Endino. Unfortunately, it was also really, really bad.

The upshot was the self-titled album from Portland, OR‘s Red Fang, whose new school beery/bearded boogie Melvins rocking got me wherever the hell I was going that night. The highlight of the record is probably “Humans Remain Human Remains,” although “Good to Die” has balls big enough to trip over them. There’s a definite Floor/Torche influence, which adds pop flair, and at their most unhinged, they’re not quite as break-stuffy as Akimbo — who’ve more or less mastered the art of cerebral post-hardcore violence — but they’re not so terribly far off.

It was a pleasant surprise to come upon Red Fang in that setting, where once, by sheer luck, I found a used copy of Astroqueen‘s Into Submission, but even so, I’m not sorry to see FYE go. It’s a bummer for anyone if they were looking to make a lifetime career out of working there, but judging by the bored looks on the faces of the post-adolescents behind the counter, I don’t think they were too concerned. As some ring bells in memory of physical media, I’m more than happy to pick up their discarded treasures for half price. And yeah, if Beyonce stops making CDs, that’s fine, but I’m pretty sure Red Fang‘s next one will be pressed to plastic one way or another. When it is, I’ll be ready for it.

Here’s a quick tip for those of you on either side of the buying and selling of goods via the webunets: USE A FUCKING PADDED ENVELOPE.

Doesn’t seem like too much to ask, right? And perhaps you’re thinking to yourself, “What the hell does it matter? I sandwiched the disc between two pieces of cardboard and sent it in a regular envelope, it should be fine.” NO. It makes a difference, and two pieces of cardboard is not the same as bubblewrap. This should be kindergarten level shit, but apparently it needs to be said.

And I say “apparently” because twice in the last month have I received packages of CDs — one off eBay and another from the StonerRock.com message board (not the All that is Heavy webstore, with which I’ve had no such issues) — where, after dashing to the mailbox and rejoicing at seeing the wanted package, I’ve opened it up and found the jewel cases smashed all to hell.

No problem, right? I’ve got extra jewel cases, and a switch is easy enough. But hey, maybe after paying $35+ for a copy of Spirit Caravan‘s rare-as-fuck Jug Fulla Sun, I’d like to get it without the back liner ripped because broken shards of jewel case plastic punctured it? Same fucking thing happened with the Man’s Ruin issue of Brant Bjork‘s Jalamanta a couple weeks ago, so clearly, for the good of the internet buying community at large, I need to repeat myself: USE A FUCKING PADDED ENVELOPE.

This concludes this public service announcement. Remember kids, padded envelopes save lives, or at very least make you seem like much less of an asshole to the people buying out-of-print albums from you.