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Buried Treasure: Pure Pop, Tiger Blood and Other Burlington Delights

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.

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