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.

Unless that Blue Cheer disc shows up in the mail tomorrow, I just received the final album I will have purchased this decade. It was Trouble, by Trouble. I bought it off Amazon used, but as close to mint as anything I’ve seen, spent $30 of an Xmas gift card and $18 of my hard-earned on top of that to get it. Worth every penny, virtual and otherwise.

The 1990 release is widely regarded as the apex of Trouble‘s career, and with tracks like “Psychotic Reaction,” “At the End of My Daze” and “Black Shapes of Doom,” it’s hard to argue. The classic lineup of vocalist Eric Wagner, guitarist Bruce Franklin and Rick Wartell, bassist Ron Holzner and drummer Barry Stern (RIP) captured a defining moment in doom which even 20 years later many bands still emulate without the same kind of effect on the listener.

Whatever they’ve done since — the lineup changes, naming their yet-to-be-released new album The Dark Riff, etc. — there’s no denying the presence of Trouble, and two decades on, the power of these tracks still speaks for itself. It is an acquisition most welcome, and a fitting end to 10 years of rampant expenditure without regard for credit rating, checking account balance or common sense.

Speaking of, anyone got a lead on a CD copy of the Saint Vitus live record on Hellhound? There’s a couple extra tracks they left off the Southern Lord reissue I’d like to get my hands on.

If it hasn’t been said before in this space, I love Philadelphia. I’ll admit it doesn’t have the same sense of cosmopolitanism as New York — its history designates it a purely American city — but the people are so much nicer. It’s as though the city wasn’t constantly acting in a commercial for the city. It’s like someone turned down the asshole factor. If I could ever afford to live anywhere (which I don’t expect to be able to), I’d live there in a second. Even the hippest Philly record store I’ve been to yet, AKA Music, made NYC‘s Other Music look like a parody of itself.

Along with an extensive (if somewhat disheveled) used section from which I grabbed someone’s promo of the new Alice in Chains (meh), and a dollar bargain bin that yielded a copy of Pharaoh Overlord‘s II, they also had both prog and psychedelic sections. The prog section even had a krautrock subheading. Awesome. And for vinyl heads, there’s a whole other store’s worth of it in the back.

I nabbed a compilation of early Peruvian psychedelic music called The Roots of Chicha, which proved to be awesome, and the self-titled release from Iron Claw on Rockadrome‘s Vintage division. Yes, the name comes from King Crimson. The record is a collection of tracks recorded from 1970-1974 from the Scottish band, most of which I’m fairly certain were unreleased before, and on the plastic wrapping of the disc there were five magic words that assured the purchase: “For Fans of Black Sabbath.”

And that more or less sums up what Iron Claw had going on nearly 35-40 years ago. According to the label, they started out by playing Black Sabbath‘s Black Sabbath in its entirety during their sets along with their originals, formed in ’69 in Dumfries, were done in ’74, and until this exhumation, were buried by time and obscurity. The extensive liner notes detail their years together with notable shows and lineup changes and how different players affected the band, and the music is blown to hell, but a track like “Skullcrusher” still lives up to its name.

For serious devotees of the heavy ’70s new and old, Iron Claw‘s a can’t miss. They can’t all be Leaf Hound‘s Growers of Mushroom, but I think I prefer Iron Claw to the self-titled Jerusalem record Rockadrome put out a while back. You’ve got 16 tracks of classic hard riffing with the occasional prog freakout (“Pavement Artist”). Put that together with a city like Philly and mark it a win.