“My Uncle Jay lived with us until he went off to the Viet Nam War in 1967—I was in 4th grade. He left behind his turntable and his modest record collection which consisted of The Rolling Stones Out of Our Heads, Otis Redding Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, and Billy Cosby Sings. I played those records until they wore out, the sound coming out of the speakers attached to the turntable was small and tinny, but incredibly electrifying. This was not kid music; I felt powerful.”
I had a tough 4th grade. I got in trouble regularly for what I recall was being a smart ass. I couldn’t help but “share” my comedic observations during class. I was sort of an oral live tweeter of the school day. Anyway, my grades sucked and I spent a lot of time banished in the hallway. When I somehow managed to get a B or two on my third quarter report card, my parents gave me $5 to reward my efforts. I purchased Meet the Monkees from the Goldblatts department store, my first LP buy. I got quickly hooked and bought a 45—The Beatles “Hello Goodbye” w/ “I Am the Walrus” on the flip. I quickly learned that I was a B-side kind of guy.
Once I started mowing lawns and making my own money, I budgeted myself three records per week, and I bought at least that many until CDs shoved vinyl off the shelves two decades later. When I was broke in college I traded in classic rock for new punk records. Throughout the ’70s and ’80s I got a lot of record dust on my fingers. Just as a gardener experiences peace through working the soil, I found my solace in the record racks. That’s not to say I didn’t work up a sweat digging through the stacks. Walking into a store with friends meant strategizing where to start. I developed the record hunter’s super sharp senses able to keep an eye on what somebody else was looking at while I was able to superscan the row.
The first record I looked for when I walked into a store was Big Star Radio City, my Holy Grail. Big Star was a rumor for a long time in the ’70s—they were legendary and I had never heard them; the radio certainly never played them. When I finally found the record for 5 dollars in an Oak Park, Illinois bin in the mid-80s I was at once ecstatic and deflated. The hunt was over.
Last year I decided to sell a bunch of records to raise a little cash. I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel once they passed hands to somebody else. The many times I moved to different apartments, states, houses, I had lugged hundreds of pounds of vinyl each time, sometimes up three or four flights of stairs. They weren’t my albatross though; it was a labor of love, although I learned not to buy 100 count boxes.
I sold a bunch. It was ok. I felt happy that the people buying them would have the same experience I had. I’m not a vinyl junkie anymore and I don’t shop like I used to, but if I walk into a record store today, my heart will beat faster. Bear’s Wax in Lexington, Ky., Record City, Empire, Reckless, and Vintage Vinyl in Chicago/Evanston, and of course Bleecker Bob’s all have a piece of my heart.”
—Rick Rizzo
Works for Tomorrow, Eleventh Dream Day’s brand new full-length release is in stores beginning today, July 24. On vinyl.
