Daysleeper is technically a blog. I’ve jumped it up in my mind to be something more than it is so I can stay comparatively sane, but it really comes down to onanism. Just like every local promoter in town or band-ster or DJ, I write about things here that are of interest to me, as they spin or promote or play things they like. When someone’s bottom line is involved it helps if said entertainment specialist has a grasp of what will bring in enough bodies to make their, err, nut. Just as it its advisable for me to write about thinks that will hopefully create traffic and keep new people coming back.

For example, if I proposed a 30-part series concerning the where, what and why of my first 10 record purchases as a precious suburban child I think the powers that be here at NightBuzz would say nighty-nighty to good ol’ JB.

But this is a blog, so I’m going to forgo the usual music journalism trappings (as loose as they may be) for once and have a go at an old-school blog like they used to do in ‘04. I must say I don’t have the slightest idea how to emulate the form. I’ve written since I was a precocious child, well before the interwebs, and cut my teeth writing fiction and poetry and then moved into writing about music for outlet published on pulp that existed in the fleshiverse.

But here goes:

My experience purchasing a “lot” of records from Craig’s List:

I’ve loved vinyl my whole life but there were a couple of years when I didn’t own a turntable (-10 hipster points, if you’re keeping score) and so didn’t buy LPs. The last few years I’ve slowly acquired more diverse titles to compliment the ‘80s-centric collection I have from when I was a kid, but in recent months I’ve had the vinyl fever.

It started a few months ago with a Craig’s List purchase of a “lot” of records. I drove way out on the west side to check out the lot. The offer was posted as 400 pieces, including some stuff that would never be re-sellable, like 8-tracks and cassettes. But what caught my eye from the photos were what appeared to be vintage picture sleeve 45s and some cool old country records, which can be collectable.

When I got out to the fella’s house, on 960th Ave. and what the hell, in some cookie cutter subdivision, it was hot and the records were outside in ratty, full-to-bursting cardboard boxes overflowing with a shambolic assortment of odd musical offerings.

Other than the aforementioned 8-tracks and cassettes, I could see a bunch of pre-rock ‘n’ roll pap like Perry Como and a lot of religious albums. I found some of the 45s and really liked the way they looked condition wise, but there were many records that appeared to have been left outside in the rain, including an odd out-of-place grouping of hip-hop promos from 1997.

I was a little confused by the disorderly pile and questioned its worth, though I wanted the 45s and also saw the country albums that appeared to be well cared for. I wanted to look more but the dude was hovering over me in a slightly menacing way, smelling of Captain Morgan’s and cigars (it was 3 p.m.). I haggled with him slightly and he grumbled under his cop mustache but accepted, and for 40 bucks I had a huge pile of crap to wade through.

I was intimidated by the task of separating the wheat from the chaff, mostly due to my inexperience with what is collectable and what is not. I know what’s acceptable in my collection, and I have a good grasp of important titles and artists in general, but a lot of this music was outside of my knowledge base and meant a lot of research lest I toss out the most valuable record in the universe.

There is a treasure hunt aspect of collecting books and records, or anything that can be had cheaply but has potential value. These items are the scavenger’s quarter slot machine – something you hope will pay off big for a small investment, though most often turns up turds.

A couple of Goldmine books (+20 music nerd points) and many searches on eBay later found me dumping the majority of the lot at local thrift stores, who I’m sure in turned dumped most of the stuff into the garbage. I was able to kick down some cool 8-tracks to my friend Dean who had a working 8-track player in his ‘71 Caddy, but most of the cassette, 8-tracks, Christmas records (don’t ask) and Bible music went bye-bye.

It seems like this lot was the assorted dregs of three collections, from three generations of listeners. I imagined one as an old lady who loved gospel music and country, who took care of her stuff and was old enough to have music on 78, who I visualized as cop-stache’s grandma.

From dude’s generation came a bunch of totally destroyed ‘70s rock offerings, some that would have been cool to have but were absolutely trashed. They must have been left outside for years, that’s the only way to account for the condition of the jackets. Also the records themselves looked like someone ran a nail up and down the surface for pleasure. What a shame. I was pretty bad with my early records but most of them still play.

There were also those odd rap and hip-hop records in white sleeves that I imagined as the seller’s son’s. Maybe he moved out and left them or dad was selling them out of spite. Most likely this is all a flight of fancy and the guy is a collector and these were the cast offs, or he was moving and was tired of lugging around other people’s record collections.

Either way I had fun in the process, learning some things and sorting through a mysterious pile of records. There was a sense of peeking into someone’s closet or being a fly on the wall, and the promise of something profound or bizarre on some of the recordable blanks that were included.

I know 78s aren’t generally collectable, but they were really fun to listen to once I borrowed a turntable with a 78’s speed. The magic of the medium of sound and video recording – the concept of trapping a moment or feeling – is inherently metaphysical and makes my mind wobble. This was demonstrated with these thick, solid platters made of bug poop.

Also in the lot was a Hank Williams EP picture sleeve and some other valuable classic country 45s, as well as some collectable LPs from the ‘50s and ‘60s, the best of which is a really early Johnny Cash records on the Sun label. I don’t really know why I bought the lot in the first place. Most hardcore re-sale collectors would have left ol’ Captain breath in the dust, but my experience more than paid for itself. While I might be a little more choosy next time, it was strange and stimulating (am I really going to say this…) vinyl adventure. Oh dear.