The Mad Vinyl Roadtrip Continues
By Joe Wallace
I am hiding out in the rec center at Central Bible College in Springfield, Missouri–blogging incognito and trying to get a full charge on the laptop before the born-again security staff sic the wolverines on me.
Today has been a day of disappointments and joy. Photos to come plus a full report but suffice it to say that large chunks of Springfield, Missouri are some of the ugliest stretches of endless strip malls you’ve ever had the misfortune to view. I stopped in three music shops—one had no vinyl whatsoever in spite of having the word “Vintage” in its name, another had a pathetic two bins worth of all-new releases from bands I really don’t care about (except the Misfits, perhaps, who were always fun in their heyday). However I struck paydirt with the ultra-friendly Stick It In Your Ear.
Wes Nichols is the gent behind this VERY friendly store, and I highly recommend this place to anyone who wants to spend a couple of hours rifling through the stacks. There’s a large quantity of material here–hardcore collectors won’t be surprised by 75% of the titles, but I did manage to locate Tuxedomoon’s Ship Of Fools, which I hadn’t seen previously anywhere else.
I also scored Devo’s Greatest Misses on CD for the road, I needed a break from Big Youth, Morricone, Beck, and Big Black. What can I say, it’s been a long strange trip.
Tonight I plan to post some updates with more images including the uber-scary Shari Lewis LP I found and a picture disc I never, ever expected to be created for an album reissue that, well, makes me wonder who is BUYING this stuff. Besides weirdos like me, I mean.
The vinyl buying road trip continues. Vinyl Road Rage 2009 hits Joplin, MO next…I think. I didn’t hear good things about the shop I looked up so I might take a pass in favor of hitting Oklahoma next.
As I look around the room here, blogging away furiously, freshly scrubbed, 20-something faces stare at me. They know I’m not one of THEM, I’m not like the others. The girlies look slightly intrigued by my presence, the guys pretend to be indifferent while muttering “Praise the Lord”. I don’t know how much longer I can stay here before my cover is blown as an unrepentant libertine and non-trumpet player. More later.
