Yesterday’s task will continue today.
The goal was to find documented proof of my participation in two recordings. Liner notes, I was told, would suffice.
The problem with searching through albums, records, cassettes, and CD’s (well… for me anyway), is that nostalgia kicks in; curiosity does, too.
What should have taken a half hour at most, will now take two (or more) days, simply because of the numerous times I stopped to read, then google a thing, and then read again.
If that wasn’t enough, I decided to take all of the LP’s off of the shelves and alphabetize them. In doing so, I found that some were in the wrong jackets, 5 or so were empty (where could they be?), some need new jackets, and other jackets could use a few strong pieces of tape. Graham Central Station’s “Mirror” came with a shiny metallic cover, and it had seen better days. Instead of the smooth, shiny, square piece of mylar it had once been, it looked like leftover aluminum foil. I smoothed it out as much as I could...
Don’t you just miss liner notes and album art?
Most of the classic music I have, belonged to my parents. I was reminded of walking to Waxie Maxie’s on South Capitol Street, in SE DC to buy records for their house parties. If we were buying for my Dad, he’d say, “Look at the list. If we already have the record, drop down to the next one.” Top 40 lists would always be available at the door for customers to peruse. When we’d get home, Dad would check the records, then get a black magic marker and write “Bob” on both sides.
As I organized, I found myself grateful for my parents’ great, and diverse taste in music: Calypso from The Fabulous McClevetty’s, Soul from Isaac Hayes and Aretha Franklin, Gospel from Mahalia Jackson and Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Jazz from Miles Davis, Roy Ayers, and Norman Granz, Folk from Burl Ives, and Christmas tunes from Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra… I’d forgotten about the Multilingua language instruction albums.
The documentation, I could have sent yesterday, will be sent at some point, but I don’t mind that today (perhaps all day) will be happily spent back down yesterday’s musical rabbit hole…and documenting each precious piece.
I realize that I clean and organize just like my mother did. She’d just take EVERYTHING out, too; see what’s what, fix what was fixable, restore what was out of place, make things easier to find, and toss what wasn’t salvageable. She didn’t like clutter, either. A task may have seemed insurmountable with stuff strewn all over the place— whether it was dishes, fabric, or classroom supplies—but when she was done, there was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing exactly where to find what you needed, wanted, or didn't know you had.
I’ve dusted off the shelves, boom box, VCR, cassette players, and turntable. After all, YouTube’s cool, but good music—good art—doesn’t belong in a suitcase.
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