My mother gave me an Amazon gift certificate, and rather than spend it on something useful like a Nic Cage pillow, I decided I’d buy something really stupid and overpriced. Kidding. I’ve been looking for this for awhile, and haven’t run across one anywhere, so I pulled the trigger because it was free money. Not in the best shape (record plays great, but cover is a little beat), but I’m happy to finally have it.
Collectors collect.
The nice thing about buying used records is the artists get fuck all from it. If I ever happen to meet any of the contributors to this very good record, I will at least buy them a beer or other beverage of their choice, but that’ll probably never happen.
I left out the bit about sending it to the wrong address, Amazon not letting me change that address, nor cancel the order to change address, seller ignoring my message to him to cancel or change the address, and the fucking thing getting left out in the rain. Fortunately no damage was done other than whatever time the immense stress of thinking of it sad and cold, soaking in the Florida monsoons took off my life.
I wouldn’t worry about a soggy cover. The cover’s the worst part of of that album. The orange background was the cheapest option. We tried to go the Big Star route and get something from Bill Eggleston, but he was either out of the country or on a bender. Probably both.
I just had to open a Paypal case against a Discogs seller, and possibly another coming up. Ordered, paid, then silence…
I hope that The Scruffs: An Oral History includes an entire chapter from
their hairdresser.
If we had one of those, our hair wouldn’t look so stupid. Or maybe it would look stupider. This was, after all, the 70’s.