Using my magic cellophone, I got directions to CD/Game Exchange on N. Market St., and while on my way there, passed a sign on E. Patrick with Rock & Roll Graveyard printed on it. With hopes that it wasn’t some shitty irono-fashion boutique with $50 torn up Iron Maiden t-shirts on sale for dumb hipster girls who’ve never heard Killers, I nonetheless parked my car and decided to investigate.

A fucking treasure trove, this place was. If I bought vinyl — which I don’t — I wouldn’t have gotten out of there without putting down at least $100, but as it was, I spent only one-tenth of that (or $10) and still got a host of goodies for the effort. From a brief perusal of the CD bin, it was apparent that the owner, whose name is Chris Wolfe, knows his heavy. There was a lot I already had, but I did manage to find the SPV digipak reissue of the self-titled album from Uriah Heep offshoot Weed. It’s another one of those lost heavy ’70s classics that five people in the world preach like gospel and no one else has ever heard of, but man, it’s a pretty killer record. A bit all over the place, but when it locks in, it locks in hard. Dig it.

So that accounts for $5 of the total $10 I blew. The next $4 went to Black Sabbath tapes. Yes, plural. I spent $4 and got four tapes: Master of Reality, Vol. 4, Sabotage and Heaven and Hell. At a buck each, I couldn’t really ask for more. The only one I haven’t played is Vol. 4, because it would require clever fast-forwarding to get past “Changes,” but it was awesome to hear the little differences in the sound on Master of Reality, or the live version of “Sweet Leaf” tacked onto Sabotage — and Heaven and Hell, well, I’ll pretty much take that record on any format I can get it. An all-time favorite for one measly dollar, no way I was leaving that.

Wolfe, who also plays bass in Fat Chick Meat Haul, is a genuine record hoarder and has had the store open for about three months. Most everything he was selling came from his personal collection, and that included the tapes and the lime green 8-track edition of Jethro Tull‘s Aqualung that accounts for the last of the $10 I spent at Rock & Roll Graveyard. Yeah, the tape’s ripped, but what the hell do I care? Jeebus save me, it’s Aqualung on 8-track! I don’t have a player anyway — for a buck, I’m happy just to look at the damn thing and sing “Wind-Up” to myself.

The best part? Well, all this stuff was pretty great, especially for the price, but the best part came in talking to Wolfe about old records and heavy rock and whatever else. He told me about an album from a band called Tin House he’d picked up not too long ago, and when I said it sounded cool (because it did), he went ahead and burned me a copy, right there on the spot, free of charge. And he was right, it’s rightout proto-proggy heavy blues, from the Beatles “oooh-la-la-la” on “30 Weight Blues” to the driving lead of “Silver Star” and the string arrangements on “Lady of the Silent Opera.” I think I might dig it more even than the Weed record.

I don’t know when I’ll be back in Frederick again, but whenever it is, you can bet your ass I’ll be checking in on Rock & Roll Graveyard. Until then, I’ve got the Sabbath tapes in my car, the Tull on my office shelf, and the Weed ready to go. I never made it to CD/Game Exchange, but finding a shop of the niche caliber I did, I’m hardly crying over it.

Find Rock & Roll Graveyard on Thee Facebooks here.

Fucking tragedy, right?

I tried to remedy this first at Sound Exchange in Wayne, my go-to shop for its proximity to my humble river valley and for the fact that if it’s between them and almost anyone else in the physical realm, I’d rather give them the money. They were a no dice. Thus began the agonizing, drawn-out process of not wanting to drive to Vintage Vinyl in Fords — an hour away on a good day — and knowing that I had zero chance of finding Spiral Shadow anywhere else near me.

My ride to Vintage Vinyl is agony, and not just because I have to spend the whole time anticipating what treasures I might find when I get there. It includes some of Northern New Jersey‘s most cripplingly boring roads, including Rt. 24, Rt. 78 and the ludicrously engineered Garden State Parkway. Nonetheless, at about four o’clock yesterday afternoon, after whining for nearly two hours about how much I didn’t want to make the trip — and no, it’s not lost on me that that’s long enough to make the trip twice over — off I went.

Should’ve called first. They didn’t have it. They’d only gotten a few copies and those were gone. Boy, did I feel stupid. Who does that? Who spends two hours in a car at the prospect of buying a CD without calling first to make sure the store has it?

I drowned my jackass sorrows in picking up The Elf Albums by Ronnie James Dio (and the rest of Elf, who aren’t cool enough to get mentioned on the cover), a used copy of Celestial Hi-Fi by Sheavy, who I never particularly enjoy hearing but keep buying the records of when I see them, Hippie Killer by Bongripper for $6.99, a used copy of the Boris and Ian Astbury collaboration, BXI, and, for $3.99, the version of Entombed‘s Wolverine Blues with the (apparently not) titular Marvel Comics character on the front.

The latter was obviously the find of the trip, but even that wasn’t enough to make me feel like any less of an idiot for spending that much of my day in blind pursuit of Spiral Shadow, which, it should be noted, I still haven’t gotten and is now holding up the November podcast. I don’t own Black Tusk either, but there are enough bands around who sound just like them that I can let that go. The Kylesa I pretty much need. The dude behind the counter said they’d be getting more this week, and I might try another run tomorrow, but needless to say, I’ll be calling first.

Bottom, Made in Voyage
Chrome Locust, Chrome Locust
Clutch, Jam Room
Fu Manchu, Daredevil
Jethro Tull, Aqualung
Lost Breed, Save Yourself
Lost Goat, Equator
My Dying Bride, Turn Loose the Swans
Natas, Delmar
The Obsessed, The Obsessed
Spiritual Beggars, Ad Astra

A few of those CDs I already own, but there are difference. The Fu Manchu is the original Bong Load Records version, where before I only had the reissue, and though it’s my third copy of Jam Room — probably my least favorite Clutch album — it’s the River Road Records pressing, and I think they only made six of them or something, so I was stoked to find it. Ad Astra is the Music for Nations digipak edition, and Chrome Locust is in a jewel case, where I’d only ever seen the digipak, so I grabbed that as well. The Jethro Tull had a sticker on it that it was the first CD issue, which made it too good to pass up. If you’re wondering, by the way, whether or not I believe everything I read on stickers stuck to jewel cases: Yes. Yes I do.

Lost Goat is on Man’s Ruin and I didn’t already own it, so that was a given. The Natas record I thought might have been a different catalog number than mine, but no, it’s a genuine double. I was bummed out on that until the other night when I thought to myself, “Gee, I sure would like to listen to the first Natas album,” and I actually had a copy on me because I was holding onto it to write about today. Maybe one just wasn’t enough.

Of the two Hellhound Records purchases, the highlight is unquestionably The Obsessed‘s The Obsessed. I had the Tolotta reissue previously, but you can’t beat the original. I had seen it for sale on Redscroll‘s eBay store, and asked if I could buy it right there in the shop. They were more than accommodating. The other Hellhound album, Lost Breed‘s Save Yourself, was the US version, where I’d only had the European before. Or maybe that’s reversed. I don’t know. The catalog numbers and back cover art are different. Apparently that’s enough for me these days.

I legitimately hadn’t owned the Bottom or My Dying Bride CDs (or the Lost Goat, which was meh), and I was stoked especially to hear the former, which didn’t disappoint. Crazy to think it’s been five years since Bottom put out their last album, but I suppose it has. Hearing their debut for the first time, it was easy to tell what Rise Above, Man’s Ruin and Small Stone all saw in the band, and by that I mean killer riffs and lethal groove. An excellent capper for an even more excellent haul.

Sometimes my nerditude embarrasses even me.

But whatever. It’s the original Welcome to MeteorCity compilation on eBay for $15 — you’re god damn right I’m not letting it go. I grabbed it and waited for the mail like a kid about to take his X-ray specs to the girls’ locker room, throwing on its 17-track glory as soon as I could rip open the package it was shipped in. I was ecstatic to find the condition as advertised — “Like New” is open to interpretation sometimes — and though most of the lineup is well familiar to me with bands like Sixty Watt Shaman, Fatso Jetson, Goatsnake, The Atomic Bitchwax, Roadsaw, Dozer and Natas, it’s the first thing MeteorCity ever put out! MCY-001. Doesn’t get much cooler than that, as far as I’m concerned.

No doubt the highlight is the closer, an acoustic cut by John Garcia (and two guitarists) performing under the moniker J.M.J. called “To Believe,” but seriously, the only things Welcome to MeteorCity is missing are Wino and Orange Goblin and it would just about be a complete document of everything stoner rock should be. Rotors to Rust‘s “The Only One” proved to be much more stonerly than their All That’s Heavy album, which was a pleasant surprise, and Lowrider‘s awesome “Texas Parts 1 & 2″ was a great reminder of how incredible that band was in their time. I don’t know much about User or Drag Pack, so I got a little homework out of it, and any day on which I hear “Supersoul” by Dozer I count as a good day, this one included.

Of course, MeteorCity has grown and changed hands since Welcome to MeteorCity was released — the label put out a follow-up this year called Welcome Back to MeteorCity featuring current artists — and stoner rock has expanded in almost every direction possible as a genre despite everyone’s denial that they play it, but like the best of compilations, this captures not only a great group of bands, but also a genuine moment in the timeline of the style. I was lucky to find it so cheap and it’s already right up there with Roadrunner‘s Burn One Up comp as the best of the “various artists” section on my shelf. This is one instance where fantasy met reality and came out of it no worse for the wear.

This past weekend, I paid for a copy of The Desert Sessions Vol. I/Vol. II on Amazon. It was the cheapest I’d ever seen the CD for sale — and believe me, I checked regularly — and I knew from habitual eBay browsing that I wasn’t going to do any better in terms of price, so I grabbed it for $28. Even with the couple bucks shipping, it was a bargain, and as I’ve been pining away for this lost Man’s Ruin gem for longer than I at this point care to admit, I figured it was high time to bite the proverbial bullet and shell out the cash. So it was done.

Showed up in the mail yesterday and I popped it on this morning for the first time, and well, there are some cool tracks. “Girl Boy Tom’ has a good feel, and “Cowards Way Out” is among the more developed of the ideas present, and the few cuts at the end with vocals — “Johnny the Boy” might be my favorite of the bunch — pretty much rule, but there’s no way these songs could have lived up to my expectation. My life remains as it was yesterday: mostly in need of caffeine.

Still, I don’t have buyer’s remorse in the traditional sense because (1:) I know I got a good deal and (2:) I legitimately wanted to own The Desert Sessions Vol. I/Vol. II enough to justify the price. So what if the music didn’t reshape my perception of the world? Even if I listen to it two or three more times out of obligation and stick it on my shelf forever, at least I’ll be glad to see it every time I look over there. It’s not everything it could be, but it’s everything it is, and that’s enough.

Okay, so maybe you don’t get the full effect of me pointing to myself with my thumbs while I say the punchline, but I think you get the point. It was eBay, it was seven dollars, and with that now-iconic image of the windmill on the front, there was no way I was going to let this promo single for Kyuss‘ “Demon Cleaner” from 1994′s Welcome to Sky Valley pass me by.

I’m more than willing to grant that buying a single song I already own several times over for seven dollars is just plain silly, but the artwork makes it. It was probably a radio single, because the back says it’s a promo — the “import” retail version was two separate discs; the height of major label B-side/ripoff chicanery was CD singles — and it wouldn’t make any sense for a full jewel case one-track single to have gone to press, even back in the economically roaring ’90s. The track, of course, is one of Kyuss‘ most recognized. In all honesty, there aren’t many situations in which I wouldn’t pay seven dollars to hear it.

And hey, at least it wasn’t the “Green Machine” single that went for $15 with nothing but a sticker with some Kyuss/Faith No More tour dates for a front cover. It’s by no means the least responsible CD-buying expenditure I’ve ever made, even as far as Kyuss goes, so I’m just glad to have the cover to stare at and another Kyuss jewel case to put on my shelf. It’s the little things.

The box arrived in the mail yesterday and I found it when I returned home last night after work, class, a minor car accident and a much-needed visit to the bar. It was, to say the least, the highlight of my Thursday. Here’s the haul, alphabetized to the best of my limited ability:

Black Rainbows, Carmina Diablo
Cuda, Hellfire
Dark Tooth Encounter, Soft Monsters
Deadpeach, Psycle
The Durango Riot, Telemission
Honcho, Burning in Water, Drowning in Fire
Oak’s Mary, Car Wash
Oak’s Mary, Mathilda
Revelation, Never Comes Silence (Leaf Hound version)
Sonic Flower, Sonic Flower
Stake-off the Witch, Medusa
Stonewall Noise Orchestra, Vol. 1
Suma, Let the Churches Burn
Tank 86, Behold
Ten East, Extraterrestrial Highway
Ten East, The Robot’s Guide to Freedom
Terra Firma, Harms Way
Unsoul, Magnetic Mountain
Void Generator, We Have Found the Space
Wallrus, Burn the Shivers
Wretched, Black Ambience

Just what I needed, just when I needed it. I look forward to a weekend of killer rock the likes of which I won’t again experience for a long time.

I’d already been in and out of Burlington Records and Downtown Records (?) with no finds. I almost bought a jewel case copy of Scissorfight‘s Mantrapping for Sport and Profit from the latter, because I only own the digipak and because we’re situated right next to New Hampshire and I consider everything north of Massachusetts to be Scissorfight country, but changed my mind last minute. A choice I lived to regret. I didn’t have high hopes for Pure Pop, because it’s one of those super-indie stores that so loves being indie, but I did alright in the end.

They have an experimental/post-metal/doom/stuff-snobs-like section that runs a gamut from Acid Mothers Temple to Sleep to John Zorn, and Slayer was filed under rock, not metal, but most of what I found was in the comedy section anyway. I grabbed Mitch Hedberg‘s Do You Believe in Gosh?, Patton Oswalt‘s Feelin’ Kinda Patton and 222, which is the same show, just unedited, and from the regular old metal section on in the far corner of the store, Ereb Altor‘s second album, The End, which I haven’t listened to yet, but can only imagine from what I remember of 2008′s By Honour sounds like Bathory-style Viking metal played at half speed. Translation: awesome.

I don’t suppose it was the best haul ever — I was at least momentarily more psyched by the shaved ice flavor “Tiger Blood” that was available at the nearby outdoor market — but screw it, comedy records are good for long drives, and I’ve been doing plenty of that lately. And honestly, I’d have grabbed some stuff out of that avant/pretentious section if I didn’t already own everything I wanted from it, so no slight on Pure Pop, which had a reasonably well-organized layout and broad range of available goods.

The dude behind the counter, who seemed to have some kind of animal tooth inserted in his septum (an instant reminder of the unintentionally hilarious Walking with Cavemen; Alec Baldwin‘s finest moment of voice-over) was polite and friendly enough, not condescending to my less than stellar finds, and all in all I felt positive about the experience. Cap the day off with a trip to the Ben and Jerry’s factory off the I-89 in Waterbury and mark it a win.

On my way back for a few days to Jersey and my humid, humid valley yesterday, I made a brief pitstop at Albany‘s Last Vestige Music Shop on Quail St. It was my first time there, and I thought initially they were closed since the neon “Open” sign was off and it looked like there were no lights on. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.

All hail the dying breed of independent music stores. They had vinyl galore, up front and in a back room, but since my buying proclivities lean me else-wise, I paid little attention to it, focusing instead on the vaguely alphabetized racks of used CDs. In the “Recent Arrivals” bin I found Lewis Black‘s latest, Stark Raving Black, which was alright, Blind Guardian‘s Live, which I apparently already own, and the Wino Daze compilation by Lost Breed on Helltown Records of Glenville, NY, a mere 40 minutes south from where I was.

It wasn’t an easy store to search through, as there was a lot in a relatively small amount of space and the organization wasn’t great, but Last Vestige seemed like a killer shop for classic rock mainstays. They had a small metal section from whence I grabbed the Lost Breed and Blind Guardian discs, but there was also most of the Judas Priest and Iron Maiden catalogs available used as well. If they’d had Rocka Rolla, I would have bought it, but no dice.

I was glad to have found Last Vestige, even if it wasn’t the most successful haul I’ve ever had. The Lost Breed disc is an interesting curio, and for that and the much-needed moment to regroup before getting on the terminally boring New York Thruway, it was easily worth the trip. I’d recommend stopping in to anyone passing through or by Albany, and as Last Vestige‘s Saratoga shop recently went out of business, and Albany‘s Music Shack also went under a few years ago, the store might just be living up to its name.

Turn it Up! is a pretty hip shop. There’s a picture of local resident/Tee Pee Records mainstay Dave Sweetapple (of Witch and Sweet Apple) up on the wall — and the numerous used Tee Pee promos for sale make me think maybe he’s been to the store once or twice — and they seem to cater mostly to the town’s abundance of hippie/jam rockers, though there was a small metal section. My major disappointment (aside from how visibly creeped out the girl stocking the bins was by me) came in a lack of Black Sabbath bootlegs. They had Metallica, they had Beatles out the ass, Neil Young and even Led Zeppelin, but not one Sabbath boot. Nothing. Come on, man. Give me one. Anything!

No dice. Don’t mean to harsh your mellow, trust fund hippies willingly living in poverty, but you’re a long way away from Coachella. I took my time looking around the store, partially because I seemed to be imposing on the staff by doing so (they were open until 10PM and I was in there around 5:30), then clumsily bought my three discs and left, feeling like a sucker for having made the trip. I didn’t expect a fucking haven of desert rock overflowing with Man’s Ruin discs, where I’d walk in, be handed a beer and get instantly pointed to the Kyuss, Etc. section, but give me a break. The attitude, the selection, the hyper-indie mindset: blech. Keep it. If I wanted to deal with that kind of bullshit, there are any number of stores in New York I could go to, and they’d probably have the new Woven Hand in stock, which no one on the planet seems to, myself included.

Using the Record Store Day website as my guide, there are a couple stores up in Burlington I might want to visit, but after Turn it Up!, I’m not going to imagine either much success or a particularly friendly reception. Seriously, it made the passive apathy with which I’m generally greeted at Generation Records, or Vintage Vinyl, or even Resurrection Records in CT seem like a warm hug. Was a long way to go for Eric Idle, I’ll tell you that much.