Sandbox Magician

Reblogged from abloodymess

cosmicnavel:

abloodymess:

An Ode To Reckless Records by Owen Q. Brazas
When I grew up I didn’t have no internet. Fucking crazy ass shit. All I had were Thrasher magazines, zines, and the desire to hear more than fuckin Aerosmith over and over. I wasn’t going to find Fugazi records at K-mart in 1990 and that’s what I fucking wanted. I only heard one song during a skate video and that’s all I had to go on. Thus began my parents driving me to either Record Swap in Homewood Illinois or when we went to Chicago, Reckless Records.
I bought my first Slayer cassette at Record Swap, I bought my first Fugazi record at Reckless. I remember throwing down the first Fugazi EP on the counter and getting nothing but other recommendations from the clerks. I used to have the hand written list the clerk gave me. I remember scribbles like, “Gotta get the Hoover record!, Like Neil Young? Try Dinosaur Jr!, Must hear Minutemen!!” I love(d) that record store, it was god damn treat going there and learning every time I went. This is what church and school must feel like for people who like that sort of thing! I learned how to interact with all sorts of different kind of people and how the big metal guy that looked sort of terrifying to a 12 year old was a big fucking teddy bear and made sure I got an Elvis Costello CD for free. I would hear oddball jazz and experimental records and ask what the fuck was I hearing. Sometimes I wanted to know, sometimes I didnt.
As I got older I kept going and the clerks changed. I remember buying a Black Flag record and a Sunny Day Real Estate record and the clerk kinda gave me some shit. That was the first time that ever happened to me, but you know what? Fuckin who cares!? I was a punk and I just sneered right back. His fucking loss, right? You hate my Rapeman Lp and I hate your Built to Spill LP, but we still can find common ground with Miles Davis and suck him off together later. Aint no different than the pissing matches I see on the internet nowadays, just done face to face. I prefer it that way (face to face) because if you really have something to say it is much harder to do in person than faceless internet land. As a music fan if you get your panties in a bunch over someone giving you shit, I don’t know what to tell you.
I like the record store. I like records and CDs. I am not a person that likes nothing. I like going someplace and talking to a person and walking away with some physical form of music. I can’t stand living in my head, I need to have these interactions in the real world. Message boards and chat rooms only go so far for me. I love the hunt. I love arguing in a record store. I can’t tell you any memories tied with being wasted and mediafiring a New Order album, but I sure as fuck remember buying The Jesus Lizard’s “Liar” because that was the same day I conned my parents into letting me use their car and we had got our first fake ID and bought shitty beer and threw up behind Reckless.
Do people who feel judged at record stores feel judged when buying food from the grocery store? I have never felt bad for buying my Coke and Steak. You got a problem with that cashier? Shut up and ring up my steak jerkball. I guess you can order everything from the internet and live in your room. Doesn’t sound rad to me.
So thank you record stores, and especially you Reckless. I love choosing to spend money that I can afford inside your walls. I love all that you have given me. I am glad I don’t have a shitty record store story. Thank you clerks for helping me navigate from Beach Boys to Slayer to James Brown to Miles to Joy Division and back again. You helped change my life for the better. (And thank you records for being a kind of photograph that will always be there).

Relevant/awesome.

As much as I love the Internet, discovering new music back in the day sounded like so much more of an adventure.

abloodymess:

An Ode To Reckless Records by Owen Q. Brazas

When I grew up I didn’t have no internet. Fucking crazy ass shit. All I had were Thrasher magazines, zines, and the desire to hear more than fuckin Aerosmith over and over. I wasn’t going to find Fugazi records at K-mart in 1990 and that’s what I fucking wanted. I only heard one song during a skate video and that’s all I had to go on. Thus began my parents driving me to either Record Swap in Homewood Illinois or when we went to Chicago, Reckless Records.

I bought my first Slayer cassette at Record Swap, I bought my first Fugazi record at Reckless. I remember throwing down the first Fugazi EP on the counter and getting nothing but other recommendations from the clerks. I used to have the hand written list the clerk gave me. I remember scribbles like, “Gotta get the Hoover record!, Like Neil Young? Try Dinosaur Jr!, Must hear Minutemen!!” I love(d) that record store, it was god damn treat going there and learning every time I went. This is what church and school must feel like for people who like that sort of thing! I learned how to interact with all sorts of different kind of people and how the big metal guy that looked sort of terrifying to a 12 year old was a big fucking teddy bear and made sure I got an Elvis Costello CD for free. I would hear oddball jazz and experimental records and ask what the fuck was I hearing. Sometimes I wanted to know, sometimes I didnt.

As I got older I kept going and the clerks changed. I remember buying a Black Flag record and a Sunny Day Real Estate record and the clerk kinda gave me some shit. That was the first time that ever happened to me, but you know what? Fuckin who cares!? I was a punk and I just sneered right back. His fucking loss, right? You hate my Rapeman Lp and I hate your Built to Spill LP, but we still can find common ground with Miles Davis and suck him off together later. Aint no different than the pissing matches I see on the internet nowadays, just done face to face. I prefer it that way (face to face) because if you really have something to say it is much harder to do in person than faceless internet land. As a music fan if you get your panties in a bunch over someone giving you shit, I don’t know what to tell you.

I like the record store. I like records and CDs. I am not a person that likes nothing. I like going someplace and talking to a person and walking away with some physical form of music. I can’t stand living in my head, I need to have these interactions in the real world. Message boards and chat rooms only go so far for me. I love the hunt. I love arguing in a record store. I can’t tell you any memories tied with being wasted and mediafiring a New Order album, but I sure as fuck remember buying The Jesus Lizard’s “Liar” because that was the same day I conned my parents into letting me use their car and we had got our first fake ID and bought shitty beer and threw up behind Reckless.

Do people who feel judged at record stores feel judged when buying food from the grocery store? I have never felt bad for buying my Coke and Steak. You got a problem with that cashier? Shut up and ring up my steak jerkball. I guess you can order everything from the internet and live in your room. Doesn’t sound rad to me.

So thank you record stores, and especially you Reckless. I love choosing to spend money that I can afford inside your walls. I love all that you have given me. I am glad I don’t have a shitty record store story. Thank you clerks for helping me navigate from Beach Boys to Slayer to James Brown to Miles to Joy Division and back again. You helped change my life for the better. (And thank you records for being a kind of photograph that will always be there).

Relevant/awesome.

As much as I love the Internet, discovering new music back in the day sounded like so much more of an adventure.

Sandbox Magician

Notes