Entry 0104: Mix Tape 2016


7-inch: She is Beyond Good and Evil by the Pop Group

1979 Radar Records ADA 29

Favorite Track: She is Beyond Good and Evil


2016 was a terrible year. I shed many tears, clasped many a friend to my shoulder as we tried to hold each other up. However, 2016 was a great year in music for me. I discovered two bands that I binged on, finally got Hex Enducation Hour by the Fall, found some of my favorite punk albums as originals, discovered the groove in Veneuzuela during the 70’s thanks to Soul Jazz Records, and, like every one else, enjoyed the Stranger Things soundtrack. In fact, after making this list, I discovered this year I spent a lot of time listening to early electronic/industrial music–a good bit of it instrumentals. Needless to say because of the size, I am not going to put them in any particular order. You are going to have to be your own DJ (or just use the shuffle button).

2016 Mix

Song ————— Artist

  1. No One Can Find the War – Tim Buckley
  2. Carnival Song – Tim Buckley
  3. Pleasant Street – Tim Buckley
  4. Hallucinations – Tim Buckley
  5. I Never Asked to Be Your Mountain – Tim Buckley
  6. Once I Was – Tim Buckley
  7. Phantasmagoria in Two – Tim Buckley
  8. Get On Top – Tim Buckley
  9. Strange Feelin’ – Tim Buckley
  10. Buzzin’ Fly – Tim Buckley (Now in my top ten favorite songs of all time)
  11. Gypsy Woman – Tim Buckley
  12. Other – S U R V I V E
  13. Dirt – S U R V I V E
  14. Copter – S U R V I V E
  15. Angels and Demons – Echo and the Bunnymen (another favorite!)
  16. Erotic City – Prince (I already loved this song, but I rediscovered it)
  17. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas – Lee Ving
  18. Another Christmas Beer – Fear (a classic!)
  19. Soldier of Love – Arthur Alexander (also knew about this one but was excited to get it on vinyl)
  20. She is Beyond Good and Evil – the Pop Group
  21. Mind Your Own Business – Delta 5 (also just super excited to get on vinyl)
  22. I Remember – Suicide
  23. Radiation – Suicide
  24. Mr. Ray – Suicide
  25. Touch Me – Suicide
  26. Harlem – Suicide
  27. Breath the Fire – the Soft Moon
  28. Circles – the Soft Moon
  29. Out of Time – the Soft Moon
  30. Parallels – the Soft Moon
  31. Insides – the Soft Moon
  32. Want – the Soft Moon
  33. Black – the Soft Moon
  34. Wrong – the Soft Moon
  35. Deeper – the Soft Moon
  36. Rainbow Demon – Uriah Heep
  37. Sunrise – Uriah Heep
  38. Spider Woman – Uriah Heep
  39. Rain – Uriah Heep
  40. Sweet Lorraine – Uriah Heep
  41. Tales – Uriah Heep
  42. The Magician’s Birthday – Uriah Heep
  43. Green Machine – Kyuss
  44. Le Coeur Au Bout Des Doigts – Jacqueline Taieb
  45. Laisser Tomber Les Filles – France Gall
  46. Roller Girl – Anna Karina
  47. Je Suis Folle De Tant T’amier – Arlette Zola
  48. Black Star – David Bowie
  49. Lazarus – David Bowie
  50. I Can’t Give Everything Away – David Bowie
  51. Nine Plan Failed – Adam and the Ants
  52. Never Trust a Man (With Egg on his Face) – Adam and the Ants
  53. Paralysed – Gang of Four
  54. What We All Want – Gang of Four
  55. In the Ditch – Gang of Four
  56. Song I – Wire
  57. Internal Exile – Wire
  58. Dead Weight – Wire
  59. Still – Wire
  60. I’m on Fire – Chelsea
  61. Decide – Chelsea
  62. Blank Reflection – Nots
  63. Inherently Low – Nots
  64. Entertain Me – Nots
  65. Ha Ha Ha – the Julien Ruin
  66. Just My Kind – the Julien Ruin
  67. Cookie Rd. – the Julien Ruin
  68. Lookout – the Julien Ruin
  69. I Decide – the Julien Ruin
  70. Mr. So and So – the Julien Ruin
  71. Time is Up – the Julien Ruin
  72. Calverton – the Julien Ruin
  73. Araguaney – Vytas Brenner
  74. Amor en Llames – Pablo Schneider
  75. Machu Picchu – Un Dos Tres y Fuera
  76. Polvo Lunar – Miguel Angel Fuster
  77. Basheeba – Angel Rada
  78. Son De Tambor y San Juan – Un Dos Tres y Fuera
  79. Dame de Comer – Miguel Angel Fuster
  80. Caracas Para Locos – Ofrenda Vytas Brenner
  81. Panico a las 5 a.m. – Angel Rada
  82. Deny Everything – the Circle Jerks
  83. Back Against the Wall – the Circle Jerks
  84. What’s Your Problem? – the Circle Jerks
  85. Nine Million Rainy Days – Jesus and the Mary Chain
  86. April Skies – Jesus and the Mary Chain
  87. Stranger Things theme – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  88. Kids – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  89. This Isn’t You – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  90. The Upside Down – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  91. Hanging Lights – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  92. Over – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  93. Danger Danger – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  94. Making Contact – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  95. Breaking and Entering – Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein
  96. Baby Please Don’t Go – Budgie
  97. In the Grip of a Tyre Fitter’s Hand – Budgie
  98. Jumping Someone Else’s Train – the Cure
  99. Plastic Passion – the Cure
  100. Fire in Cairo – the Cure
  101. Dusseldorf – La Dusseldorf
  102. Time – La Dusseldorf
  103. Rheinita – La Dusseldorf
  104. Geld – La Dusseldorf
  105. Miss Fortune – Faust
  106. Der Garten Sandosa – Amon Duul
  107. Ein Wunderhubsches Madchen Traunt von Sandosa – Amon Duul


Whew, enjoy. It could have been longer.


Entry 0094: In the Maze, the Heart Beats


LP: La Dusseldorf by La Dusseldorf

1976 Nova6.22 550

Favorite Track: Silver Cloud


Recently, I have talked to my friends about their top ten favorite video games. Using that as a prompt, I will use the games as a writing prompt to write something wild, extraordinary–something Skip Rogers would approve of. Of course, if anyone of you out there beyond the Void of the Internet actually knows me, then this little series must begin with a simple game called Ms. Pac-man. Why is Ms. Pac-man my favorite game? A combination of things: I loved going to arcades as a child; I like simple one joystick games; I like how it is an improvement on Pac-man with moving fruit, changing stages, and a less rigid need to stick with pattern play. Or maybe I’m just in love with her. Shut up.

What I can take out of the game to make a story: the anxiety of being stuck in a maze, never finding your way out, being chased by ghosts of the past who seem to be around every corner, and maybe after just enough pills you can get out…


Made a left at the intersection…

There was a time she was worried about losing her car in a parking garage. Or misplacing her keys. Now all that felt rather foolish, petty even. Endless this place seemed. The walls all looked the same creepy peeling beige like a disused hospital wing. The light was a noncommittal gray and being filtered through some kind of gauzy ceiling. She came to another intersection. Two choices: left or right. Why did she feel like everything hinged on this decision?

Turned right for two steps, then backtracked to the left…

She began to hear other sounds than the soft falls of her foot. One was the sound of a bus or fire truck gunning its engine to clear a hill. The other was gibbering laughter. A third was like a spastic suction pump. The fourth was just more footsteps. She knew something would be in here. She imagined it large, hairy, and with sharp claws and slobbering jaw. Heat bore down on the back of her neck as she picked up her pace. Each decision at intersections were arbitrary: where was somewhere to hide? Panic had set in. Flashes of childhood friends, family, and, for reasons not entirely clear to her, video game characters passed like a college through her mind. What would Mega Man do? She laughed at that thought, then heard the footsteps right behind her.

The secret passage…

Again, the loud engine filled her ears with metal and compressed air. Hearing things was scary enough, but visioning the monster of her nightmares reaching for her was terrible. She knew in one second, a claw would pierce her flesh right at the base of her skull, paralyze her. Her legs didn’t work. It had already happened. She screaming nothing because her vocal cords had become cold, like the rest of her body as a shadow surrounded her. A stray thought: parking garages have doors leading to stairwells. She ran to the wall, her hands reaching for a doorknob that was not there. The shadow covered everything now. Her teeth chattered. That horrible laughter like a symphony of clacking skeletons and desiccated human skin suits. Her hand went through the wall. A screeching noise as if the brake pads were missing. She was in the wall.

The Dancing Fruit…

Her dreams had always been fantastic, but the dream logic behind them held a consistent strain of realism. Never did humans have wings and fly. Never did water become wine. Once, the trees were inverted but it was because she was in a hollow cave underneath the earth and the roots mirrored the limbs above. But as she passed through the wall into what she called a secret passage, she found herself surrounded by dancing fruit. Not regular sized fruit. Not larger fruit although they often looked like they were twice the size she had seen at the supermarket. But the fruit definitely lived within more than three dimensions so that aspects of them shimmered out for a second and came back when she looked at them from a different angle. Cherries, strawberries, oranges, pretzels (that’s not fruit her brain screamed but, on a hunch, she imagined them tasting like kiwis), apples, pears, and bananas. Each fruit sang a different pitch. The whole chorus made one sustained C chord. Only faintly could she hear an automobile accident. The fire truck was coming. Or was it already there? She touched a fruit and all went silver.

High score…

It took every effort for her to open her eyes. It felt like she was fighting somebody’s fingers holding down her eyelids. Then, when they were open, she wasn’t even sure she could see. Everything was a fiery brightness. Closing her eyes would be a smart idea, but she resisted. She wanted to know where she was. Crunching metal was but a dying echo in her ear. She sniffed spilt oil on pavement. A parking garage came to mind. Something fuzzy entered her field of vision. The monster! Once again, she failed to scream. A lone, long claw pierced the crook of her arm. Her vision cleared. A needle. A hospital. But no doctor. The needle was an automated machine. It looked like it fed on quarters. Heat returned to her body. Her limbs felt extra fresh as if they had woken up stronger and more vital than before. As if she gained an extra life. She stood up, donning some neatly folded clothes on a drab chair. The room contained a single bed and a boarded up window. The light bulb flickered then went out. As she opened the door, she swallowed nervously. The hospital was empty; the only sound her footsteps. Down the long stretch of hallway was an intersection with two choices: right or left…

Entry 0075: Roll the Bones for Your Fortunte, Part One


LP: Faust by Faust

2007 Lilith LR 138

Favorite Track: Meadow Meal


The x-ray revealed that Simon had seven metacarpal bones in his right hand. The doctor seemed nonplussed, whistling a dreary sort of sea chanty. Simon looked at the engorged knuckles of his middle, ring, and pinkie finger then back at the x-ray. At least it is not cancer, he thought to himself.

Dr. Wallace Watson, of Charleston and Southern politeness, smiled ruefully with permanent pink dimples. “I know a specialist. Dr. Terrance McMallard. He runs a practice at Tybee Island although he is a bit of an eccentric. Rambles about that Tybee Bomb and still calls the place Savannah Beach, which causes most of his clients to get lost.”

Dr. Watson clapped his hands together which was muffled by the charts and clipboard. “He knows a lot about extreme oddities of the human anatomy. And some other anatomies. Let me fetch you his card.”

Simon flexed his hand. He couldn’t feel any extra bones shifting or grinding against each other. Why only one hand? he thought morosely. Somehow he didn’t feel complete that he had half a set of extra bones. A thought that kept him up well past the dawn.


Simon felt a sense of uneasiness squirming through his arms and legs as he drove through Georgia. The thin, grey trees bothered him. The winding road forced a dizzying displacement of his normally natural sense of directions. A day owl dogged his vehicle for three miles, silent with white wings spread like outstretched fingers.

On the other hand, a college radio station out of Athens was rocking a Krautrock hour that had him mesmerized. In particular, a band named Faust (their song Jennifer was playing now) tickled his musical fancy. It had been years since Simon played the clarinet and bassoon, but as the German song droned on, he wished he could pull the car to the side and play a haunting solo to the knobby trees and falling foliage. The radio jockey had a bold, smoky kind of voice, like a fuzzy amp, and he made an apologist remark about the Krautrock genre name before playing a collaborative piece between Cluster and Brian Eno. Simon was part German and had once been called a Kraut (“as in sauerkraut!”) by a friend in the fourth grade, but he never really identified with that aspect of his heritage. As an American, he was privileged enough to forget he was white, he was male, he was part German, part Irish, that his grandparents had made the travel to the New World in search of a better opportunity; he never really stopped and thought about where and who he was at all. He just existed. But none of the labels–American, part German, white, male–ever seemed to definitively pin him down. They acted more like clothing he wore, descriptors that suggested who he was, but only up to a certain point.

Tybee Island was a sleepy coastal town with a wide stretch of goldenrod sand. Simon toured the famous lighthouse, ate a leafy lunch on a dock, then found his lodgings at a quaint bed and breakfast. When it started to grow dark, he sat in the rocking chair on the front porch and counted the bats he saw flitting between the distant trees. His mind never let off thinking about the x-ray.

Entry 0011: A Return to the Beginning


LP: Future Days by Can

2014 Spoon Records XSPOON9, Mute 9385-1

Favorite Track: Moonshake


Papa Jazz Record Shoppe can be found at 2014 Greene Street next to a Pita Pit and a Korean restaurant. It is located on a side street of the college shopping and nightlife area known as 5-Points, the city’s oldest shopping district and site of the first supermarket in Columbia, South Carolina. Restaurants, bars, and shopping boutiques fill the other store fronts along Harden Street. There are a few puddles remaining from the morning shower and people step around them in a holiday rush as they enter and leave stores with more bags in their hands. Things have not changed much since this small strip of land was one of my stomping grounds. The buildings still look like they could use a wash and a new coat of paint. Some of the store signs need repaired. The Irish tavern is still there, but it looked like the dive bar I first stopped to have a drink as a new Gamecock is for sale. I am here just for Papa Jazz, a return to the beginning of an obsession, a key location in the development of my musical tastes, but also my life.

A future entry will further expound on my reasons for record collecting. My first post (https://storiesonrecords.wordpress.com/2014/11/21/entry-0001-first-record-purchase/) made a comedy of an impulsive shopping purchase and flirtation attempt. But it was in May of 2006 when I first entered Papa Jazz that my record collecting started. I was immediately drawn to the store for a couple of reasons. First, you could walk right past it without seeing it. The brick facade is covered in torn flyers and poster remnants. The door easily could lead into a garage or auto repair shop. The signage is attractive but not imposing. Papa Jazz does not need to tell people where it is at; people know. Second, the name is perfect. If you are picturing a large room with record crates crammed between bookshelves full of CDs and DVDs, a variety of knick knacks lying around, and a man with grey ponytail in comfortable clothes, a professor of the cool before you even knew what that word meant, deciding which more esoteric record to put on the stereo then congratulations, you have correctly perceived Papa Jazz. The New Arrival crates sit by the cash register and there are plenty of others to dig through scattered around the perimeter of the store. I remember quite a few of my record scores throughout the years including my first at Papa Jazz, the first official record store experience I had.

I had grabbed Monster by Herbie Hancock because I was really into Speak Like A Child at the time as well as a Charlie Parker on dial LP, Billie Holliday’s All or Nothing at All, and Sketches of Spain by Miles Davis. I thought that was all I was going to buy, but I decided to hunt through the rock LPs just to see what was there. This decision radically changed my direction of record collecting. I was originally going to have a modest jazz collection. Music I could enjoy while cooking dinner or have wine nights with friends or writing music. When I found London Calling by the Clash and Horses by Patti Smith, I just added them to the pile and kept looking. But the gears in my brain were shifting. They were rewinding. Punk rock was the first time I found music that really spoke to me. It made sense for me to collect it. I didn’t also realize at the time how much the cover art was speaking and influencing me. When I got home, I put on some jazz on my new record player I had ordered online and sat on my bed. Everything was good, but Horses was great. Horses changed everything. And I couldn’t stop staring at Patti Smith in her white button up, jacket casually thrown over her shoulder, hair a bit untamed.

Today, as I walked into the shop, I remembered that first time. And how every time I walk into a record store it is the same thrill. Uncertainty. Atmosphere. Luck? What will I walk away with today or will I walk away with anything at all? Today, as I searched through the crates, I felt eight years younger. I asked myself: if today was my first day buying records, would it be the same? Would I become as obsessed as I did? I found a lot of albums I already have in my collection, but if it was my first time I would have bought. For a second, I considered buying them again so this imaginary recordless me could have the same thrill I had eight years. Yes, if today has been my first time, I would have been obsessed. Papa Jazz takes great care and pride to award dreams of music lovers.

I bought the re-issued, re-mastered Future Days by Can. The owner asked me how I was and said the store was doing great. I am proud to support it. I highly recommend if you are in the area to check it out. Or take a vacation to Charleston or Hilton Head and stop in on your way. Or check out their website at http://www.papajazz.com.

Record sales may continue to be going up, however, the majority of people buy them on Amazon or at Urban Outfitters. Let us save our small independent stores like Papa Jazz. They make record collecting worth it.