A Little Love For The Humble LP Dust Sleeve

Capitol 78 corporate sleeves

Let's talk about dust sleeves.  You know, the inner sleeve that protects the record from dust and scratches and goes inside the record jacket.  Unlike long-playing albums, 78s didn't come in a cardboard jacket.  They were simply sold in a brown paper cover, often printed with the label's or the record dealer's logo. When 45 rpm singles were introduced in 1949, they were also sold in plain paper sleeves, often with the label's logo, and later in more collectible picture sleeves that featured images of the artist or a photo to evoke the mood of the music.

My 1959 NM original mono copy of Time Out
in its original glassine dust sleeve

Early paper record sleeves weren't quite the same as the inner dust sleeve which comes inside the cardboard jacket with 12" LPs.  Some of the albums I have from the 50s originally came with an inner sleeve made of glassine, a slightly yellowish paper with some of the properties of plastic.  At right is a photo of my original NM/VG+ 1959 mono copy of Dave Brubeck's Time Out with the original glassine dust sleeve.  Even though it's made from paper, the glassine manufacturing process results in a slick paper that is opaque and water resistant.  If you ever collected stamps you probably used little glassine envelopes to save and protect the stamps.  And in lots of old books, glassine pages were inserted to protect images or "plates" from damage.  While glassine is still around and in use, I don't actually store any of my LPs in the original glassine sleeves.

In the modern LP era, the vast majority of dust sleeves are made from paper or some type of polypropylene.  In the 50s and 60s, some labels used thin, clingy, half-round plastic sleeves.  I have a number of Columbia (and other) issues with those.  A lot of Japanese issues also used these half-round plastic sleeves.  They are notoriously hard to get in and out of the jacket.  You end up putting the bottom in first, leaving the open part of the sleeve at the opening of the jacket, which kind of defeats the purpose of using a dust sleeve to keep dirt and dust off the LP.  [You do store all your albums with the opening of the dust sleeve at the top of the jacket, right?  Right?]

The dust sleeve at left is from a 1950s Capitol release.  Since most people were used to dealing with 78s, Capitol felt the need to explain what "This Protective Envelope" is for, noting that it "keeps your record dust-free and helps guard the grooves against scratches and abrasion."  They also helpfully provide tips for how to insert the sleeve back in the jacket.

MoFi dust sleeve

Overall the most common sleeves are plain paper, with or without a hole to show the label.  While many are just plain white, record labels quickly began to take advantage of the real estate available on the sleeve to advertise their other albums and promote their brand.  Later, certainly by the 60s, the record companies began to create custom inner sleeves with art, photos, credits, liner notes, song lyrics, and the like.  I suspect it tells you something about the label's level of support for the band or performer if they go all out for a glossy custom dust sleeve. And of course custom sleeves are great for the listener, as they provide even more space for art, notes, photos and information about the recording session and the artist. 

There are any number of available after-market

Sleeve City 2 Mil poly sleeve

sleeves to replace lost of damaged sleeves or just to provide better protection for your LPs.  One of the best known is the MoFi (Mobile Fidelity) style sleeves (above), which are made by numerous manufacturers.  While they resemble rice paper - with a smooth, soft feel - they are made from polyethylene.  Essentially a big plastic pouch, the back has a sealed white paper stiffener to support the sleeve and make it easier to insert into the jacket. The MoFi style sleeves are very nice, but somewhat expensive, so I mostly use them for rare and valuable records, not the bulk of my collection.  For normal LPs, I use a type of high-density polypropylene sleeve.  In fact, the first thing I do when I buy a new or used record is wash it on my VPI record cleaning machine and put it in a new poly sleeve.  (I save the original sleeve in the jacket as well.)  I use a 2 mil thick sleeve made by Sleeve City.  I find 2 mil to be the ideal weight -- the sleeves are thick enough to be easy to insert into the jacket, but not so stiff that they can scuff the record surface.  They have a smooth feel and anti-static properties, so the LPs don't cling to the plastic or develop a static charge.  They are also a good value, particularly if you buy them in bulk.

While I don't use them to store my records, I really enjoy looking at the original corporate and promo dust sleeves.  They are often a miniature time capsule from an earlier era, with insight not just about the music of the day, but fashion and hair styles, marketing techniques, the latest hi-fi equipment, social issues, and even the cost of living.  As an example, notice that the RCA sleeve at left offers to send you a copy of their complete catalog if you send them a quarter.  And below is an ad introducing "The Exciting New Way to Enjoy the Music You Want," called, at the time, "RCA Stereo 8 Cartridge Tape," better know as the 8-track tape. 

Dust sleeves can also provide valuable clues for dating a particular pressing or release of an LP.  If your LP is an undated repressing, you can sometimes narrow things down by checking the release date of the albums advertised on the dust sleeve.  If you think you might have a first pressing, be sure that the dust sleeve doesn't advertise any albums that were released after the original pressing date.  If so, then you probably don't have a first pressing.  In addition, some albums have a custom insert - maybe a lyric sleeve or poster -- that was not included with later pressings.  However, keep in mind that if you are buying used albums, you can't discount the possibility that the previous owner put the disk in the wrong sleeve.  On a recent online order I received, about half the LPs were in corporate sleeves that didn't match the label.

Because so many used LPs come with the 
wrong dust sleeve, I have dozens and dozens of extras.  I save them, and from time to time am able to match up an album with the original sleeve, even for releases that are 30 or 40 years old.  

While I always prefer to have the original inner sleeve, it's not a big factor to me when I'm shopping for used vinyl.  When shopping online, you generally won't know anyway, since dealers rarely mention the sleeve in the item description unless it's unusual or damaged.  The exception would be for custom dust sleeves, posters, or other inserts -- like the cutouts from Sgt. Peppers.  And even then, if the vinyl is in prime condition, I figure sooner or later I'll find a cheap copy with a trashed LP but a jacket and inserts in good condition. 

Dust sleeves are just one more reason why I find collecting LPs such an interesting hobby.  Enjoy the music!

Definitive Versions Of Judee Sill's Forgotten Masterpieces

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard a song by Judee Sill.  It was a Saturday morning, early in 1974.  I was a sophomore in high school and had driven to the next town over from mine (where there was a music store) to buy a guitar.  I ended up getting a Fender F-65 acoustic.  Forty-four years years later, I still have it.

With my new guitar resting in its case in the backseat of my VW bug, I headed home.  As always back then, my car radio was tuned to WFDD, the campus radio station of Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem.  These days it's hard to imagine that people listened to the radio to discover new music.  But FM radio was an important musical lifeline for me and my friends at the time.  And WFDD was by far the hippest station in the area, playing a great selection of our favorite rock 'n' roll, as well as lots of strange and interesting stuff by new and obscure artists.

As I headed home, I heard a terrific new (to me) song coming over the airwaves.  I was so taken with it, I pulled over and stopped the car so I could be sure to hear the DJ when he announced the name of the singer.  The song turned out to be "Soldier Of The Heart" off Judee Sill's 1973's album, Heart Food.  A couple of weeks later, when I was in Winston-Salem, I went to a record store to see if they had the LP.  They did not, but they did have Judee's first album, the 1971 self-titled Judee Sill.  I bought it, and asked them to order a copy of Heart Food for me.  In this age of Spotify and Amazon, it's hard to imagine that I actually had to have the record store order the album for me and wait a couple of weeks for them to get it.

Sadly, once I had those two albums, I had the entire recorded musical output of Judee Sill during her lifetime.  But for my money, you'd be hard pressed to find two albums by any other singer/songwriter that can match the poetry and depth of Judee's two LPs.  (Inevitably, there have been a number of posthumous releases of studio outtakes and live recordings that, while interesting, really don't add much to her legacy.)

I played Judee's two albums hundreds of times over the coming years.  Luckily, even as teenager I took care of my vinyl, and my 35+ year old original copies currently rate at VG+/VG (Judee Sill) and NM/VG (Heart Food).  Still, as two of my all-time favorite albums, more than once over the years I worried that if something happened to them, I might never find replacements.  From the 1980's on, I kept my eye out for backup copies in the used record bins, but never saw a single one, which isn't surprising considering how few records she sold.  In an interview in Rolling Stone in 1972, Judee says that her first album sold about 40,000 copies, (which was actually pretty respectable for a first album).  But her second album flopped, and her record label, Asylum, dropped her. Not long after, years Judee's life spiraled out of control.  With a long history of drug addiction and abuse, she died of an overdose in 1979 at the age of 35.

For the next three decades, Judee was mostly forgotten and her albums were never reissued.  Finally, in 2003, Rhino released the first CD versions of both albums.  Each included about 10 bonus tracks of demos and live recordings.  I quickly ordered them.  Even though I hardly ever listen to CDs (then or now), I figured that at least I would have a reference copy in case something happened to my LPs. Then in 2004, I was excited to see that the re-issue label 4 Men With Beards had released the first new vinyl versions in more than 30 years.  I quickly ordered those as well.  The albums are nicely pressed on 180-gram vinyl by the reliable Rainbo Records.  The replica jackets are on heavy stock with beautifully reproduced artwork.  But, to my ears, the sound is terrible -- flat, compressed, and rolled off on top.  Not nearly as good as the original pressings.  Sigh.

But, proving that all good things come to those who wait, last year, Intervention Records announced that they were issuing remastered, deluxe versions of Judee's albums.  Once again, I quickly ordered copies.  Turns out they weren't kidding about the "deluxe" part.  Kevin Gray at Cohearent Audio remastered the albums from the original analog master tapes, creating new, double-disk, 45 rpm versions of the albums.  The jackets are beautifully reproduced on thick stock.  Naturally, I was anxious to hear how these reissues stack up to the originals.  The original issues were released on the Asylum label and were both mastered at Atlantic Studios.  And in the case of Heart Food, my copy was mastered at Atlantic Studios by the legendary George Piros.  (AT/GP in the runout.)  My copy of Judee Sill was pressed by PRC Recording in Richmond, IN. My copy of Heart Food was pressed by Monarch Records, in Los Angeles.  Both of them sound really, really good -- open and airy with solid bass and terrific imaging and balance.

It's not faint praise to say that Gray's new 45-rpm versions sound amazingly like the originals.  They have the same clarity, spaciousness, and balance.  The pressings, by RTI, are perfect.  In fact, having done some A B comparisons, I can't reliably tell the two versions apart.  Maybe, just maybe, the new versions have a bit more clarity and pace - which could well be the benefit of the 45 rpm speed.  And even though my original copies are very quiet, the new versions are so dead silent that the music seems just a tad more focused.  Bottom line, if something happened to my original albums, I finally have back-up copies that I could happily live with for the next 35 years.

Enjoy the music!

Is It Possible To Have Too Many Records?

In the past few months we've been doing a lot of traveling -- visiting New York, Nashville, Spain, Portugal, northern California, southern Oregon, with a number of local trips mixed in.  As you might expect, everywhere we've gone I've spent time visiting used record stores and antique malls in search of LPs.  In addition, I've bought a number of new releases online and have stumbled across some great deals on Discogs and Ebay that were too good to pass up.  The result is that I've added more than a hundred albums to my collection in a very short time.

This is not the actual pile of records I bought. Warning: having this many records is hazardous to your health and will likely void your lease. Side effects may include vertigo and disorientation.

While getting a bunch of new records is clearly not a problem in and of itself, as I stare at the ever-growing pile of vinyl that I need to clean, catalog, and listen to, I've started to wonder if buying records is getting in the way of my enjoyment of music.  I generally spend four or five hours a day listening to records.  Sometimes I know just what I want to hear, and other times I'll browse the shelves and see what catches my eye - an old favorite or a hidden gem that I've forgotten about.  For me, that's a big part of the attraction of listening to music on LPs.  I get to reread the liner notes, enjoy the labels and cover art, and am reminded of where and when I bought the particular album.

But here is the problem: When I buy records, I have a regular process of cleaning, cataloging, and listening to the new titles.  And when it comes to jazz albums, I also like to spend some time learning more about the sessions, the musicians, maybe comparing different pressings, and reading reviews of the music.  Naturally, all of that takes some time.

The actual pile of new and used records waiting to be processed.

So with a never-ending stack of newly-purchased LPs, I find that I'm not spending much time listening to records already in my collection.  Whenever I put on Sgt. Peppers, Kind of Blue, or anything already in the collection, I feel a little guilty that I'm not cleaning and listening to my new finds instead.

The obvious solution is to quit buying so many records.  (Though I have to admit that those words in that order don't even make sense to me.)  I won't live long enough to listen to all the records I already have, so what's the point of buying more?  The answer, of course, is that no matter what you collect -- LPs, stamps, coins, comic books, baseball cards, wine, or whatever -- the fun isn't just in having a big honking pile of whatever it is you like to collect.  It's enjoying and appreciating what you have, while adding new and interesting items.  And like most collectors, I love the thrill of the chase -- hunting down obscure releases online, stumbling on an original Blue Note at a yard sale, or maybe discovering a new artist that I've never heard of at the local antiques mall.


Recently at one of my local haunts, I found a 1973 album on the Atlantic label called In April Came The Dawning Of The Red Suns by a group named Ramatam.  They put out two albums, the self-titled Ramatam in 1972, and In April in 1973.  I have never heard of them in my life and am pretty certain that I've never, ever seen one of their albums before.  How is that possible?  Well, it turns out to be a very interesting album (despite the inclusion of a straight-up cover of Stars and Stripes Forever.)  Plus, it has a great, oh so 1970s cover.  How could I not buy it?

Back to our story.  Despite grousing about having too many records (talk about your first world problems), I picked up a bunch of really interesting LPs during our travels this summer.  While we were in Portugal and Spain, I hit eight or ten used record stores, on the lookout for European artists that I like, as well as some Brazilian albums that are either very hard to find or amazingly expensive in the U.S.

Louie Louie, in Lisbon

In general, my record shopping experience in Portugal was not great.  In Lisbon I found an indoor shopping center that had three different used record dealers.  Unfortunately, in each one the selection was limited and expensive, and the building was so hot and stuffy that after about a half hour I gave up and went looking for a cold drink.  I had better luck at a shop called Louie Louie, which is downtown near Rossio Square, where I found a couple of LPs by the great Brazilian artist, Jorge Ben.  

Madrid, on the other hand, is overrun with excellent used record stores, including a half dozen that were within easy walking distance of where we were staying near the Palacio Real.  Among the ones that I particularly liked were Bajoelvolcan, La Metralletta (despite their regrettable "machine gun" name, with matching logo), as well as Discos Babel and Discos Bangla Desh.  The last two are side-by-side on a street behind Opera Square.

Discos Bangla Desh on the left, and Babel Discos on the right

I could easily have spent another two or three days going through all the record stores in Madrid, although I would have needed another suitcase to get all the albums home.  As it was, I found some great copies of Italian pop records, Spanish re-pressings of Brazilian disks by Vinicious and Odette Lara, Astrud Gilberto, and Antonio Carlos Jobim, an interesting early 1970s Colombian pop album by a sister act named Elia and Elizabeth, a couple of tango albums by Astor Piazzolla, the Argentinian master of the bandoneon, some UK and Spanish pressings of 70s rock albums, and even a NM copy of the U.S.-pressed Original Jazz Classic release of "Portrait of Wes" (Montgomery).

Finally, at a Madrid branch of the FNAC store (a French-based home electronics chain), they were practically giving away brand new re-pressings of classic jazz LPs from the 50s and 60s.  There are a slew of EU companies putting out these reprints, including Wax Time, Pan Am, DOL, Doxy, and Barcelona's own Jazz Wax label.  No doubt you've run across some of these if you've spent any time looking at jazz LPs in the last few years.  There is some discussion about the quality of these pressings, as well as questions about whether the companies are taking unfair advantage of lax European copyright laws to re-press albums that are still under copyright in the U.S.  Even if the later is true, as far as I know these records are perfectly legal to buy and own and are widely sold in the U.S. on Amazon and elsewhere.  As I wrote in my post about Rhino/Scorpio Blue Note re-pressings, as long as you know what you're buying (albums that are likely cut from digital files), it's hard to argue with brand new classic jazz albums that cost $10-12.

La Metralletta in Madrid

And while I've seen complaints about the quality of these reissues online, I will say that all of the EU jazz reprints that I have are extremely well done.  They are all pressed on 180-gram vinyl, have nicely-printed jackets on heavy stock (although usually not the original artwork), and seem to be pressed primarily at gzvinyl in the Czech Republic.  Even if they aren't the last word in fidelity, they sound pretty good to me, and there is something to be said for knowing that you are getting a brand new, flat, quiet, well-pressed album.  I have dozens of records pressed by gzvinyl, and every one of them is perfect.  I haven't been nearly as lucky with recent U.S. pressings.  (Speaking of which, I received my copy of the new remaster of Tom Wait's Blue Valentine in the mail today.  It was pressed by Independent Record Pressing in Bordentown, NJ, a relatively new plant that opened in 2015.  As I was cleaning the record, I saw that it had a bad scratch on the first track.  When I put it on the turntable, it skipped three or four times in the first 20 seconds.  Really??  It seems that about one third of all the new U.S. pressings I buy has some defect right out of the jacket -- unless they come from RTI, QRP, or a couple of the other high-end pressing plants.  Is quality control really that hard?  The Czechs seem to be able to do it.  What's their secret?  I don't know, maybe they just hire somebody to look at the albums before they get put in the sleeves and pull the ones with the big gauges in the vinyl?  You can read my previous post if you want more of this rant.)

In my trips to New York and Nashville, I was mostly disappointed with the shops that I visited.  I bought a few things, but overall -- and not surprisingly -- it seems that shops in big U.S. cities are more expensive and more picked over.  Since there is less competition, I tend to find more interesting records (and at much better prices) in record shops and antique stores in smaller cities and towns.

Above is a small selection of the haul from our Spain and Portugal trip. 

Enjoy the music!

Tips For Buying Used Records And General Grousing About New Vinyl

I buy lots of vinyl from used record stores, thrift shops, and antiques stores.  In theory that's great, because I have a chance to check the condition of the cover and examine the vinyl to see if there are scratches or other issues.  But sometimes even that isn't good enough.

Some months ago I went to a record fair in a town near me with about 25 dealers offering used vinyl.  Over the course of an hour or so of browsing, I found a number of interesting titles at several different tables.  In each case, I checked the vinyl carefully before buying, and ended up with ten albums that looked pretty clean.  Unfortunately, the hall where the fair was held was dim, making it hard to really see the vinyl.  When I got the LPs home, I discovered to my horror that nearly all of them had scratches and scuffs that I had missed.  Still, I was hopeful that after a good cleaning they might sound OK.

Long story short, four of the albums are so noisy that I will never play them.  A couple that looked pretty iffy actually ended up playing fine because they are mono.  The rest were fine.  Since the albums had not been graded by the dealers, I had no one to blame but myself (and the dim lighting).  Luckily I didn't pay all that much for any of the titles.  But it serves as a cautionary tale: Even someone like me, who has been collecting LPs for more than 40 years, can have trouble judging the condition of a record just by looking at the vinyl.

Which, of course, is the problem when buying albums online, where nearly all the used albums for sale are visually graded.  And the fact is, even an experienced dealer can't reliably grade records just by looking at them.  I don't fault the dealer; he's hustling to add titles to his online site.  He can't possibly listen to all of them to assign a true "play" grade.  Instead, he grabs a stack of albums, spends 10-15 seconds looking at the condition of the vinyl under a strong light, and then makes a decision.  If it's nice and shiny and there are no obvious scratches, it's NM.  If it's shiny but has a couple of light hairline scratches or scuffs, it's VG+. If it has some more serious scratches but still looks pretty decent, it's VG.  If it's worse than than, I hope he throws it away.

On the other hand, I have dozens if not hundreds of LPs that look as shiny and new as the day they were pressed, but sound awful.  They may look great, but have ticks, pops, or other surface noise that detracts from the listening experience.  Sometimes it's a bad pressing, sometimes it's groove wear from a cheap turntable, sometimes there is a barely noticeable warp, or the LP is pressed off-center.  An album with any of these problems, no matter how shiny and new, is not NM.  But if I only looked at those records and didn't listen to them, I'd probably agree that they appear NM.

So how do you protect yourself when buying at a used record store or record fair?  Your best defense is to find the strongest light source available and really take some time to check for scratches or other possible defects.  (The flashlight function on your cell phone works pretty well - just ignore the strange looks from other browsers.)  Of course, it's easy to miss a small scratch or scuff, particularly in a dark store or when you're digging in the boxes under the regular bins.  So always check the amount of wear around the spindle hole as well.  It can be a good indicator of how often the record was played and how it was handled.  If you find small scratches on the vinyl surface, lightly feel them with your fingertips.  It's almost always true that if you can't feel the scratch, you probably won't be able to hear it.  With mono disks, even if you can feel the scratch it still might play well.  I have mono albums that look terrible but still play VG+ or better.  

Sometimes used record stores will have a record player or two attached to headphones so that customers can check the condition of the vinyl.  But, really, unless I'm looking at an album that costs upwards of $25 or so, I'm not going to take the time to listen to it in the store.  And just checking a few short sections at random isn't much use.  For that reason, I don't buy copies of popular albums that you can find for $10 or less just about anywhere, unless they look immaculate.  The exception being the stuff in the $1 bins.  For those, as long as the jacket is in reasonable shape, I usually don't even look at the vinyl.  For a buck, I'll take my chances.  Our local PTA thrift store gets all the ones that I don't keep and can resell them for a dollar.  It's the circle of life.

How about ordering online?  Obviously you can't inspect the vinyl.  So my simple rule is to assume that the LP will be one grade below the listed grade.  If it's listed as NM, it'll probably have a few ticks or other light noise that makes it an actual VG+.  I'm OK with that.  What I don't want is an album that is graded VG+ because it looks pretty nice, but in reality has 20 seconds of ticks from a minor scratch or some crackle or other groove noise that would have earned it a VG if the dealer had actually listened to it.  If the NM albums I order turn out to be genuine NMs, then I'm ahead of the game.  But if they're really VG+ with a couple of ticks or some other very minor surface noise, I'm still a happy buyer.

The other reason I seldom order albums unless they are graded NM, is that we can argue all day long about how much noise is allowed for a record to be graded VG+.  But if a record is advertised and sold as NM, then there is not much room for discussion: A record sold as NM should play with virtually no surface noise.

If I receive an album graded NM that has significant surface noise, I let the dealer know and politely propose what I think is a fair partial or full refund. To date, having bought hundreds of albums online, I've found that dealers are almost always willing to make it right.  

I have broken my rule about only ordering NM vinyl on occasion.  I once found an online dealer with a terrific selection of vintage jazz at very reasonable prices, nearly all graded VG+.  I found about 25 titles that I wanted, and then sent an email to the dealer with the list.  I told him that I only wanted the disks if they were really, really, really VG+, including my definition of the grade.  He agreed to pull the order and then recheck the disks.  In the end he found that three or four were iffy, so we deleted those from the order.  All the rest were at least VG+.  If you're ordering enough to make it worth the dealer's while, it's a good strategy.  And you can be sure I'll be ordering from that dealer again.

United Record Pressing, Nashville

Finally, a word about brand new albums that sound terrible.  I mean, a brand new album should sound great, right?  Apparently not.  I buy dozens of new albums every year.  For mainstream new releases or reprints made in the US, I find that about a third of the albums have issues, usually random ticks and pops that no amount of cleaning will get rid of, but also a number with groove noise, warps, or off-center spindle holes.  (In my experience, current European pressings are much better than their US counterparts overall.  When I have a choice, I often order the EU version of an album from Amazon UK or a dealer in Europe.)  Look, I understand that making records is a complicated process.  I'm frankly amazed that you can squeeze a microscopic groove into a chunk of molten plastic and then use a diamond-tipped stylus to play back phenomenal-sounding music.  And I also understand that the vinyl industry just about ceased to exist in the 90s.  The great pressing plants run by Columbia, Capitol, Allied, Presswell, RCA, Specialty Records, and the like, are all gone.  New plants are springing up, but they are being staffed by a whole new generation of operators.  The guys with 30 or 40 years experience making records are long gone.

Maybe because of the increasing demand for vinyl, I think things are slowly getting a better.  A few years ago I swore off buying any album pressed by United Record Pressing in Nashville after getting three or four really noisy Blue Note reissues that were pressed there.  However, I've recently gotten a couple of albums made by United that sound pretty good, so maybe they're finally addressing their QC issues.  And there are other US plants, like QRP and RTI, that are making high-quality records.  However, at least for the moment, I have to say that the overall level of quality for new vinyl releases is nowhere near the level of albums made in the 50s, 60s, or 70s.  I have thousands of albums from those decades, and only a handful have the kinds of problems that are common with modern releases.

On the other hand, I have had good luck with US audiophile labels.  Albums by Analogue Productions, Mobile Fidelity, Impex, Classic Records, Music Matters -- just to name a few -- generally sound superb.  But not always.  I was delighted to see that MoFi had released a remastered version of Ry Cooder's classic album "Paradise And Lunch."  It's one of my all time favorite records with great songs and inspired performances.  I have two copies of the original Warner Brothers pressing from 1974 that are a touch above VG+.  But I was anxious to hear what Kurt Wonderlich at Mobile Fidelity could do with the original tapes and ordered the new version.

First the good news: The sound is extraordinary.  The original albums sound very good, but this is a whole new level of texture and detail. The only problem is that my copy has a skip between tracks A2 and A3.  (Yes, it's actually between the tracks, so it doesn't affect the music, but I still have to get up and move the stylus.) I have dozens of MoFi recordings (most, like this one, pressed by Record Technology Incorporated in Camarillo, CA), and have hardly ever heard so much as a random tick on any of their disks.  I cleaned the new album twice.  I used my digital usb microscope to inspect the groove and see what the heck was going on.  I couldn't see anything that would cause a skip.  I tried it on my backup turntable -- it still skipped.  Grrr.  Now I have to go the trouble of getting a return authorization, sending it back, and waiting a week or two for a replacement.  And of course, if it turns out to be a pressing defect, there is no guarantee that the replacement won't have the exact same skip. 

Another new album I bought recently, a repressing of Astrud Gilberto's Now, had the worst warp I've even encountered.  The needle goes up and down like the skiers' knees in the mogul competition in the winter Olympics.  Once again, I had to go to the trouble of requesting a return authorization.  In this case, the dealer said that if I'd send him a short video clip to show the warp, he wouldn't ask me to send the disk back, which I thought was a great idea.  He was suitably impressed by the video and immediately agreed to send a new copy.  I had a similar experience with a Discogs dealer who sold me three LPs advertised as NM, that turned out to be more like G+. He was incredulous that he had could have been so badly mistaken about the disks, so I offered to send him brief audio clips from each album. After he heard them, he blamed one of his staff for the mis-grading, but agreed to refund the price without making me send them back. Below is actual footage of my needle in the record groove.

The bottom line is, unless you are spending hundreds or thousands of dollars for a first edition Blue Note online (when you want to be absolutely sure that the album has been meticulously evaluated and correctly graded), you should assume that the condition of any record you buy will be one grade below whatever is listed.  That way, as long as the price is reasonable, you're still going to be pretty happy with the listening experience.  It's also fairer to the dealers, who I think on the whole try to be accurate in their grading.  I recently read a rant of a review by a buyer who was incensed that an album labeled "very good" wasn't very good at all.  Well, duh.  The dealer's response was measured:  He suggested that the buyer spend some time reading the guidelines for record grades.  Just like the grades for stamps, coins, and other collectibles, very good isn't very good at all.

If you're buying used LPs from a store or at a record fair, do your best to carefully inspect the vinyl in a good, strong light.  But also just accept the fact that sometimes even a record that looks great will still have some issues.  You can always upgrade when you find a better copy later.  It's part of the fun of looking for LPs and the joy of listening to records in the first place.

Enjoy the music!

Blue Note First Pressings -- Estate Sale Jackpot!

Recently I got an email about an online auction for an estate sale near me. I took a look at the accompanying photos and noted that there were five or six lots of LPs up for bid, with about 20 LPs in each lot. The photos were not great, but most of the titles seemed to be easy-listening stuff and movie soundtracks. However, in one lot I could make out Someday My Prince Will Come, and Porgy and Bess by Miles Davis. There were a few other jazz titles mixed in with some other lots, and in one photo I saw a couple of Ahmad Jamal albums along with a June Christy and a Julie London. I'm a big Ahmad Jamal fan, so I took a closer look to see what else was included. In addition to the Jamal albums, I saw what looked like copies of The Jazz Messengers At The Cafe Bohemia, Volume 1 and 2. Hold the phone. Those are extremely collectible Blue Note LPs, potentially worth a small fortune depending on the pressing and condition. 

Could they be original 1956 pressings? I went back through all the auction photos and studied the albums carefully. I made a list and looked at the pressing dates online. From what I could see, every single album from the estate was released between 1955 and 1962. Well, that was promising, though of course it was impossible to tell the condition of any of the albums. But even if the Blue Notes turned out to be a little beat up, or 1960 re-pressings, they would still be well worth having. Since the minimum bid for any of the lots was only $2, I figured there was nothing to lose and punched in my bid.

A couple of days later, as the end of the auction neared, I logged onto the site to see how my bid was doing. Still $2. As the clock ticked down, all of a sudden the high bid popped up to $6, beating my original $5 maximum bid. Luckily for me (and unlike eBay for example), this auction site had a feature to extend the bid time if a bid was entered near the deadline. So I put in a maximum $25 bid and waited. Once again, just before the deadline, I got outbid. Dang. Clearly someone else had spotted the two Blue Notes. The bidding went back and forth a few times, each of us adding $5, until I finally got tired of messing around and upped my maximum bid to $125. I figured that even if the Blue Notes were re-pressings or weren't in great shape, by adding in the Ahmad Jamals, the Julie London and a few others, it would still be a reasonable price for the entire lot. Luckily for me, the other bidder gave up at $100, and I got the albums for $105. 

I had to wait another couple of days until the items were available for pick up. After driving over and claiming my bag of albums - 22 in all - I took them back to the car. I couldn't resist taking a quick peak at the Blue Notes. They were in old, poly outer sleeves that were pretty grimy. However, the jackets themselves looked to be in good shape. I gingerly took the Volume 1 disk out of the jacket (there was no dust sleeve) and started running through the list of things to look for in a Blue Note first pressing: Framed front cover? Check. Flat edge on the vinyl? Check. Hand-etched RVG (Rudy Van Gelder) and a Plastylite "P" stamp in the run out on both sides? Check. 767 Lexington Ave. address on both sides of the label? Check. Deep groove on both sides? Check. New York 21 address on the back of the jacket? Check. The same for Volume 2. My heart skipped a beat and I carefully put the albums back in their jackets. I put the bag of records in two more bags, wrapped my down jacket around that, buckled the seat belt around everything, and headed home. 

I'll save you any further suspence. When I got back, I went straight to the LondonJazzCollector site to check his incredibly detailed and well-researched post called the "Complete Guide to the Blue Note Labels." After verifying everything twice, I am happy to report that I am the proud owner of first pressings of Blue Note BLP 1507 and BLP 1508. The vinyl on my copies cleaned up beautifully, leaving a great gloss with only some light scuffs and hairlines. The jackets are clean and sharp, with no splits or shelf wear, and only a trace of edge wear at the bottom corners. After playing them through, I grade them at VG++/VG+ and VG+/VG+. Both sound spectacular. I didn't notice it the first time I inspected the covers, but have since found that on the back at the top left of both jackets is what I assume is the original sales price, written in very small numbers with a pencil: 4.98. Checking online auction sites and Discogs, I estimate that these copies today are probably worth upwards of $500 each. Not bad for a $105 investment. And that's not even counting the Ahmad Jamals! 

Here is the run out info from the two albums. BLP 1507, original 1956 mono release:

Side 1: BN-LP-1507-A RVG [Plastylite "P" stamp]
Side 2: BN-LP-1507-B RVG [Plastylite "P" stamp]

BLP 1508, original 1956 mono release:

Side 1: BN-LP-1508-A RVG [Plastylite "P" stamp]
Side 2: BN-LP-1508-B RVG [Plastylite "P" stamp] 

As you can see from the photos, the labels look almost brand new.

I have had quite a bit of luck finding good deals at estate sales in the past, including a stack of about 35 minty jazz LPs from the 1950s and early 1960s (Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, Cannonball Adderley, Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington, Gerry Mulligan, etc.) that I found a couple of years ago for $2 each. However, I'm afraid it may be quite a while before I run across anything to match finding two original Blue Note pressings.

Enjoy the music!

Sammy Davis Jr. - The Wham Of Sam

I have 39 albums by Frank Sinatra. Although, technically, since one of them is a French box set with three disks, and another is a box set with six disks, I guess I really have 47 Sinatra albums. Which seems about right, no?  I also have 15 Dean Martin albums. And while I do enjoy listening to a little Deano from time to time, the real reason I have so many of his albums is because I keep finding NM copies in thrift stores for $1 apiece. And so, why not?

But until recently, I never gave much thought to the third key member of the Rat Pack - Sammy Davis Jr. Pound for pound, Davis was by far the most talented member of the group. He began performing in Vaudeville at the age of three. A consummate entertainer, Davis was a terrific dancer, a star on Broadway, a natural comedian, and one of the best impersonators in the business. And, as one reviewer famously put it, "he could sing his ass off." 

As luck would have it, a few months ago I stumbled across a couple of Davis's albums at a used record store and thought I'd see what all the fuss was about. 

The first LP I bought is a superb NM copy of The Sounds of '66, a live date recorded in Las Vegas, where Davis is backed by the Buddy Rich Orchestra. Holy Toledo, what a fantastic session. Rich and his band burn the house down, playing charts by George Rhodes and Ernie Freeman. Davis shows his amazing jazz vocal chops, matching the high-powered band note for note. 

The album opens with a spoken introduction by Davis. He says that it's 5:15 in the morning, and anybody listening to the record at home should know that he's in a room full of musicians, artists, friends, and family in the Copa Room of the Sands Hotel in Los Vegas where they are recording a live session. Apparently, after Sammy finished his regular show at the Sands that evening, he and Rich's band gathered for the recording session. The Sands Hotel was, of course, the clubhouse for the Rat Pack, where Frank, Dean, and Sammy headlined the bill -- individually and collectively -- throughout much of the 1960s.

The album's liner notes provide more details about the session: "By two o'clock, the lounge was jammed. People stacked up so high nobody could read the "Capacity" signs. Waitresses immobilized between stuck together tables. In a town where nothing distracts the hot roller, hot rollers got distracted . . . This was full-steam, all the way. No let up. Rhodes and Freeman alternated conducting the main Rich orchestra. Ernie Freeman got so wound up in the tempo of one number his arms flew out and his wrist watch sailed half way across the stage."  Too bad nobody had an iPhone to record the moment on video. 

This has to be one of the hottest, swinging-est vocal recordings I've ever heard. Every arrangement is fantastic, and the fever pitch never stops. On the closing number, Buddy Rich gives a drumming clinic that will take away whatever is left of your breath, with Sammy killing the lyrics. Just wow.

The other album I picked up at the same time is Davis's first recording for the newly-formed Reprise label, a 1961 release called The Wham of Sam. (Is that a great title or what?) Even compared to the amazing performance on The Sounds of '66, this is still an extremely strong outing. Since it's a studio recording, it lacks some of the heat of the live session. But not much. Davis is backed by a who's who of the West Coast's top session men, including Shelly Mann, Bud Shank, Mel Lewis, and Tony Rizzi. The arrangements, by long-time collaborators Marty Paich and Morty Stevens, are on a par with anything Nelson Riddle ever did for Sinatra. Plus, the blue cover photo of Davis holding a legendary Shure Unidyne microphone is a stone classic. My copy is the original 1961 mono version, just a couple of ticks away from NM, with a big fat lush mono sound.

In addition to the great performances on these two albums, as a collector I always enjoy seeing the artwork on the early Reprise labels. Frank Sinatra formed Reprise Records in 1960 in order to give himself more artistic freedom for his recordings, bringing along his Rat Pack buddies Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. By 1963, Sinatra was tired of running a record label and sold Reprise to Warner Brothers. The label flourished well into the 1980s and was home to such mega stars as Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Jimi Hendrix, and Frank Zappa, just to name a few.

The label on The Wham of Sam (left top) with the blue/orange/green design is one of several different color schemes for Reprise's famous "Steamboat" label. Named, obviously for the steamboat in the top left corner. My copy is a deep groove version, pressed by Columbia Records at their Terre Haute, IN plant. 

My copy of The Sounds of '66 (at left), is the same design with a different color scheme. This green/pink/yellow version of the Steamboat label was used by Reprise from 1963-1968. I've also seen gray/pink/yellow and green/blue/yellow versions. Sinatra's early Reprise albums are unique in that the steamboat is replaced by a photo of Frank in the top left corner. My copy of The Sounds of '66 was also pressed by Columbia Records, but this one at their Pittman, NJ plant.=

Since my earlier score, I've picked up another half dozen of Davis's LPs -- all from the 1960s. All the albums are strong, with great charts and superb performances. However, perhaps owing to his early days in Vaudeville, Davis had a tendency to include a song or two that were a little schmaltzy or overly dramatic. Given the high quality of his albums, those occasional clunkers stick out. But, oh my, what a voice.

If your only memory of Sammy Davis is his embarrassingly saccharine 1972 hit "The Candy Man," you owe it to yourself to give a listen to some of his 1960s Reprise albums.

Enjoy the music!