Noise Pollution #31: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
We’re just two weeks off from Christmas which means you’ll only have to suffer through year-end lists for another six weeks (since everyone does their "oh I forgot these came out in 202X" lists or some other stupid variation to continue to soak up attention) and it also means that I’ve already watched/listened to the Calmed By Nature ASMR channel’s Christmas offerings more time than I’ve spent thinking about how handsome and kind I am.
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Fuck yeah.
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It’s also the time of year where I’m spending entirely too much time writing lists that only serve as fodder for assholes on the internet to whinge about while I continue to try to soak up attention (I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite). Beyond that, it’s a special time of year where we gather with friends and loved ones and, in theory, take time to reflect on the year that’s just about to end and the memories of holidays past. At least that’s what it used to be, I’m pretty sure that’s half of the plot of Lethal Weapon, at least the Christmas tree scene, but let’s face it: we’re a society of consumers and those who feel they can only show emotion through a cash exchange. So rather than talk about video game music and fond childhood memories again this year I wanted to write about a universal feeling this season (and/or dating me) brings: disappointment.
As you might have gathered by now I’m a record collector, mostly because I want to listen to the fucking things, but I’m not above the bullshit stamp collector aspect of being a petulant child about colored vinyl. If I’m unable to get a specific color I tend to not buy the record until I’m able to track it down, probably a leftover from when I was a toy/comic nerd in my youth. I guess it just boils down to not being immune to bullshit that really doesn’t affect the impact the music has, though I’m trying. Just today I received a package from Season of Mist containing the new Woe record. It was advertised as the orange variant and the fucking sticker on the sleeve confirms that, however the record is black. I don’t blame Season of Mist for this, the indicator outside the goddamned thing even said it was orange. But, that was a bummer. The same shit happened years ago when I worked at the record store and we kept ordering copies of Amebix’s Monolith that was supposed to be whatever fucking color variant that Back on Black said on the front of the fucking packaging it was only for it to be black every time. This instance I do blame Back on Black for it, mostly because they released The Isolationist and never sent me a single fucking copy but continue to send bills related to the cost a decade later.
But the record that spurred this rambling on is actually perfectly seasonal and one that I’ll probably never get unless I’m purely lucky and/or blow someone for it. You’d think it would be some super rare first press Deathcrush or something fitting to whatever perception you may have of my listening habits. But you’d be wrong. It’s in fact:
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Yep. The fucking Andy Williams Christmas record, reissued on 180g red vinyl. When I rejoined Discogs earlier this year it was actually one of the first records I put on my Wantlist, right next to the Oven demos and the glow in the dark Arts 7" (which I did eventually grab). I also have alerts for eBay for it and would check Amazon, even in the middle of fucking July. There were a few on Amazon but they were closing in on $100. Then, a few weeks ago, a “VG+” copy appeared for less than twenty bucks. I bought it without a second thought.
It took awhile to get here, when I’d check the tracking info I got the super fun “your package has been delayed in transit” message, which means it could take four years to get it. But, it did eventually come, a few days after Thanksgiving. The first sign that there was something unwholesome about it was that it was sent in an envelope, like the kind you send documents in when you’re getting divorced, and the envelope looked like it was carried to my house in between the postman’s ass cheeks. Upon opening the package I was greeted with a 1960’s copy, which I guess would have been a downer but acceptable for what I paid, until I picked it up and the fucking cover just fell apart, like shaking a baby with leprosy. The vinyl itself was in G- (see there’s the nerd shit) condition, meaning it would play but sound like Andy had a stutter. So either the seller was a complete moron with second grade reading comprehension and put it in the wrong listing because they had the cognitive ability to read words but not understand their meaning or, and this is more likely because I want to hate this person, they were being a duplicitous Grinch (ie. someone who huffs dogshit) and were hoping no one would notice. I went back to the listing (the cheapest copy now goes for $80) and saw half a dozen other sellers posting there, but at least they state it’s a vintage copy. So basically I’m fucked and I’ll continue the hunt for this very specific Christmas record because now I have a bug up my ass and won’t be satisfied unless it’s the 180g Christmas fucking red vinyl.
I am in a black metal band, why do you ask?
Every December there would be a punk rock flea market taking place in Philadelphia, somewhere near Spring Garden. I only know that because my girlfriend at the time lived there and we could walk to the fucking thing. Anyway I’m sure they still do it but this particular year, 2011 or 2012, it was also attached to a record show and that meant the vendors were a bit more curated towards the attendees tastes than the usual record show hodgepodge of shit. There were vendors with all kinds of rare shit, old punk 7"s for hundreds of dollars, weird rare psych, rare metal. The kind of records that were cool to look at but probably should be in a museum for what these guys were charging. But there was one vendor who had row after row of killer records but nothing really stood out to me. Then, a few rows down I saw it, a grail of mine : Antisect's In Darkness There is No Choice–a quintessential crust record–almost as great/important to me as the Amebix records and an absolute unicorn in the wild.
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As I made my way through the dense (and unbathed) crowd, ready to pay whatever the dealer wanted to finally own a vinyl copy of one of my favorite records I came within a few steps of it when, and this isn’t hyperbole or an exaggeration, some kid pushed me out of the way, threw money at the vendor, grabbed the record and took off running. This wasn’t a bumping into me on his way to the finish line, the fucker put both hands on me and shoved. Without thinking I took off after him to, I guess, beat the shit out of him and take his record? I don’t know, I was in shock that someone actually put hands on me and threw currency like it was the Cabbage Patch Kids rush in the fucking '80s, which I also got trampled in one day when I was trying to get the Knight Rider car and figure set. I ended up taking shelter under a table while dozens of moms with hockey hair and lit fucking cigarettes battled it out. Maybe I had a flashback to that while the dude was running away with the record. Who knows? I probably need fucking therapy.
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I caught myself mid-chase and realized what a petulant asshole I was being but this realization didn’t help my dogshit mood, so I found myself at the bar with an overpriced PBR tallboy at 10am until I said “fuck it” and just hit some local record stores instead. But, over ten years later, this memory sours my stomach almost as much as it did the day it happened. By the time Antisociety did what were, I guess, unauthorized represses I had put a hold on collecting anything and didn’t even look at any version on Discogs until earlier this year. In Darkness There is Now Choice remains my great white whale, and, considering the mess Antisect past and present are, I’m sure there will not be a repress anytime soon.
I think we all need to stop for a moment and realize that this kind of “I got the wrong thing for Christmas” mentality is both childish but also real and not to let it shit up our days. Records, like everything else, come and go. We don’t have very much time here, some of us less than others and, frankly, the hunt is better than the kill in most cases.
I guess I’m saying we (I) need to grow the fuck up. Merry Christmas, I leave you with the most depressing Christmas song I’ve ever heard. See you in two where I pick up my exciting story from Krieg’s recent mini tour.
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