OddNote

David Allan Coe died this past month to very little fanfare from most people I know. Which is fine, the dude liked to unapologetically toy around with hate speech and then play dumb about it. He was a true contrarian; and seemingly a political reactionary. Sure, he had spent time in prison and with the Outlaws motorcycle club. But even his peers in the country music scene that we all love so much seemed to keep their distance. He had lied about spending time on death row for killing an inmate who tried to rape him. It was clear that he liked to exaggerate, so when he said he met Screamin Jay Hawkins in prison and Hawkins encouraged him to be a songwriter, who's to believe him? You've got to admit that the Mysterious Rhinestone Cowboy bit in the mid 70s was pretty great though- Coe could fabricate a spectacle (which makes his late-life adoration of Donald Trump make sense I guess) and take meatheads' imaginations places they couldn't otherwise go. But what I really want to say about David Allan Coe is that somewhere deep in that confused, callous heart, this dude could write and sing the most articulate, tenderly written ballads- "Under Rachel's Wings" from Rides Again or "You'll Always Live Inside Of Me" from Tattoo (above). Whether I like it or not, I'm whisked away by this shit in a haze of his Haggard-channeling vocal magic and his signature squishy phased out electric guitar. And while most know him as the bombastic pen behind songs like "Take This Job And Shove It" (one of the great working class anthems of all time), it's teary-eyed, choir-flanked love songs that have got my heart locked up. It ain't easy to write off someone you can relate to. There'll always be a tiny, little confusing, rhinestoned closet in my soul for this man's music. . . . We're in the shop today pulling and cleaning yesterday's online orders. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collections. Honky tonk, soul, jazz, and beyond. We'll travel if you can't make it here. Get in touch: [email protected] . . . #davidallancoe @legendarydavidallancoe @columbiarecords #outlawcountry #rarevinyl #countryrecords

In my life as a listener, I've more-often-than-not found myself discovering new music by sense of sight. Of course, I've always been a crate digger- going anywhere old records, CDs, tapes might inhabit. Filing through thousands upon thousands of cover designs that, at their best, were assembled in order to capture the imagination of the like-minded before a single note wafts from the speakers. A mirroring of nature's mating call; an alluring signal. At their worst, album covers are simply a product of capitalism; some assholes with no patience or willingness to budget time and money into somewhat justifying the caustic process of manufacturing these things by making them a piece of physical art. I think immediately of a Skip James collection from the early 00's that is so incredibly hideous, I always felt a little embarrassed to even own it. That visual is a powerful thing- even a nice looking jacket spine shouts at you from the shelf: "Revisit me!!" (Look no further than the Impulse!, Flying Dutchman jazz labels) I meditate on all of this while designing packaging for the @crutchofmemory label. And so my first introduction to the great Chicago reed player of avant-garde jazz, Roscoe Mitchell, was via the stark images on Art Ensemble Of Chicago albums. The high-contrasting compositions that spoke to my background in art by-way-of punk. They didn't look like they were designed to be filed neatly in a fine hutch like say... the earth-toned reservation of Angel Records' classical catalog. Mitchell and AEOC were jamming a stick in the bicycle spokes of polite mediocrity. Their vision sculpted my instincts. I'm thinking about Roscoe today though, because while working on a project yesterday, I threw on a track from my notes (I keep notes of songs I enjoy while playtesting records everyday) called "Walking In The Moonlight" from his 1995 Hey Donald disc. It's melodic, relaxed- and it was written by his father, who, as far as I can tell never had a recording career. It's incredibly touching and the feel is magic. This artist who has pushed the boundaries his entire life and his humble ode to his father's work. It's that contrast that brings it all together.

No, it's not some defaced copy of The White Album- look closer. 'Winters Here' is the name of this disc; a set of torchy jazz ballads accompanied by jazz combo, celesta, orchestra- and sung by Terre Haute, Indiana's Jerri Winters- who led the Stan Kenton band for a time and then worked the New York night clubs until leaving music altogether and disappearing into obscurity. I wish we knew more about her story. As someone who hails from Nowhere, Middle America, I'm always so interested in how others that come from the same place follow through with their lives as artists. There's certain victory sometimes in letting it all go and living for yourself rather than kissing ass for crumbs til you die. But what I'm really thinking about is this artwork- the incredibly simple design that employs a whole lot of nothingness to make your mind go... "Why?". You're led to a small ink drawing of a patch of tall grass with the words, "Winters Here" inscribed. It's clear now that we're scanning a snowy field; perhaps an Indiana cornfield. I've seen those fields. I can picture it. I can smell it. I love this. It brings me home to my own rural roots. The dude behind this artwork is Burt Goldblatt. His work for the Savoy, Atlantic, Verve, Bethlehem labels defined the look of jazz for a time in the 1950s: one, two, three color designs that often guide your eyes around in some simulation of motion. Sometimes loud, sometimes muted. Openly influenced by film noir, he often used his own photography for his covers- of which he would shoot at sessions themselves. There's a suggestion of drama in the way he portrayed facial shadows; bodily expression. It speaks to my senses. But nothing delivers such total satisfaction as a concept that uses so little to say so much. . . . We're in the shop for a few hours today pulling and cleaning yesterday's orders and then in session at @crutchofmemory studio. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collection: [email protected] . . . #jerriwinters #burtgoldblatt #jazzvinyl @burtgoldblatt.design #fraternityrecords

It took me a really long time to appreciate Bruce. I was never a fan growing up; the gruff, muscular chanting of Born In The USA certainly did not appeal to this skinny Midwestern kid who never really felt any passion for nationalism (yeah, I know what the song's really about but let's face it: to our elders, it was basically just a sonic 4th of July fireworks show). Manly shit was never really my thing and Springsteen sounded... to me... like a wife-beater tee with vocal cords. In my adulthood I gave his catalog try after try. I bought every album I could get my hands on at garage sales. I'd throw it on the turntable, a headache would ensue, and it'd go right back on the shelf. The first hook that caught me was Nebraska; his home-recorded album with bleak cover art of a windshield peering over barren fields. This was an image I could relate to and the sound of a four track recording was a world I was very entrenched in. My interest remained casual. Years passed and I met @ruliablair - she loved this guy. I thought.... Huh. She once got scolded by her landlord for blasting Born In The USA too loud in her apartment. I thought that was hilarious. Then I found out what that song's actually about. Ok... on principle alone, I can get behind this. Still, the music never really got my blood pumping. The major click was a summer evening a few years ago. Sitting in the backyard under a clear evening sky, poking a fire. Hell, I'll throw on The River. That one was always daunting. It opened up in my consciousness. The sound of it all. Twinkling like thunder in my brain. There isn't really anything in particular to "get". It just sounds right to me now. This uncanny quality of art. One second it's concealed; ambiguous. The next, it's eternally yours. I learned long ago that stepping out is often uncomfortable; sometimes embarrassing. Art can get so wrapped up in identity, and when it does, our worlds shrink. You've got to keep trying. . . . We'll have our online inventory open this afternoon until 10pm CST. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collection: [email protected] . . . #brucespringsteen @springsteen @columbiarecords

This morning I was sitting at the bank of the Fox River- sipping coffee, watching pelicans swirl around far overhead (our Fox River is one of the few places in this part of the world that Pelicans come to breed), watching Canadian geese honkin out their necks at passers-by while stomping around in their own shit and picking for food on the ground between the turds. I was thinking... Aahhhh. Despite the total global chaos, these are pretty good times. Maybe the last of them? I'm not sure. And then I thought... I'm pretty sure that's the name of one of the most enigmatic Willie Nelson albums. Yeah! That one with the totally baffling album cover where he's posing for a pic on a golf course with his arms around some lady instructor-style trying to putt a ball into a hole at an un-missable distance. Did Willie think this was a good idea? Did a marketing team come up with it? That album cover couldn't sell golfing cleats much less an outsider country album. But that's exactly what you get. A commercial failure of a country album; written by a man that idolized the jazz greats and wrote like it. The entire decade of the 1960s had been doing Willie wrong and this was the cherry on top. It's easy to see now how the production did not suit this man's voice or his songs. I say that meaning: I think the countrypolitan production was pretty hazy and surreal in a cool way on most of Willie's early buried albums. However, it wasn't how the world was meant to be introduced to him. We needed the grit; the sweat and booze and overgrown beard. We needed to work backward. 'Permanently Lonely' might be my favorite thing Willie Nelson ever wrote. It's here- on Good Times- totally contradicting its title and art direction fabulously. A devastating ballad that time forgot. I return to it often. When I'm sad or otherwise. Just to blow off steam; to simmer in my own humanity. I'm grateful for his songs, his struggle to prominence, and his success. His story and his music are such a keen teacher. . . . We're in the shop today adding some new stock. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collection: [email protected] . . . @willienelsonofficial

Whenever I'm filing through our jazz section for something, I'm stopped in my tracks by this cover. And a myriad of other numbers on the Tappan Zee label, which was a Columbia subsidiary founded by the jazz/funk fusion pianist Bob James- one of the great giving trees of sampleable rhythm at the onset of hip hop. Through Tappan Zee, he released a decade of gloss not only of his own material but of (some favorites of mine) Richard Tee, Wilbert Longmire, Mark Colby and others. The album covers were typically these explosions of primary color; clean, surreal. A giant hotdog, fried egg, or cigarette that stretched across the entire length of the gatefold. Two bulging green pickles floating in a blue cloudy sky. Hilarious but also seriously beautiful. This was the work of John Paul "Bud" Endress: a commercial photographer that specialized in magazine advertisements which leaped into your consciousness from the page. You'd also recognize his work on Philip Glass's "Glassworks" and Hall & Oates' "Whole Oats" album covers. What my mind drifts to here is my childhood; the 1990s in Neenah, Wisconsin: sitting my ass down for hours in the picture book aisle of my public library getting lost in an I Spy book or two. If you're of my generation (or raised someone of my generation), you know these books. Walter Wick (also previously a commercial photographer) shot still life after still life of plastic eye candy with large format (8x10) film. It took me out of the soot and pavement and highway noise pollution of my hometown and into a silent world of glowing wonder. I'm always trying to find my way back there. . . . We're in the shop today packing and shipping Monday's orders. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collection: [email protected] . . . @bobjamesmusic @columbiarecords #bobjames #tappanzee #ispy #johnpaulendress #jazzvinyl @walterwickstudio

Bobby Darren- the humble honky tonk country singer from Kaukauna, WI (that's in our neck of the woods: NE Wisconsin) who plays left-handed country guitar; strumming the strings from the bottom up. He calls it "Upside-Down and Backwards". A local newspaper article from the 2010s claims that Jimi Hendrix was one of the only other guitarists to play that way and... I dunno man. Just watched a vid of Hendrix playing Voodoo Child and he was strumming that strat like a level headed human being. At any rate, this dude has been doing his thing since the 1960s and he's still kickin. I've been meaning to go see him for quite awhile; one of these days (hopefully sooner than later) I'll find myself in some rural dive; sipping on a seltzer and anticipating the entrance of the Bobby Darren Country Show. It's one of the few (maybe the only one?) country reviews of his era still on the stage in this part of the Midwest. For my money, and it's not easy to say this, Bobby's version of 'The Door' is even better than the hit cut by George Jones in 1974. He doesn't have the vocal muscle and soul of his predecessor but there's just some kinda magic happening- a rhythmic or melodic thing- that's bringing the message home in a way George's version doesn't. It's that earnesty which proves the importance of the regional band; the ensemble untainted by commercial pressure or marketing strategy. Bringing that music to the people and not the homogenous glob that defines the airwaves. KL Recordings dropped this disc in 1975; a regional label primarily known for polka and spiritual music. The kind of label that served little purpose other than taking on the risk of production and cheerleading their roster. I know how that goes. It's a fascinating and important role to play. I'm thankful they existed and I'm glad to carry on the tradition through @crutchofmemory . Check out Bobby's version of The Door- And if ya ain't a Jones fan yet, maybe it'll be yr gateway drug!! . We're in the shop for a few hours today pulling and cleaning yesterday's orders. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collection! We really love carrying local obscurities!! [email protected] #45rpm

While walking home from the shop a few days ago, I screwed up my foot stepping off a curb and now every time I take a step and wince I can't help but think of this Moe Bandy album cover. One of many hilarious concepts from this tears-in-my-beer honky tonk rodeo clown, Cowboys Ain't Supposed To Cry highlights a few of the things that CAN and sometimes DO make country music great: 1) Self-depricating humor. All the greats used it from time to time. From Ernest Tubb & Red Foley's "It's The Mileage That's Slowin Us Down" to George Jones and Johnny Paycheck's "When You're Ugly Like Us (You Just Naturally Got To Be Cool)". Moe takes aim at his cowboy image here and while of course countryheads love to admire the stoic outlaw, they also love some tongue-in-cheek inward jabbing that knocks that outlaw down to their level. 2) Waltzes, shuffles, fiddle solos, and weeping steel guitar. I mean, c'mon. People like Hank Williams, Lefty Frizzell, and Ernest Tubb gave birth to the sound, and it grew more desperate and dark through the couple of decades that followed. Unlike the earliest versions of country music and the folk musics of rural America, honky tonk country had big peaks and valleys in its sound. It had tension and it had release. 3) Alcohol, cheating, and misery. Whether the relatability is literal, or it's metaphor for the many innate human flaws, country music is unapologetic in its embrace of the unsavory. Give Moe Bandy's "Cowboys Ain't Supposed To Cry" a spin!! . . . . Our online inventory'll be open this afternoon through 10pm CST. Get in touch to browse in person our sell us your collections on LP, 45, CD, cassette formats!! [email protected] . . . #moebandy #countryvinyl #honkytonkcountry @moebandymusic @columbiarecords

I gotta quit sugar. All it's ever given me is body weight and toothaches. And I suppose... Delicious memories. Those sweet daydreams are but a mirage of pleasure, however; a true-to-life materialization of the Hansel and Gretel tale scripted by disease-belching industry. A nutritional sweetener that should in all fairness be classified as a drug: that tiny, bright granule that's around every corner in our society; like the Kool-Aid man stalking from the shadows; rubbing his palms, licking his lips, gnashing his crumbling teeth. It's a trojan horse packed up neat and cute by corporations and trade associations who guard its reputation (and its $66 billion annual market) with litigation and lobbying while our teeth rot out, we lose our limbs, and our heartbeats grind to a halt. These savvy businessmen target children and disregard the plague that their decisions spread. USA! USA! Like every other album that the freaky and funky jazz tenor player Eddie Harris released in the 1970s, on That Is Why You're Overweight, he's blunt as he wants to be. There's the title track, with the concept laid out vocally over amplified blues. And then there are the soaring passages of instrumental soul sandwiching this thing; preaching the same gospel but in such a way that your bones feel it rather than your intellect. The novelty of the former is the bait. The power of the latter is the big bite that makes you believe. I love this man and his vision!! . . . We're packing the remainder of Monday's orders briefly this afternoon and then in session at @crutchofmemory this evening. Get in touch to sell us your jazz, soul, etc etc LPs, 45s, CDs or schedule an appt to browse in person: [email protected] . . . #eddieharris #jazzvinyl #funkvinyl @eddieharrisjazz @atlanticrecords

When I was a teenager, I picked up a compact disc copy of The Minutemen album "The Punch Line" from the thrift store a block away from my mom's house that I'd visit weekly. Usually I was buying Beatles albums or whatever (they were somewhat common at thrift stores back then) but this cover artwork stopped me dead. The incredible rush of violent color; like an unwieldy flame at twilight. I'd come to find out that the cover was painted by D. Boon (singer/guitarist for the band) and the equally-stimulating spray and drip artwork on the back cover was the work of the band's drummer, George Hurley. Wow. I was already a fan of Aaron Cometbus' many bands so the concept of the band constructing their own cover art wasn't totally foreign but this stuff seemed so elevated. Like fine-fuckin-art!! That affirmation of punks creating visual art that isn't strictly degenerate-cartoon sketches shaped my world for years to come. Of course, once I popped that disc in the 5 disc changer that visual art opened up; like a dirt bike throttle spitting mud and dirt at my consciousness. The Minutemen were earnest and direct. Angry and intelligent. The outcasts that pointed their defiance at oppressors and not each other. They didn't play this music to generate fear among their peers like some of their contemporaries. They were kicking fascism, imperialism, capitalism in the groin. Their words; their specific jangle. It was like a red-flag-firing pistol. "I believe when they found the body of General George A. Custer Quilled like a porcupine with Indian arrows He didn't die with any honour, any dignity, nor any valour I wouldn't doubt when they found George A. Custer An American General, Patriot Indian fighter He died with a shit in his pants" . . . We'll have the online inventory open this afternoon but will be out of the shop and in the studio til next week. Get in touch to sell us your LPs, 45s, CDs or schedule an appt to browse: [email protected] . . . #theminutemen #sstrecords #punkvinyl #dboon @wattfrompedro

Yo!! I'm jumping on here to say we're back from Phoenix with a bunch of discs that are fun, unusual sonic adventures (especially for NE WI) and we'll be out of the shop for the next week and in session at @crutchofmemory so we'll be firing up the ol online inventory again in a little over a week and scheduling appts again at that time. Get in touch to sell us your collections; we're always looking for oddities but are down to check out anything. Jazz, soul, honky tonk, classical, rock, polka, etc etc LPs, 45s, CDs, tapes. Shout at us: [email protected]

At this point in Wisconsin, The Shivvers have the underground legend that you might expect of a band like The Nerves... or hmm, Koro? Those rare bands that existed for a blip in time and released an extremely limited amount of material in their existence that somehow resonated with a posthumous era more than the era they were actually active in. The former era we're talking about here is 1979 to 1982. This is a post-Raspberries, post-Big Star, post-Badfinger (and post-Nerves) era of power pop music and kind of right as The Knack, The Romantics, and The Pretenders were breaking. The Shivvers were capturing a moment in time regionally (in Milwaukee) that was obscured from the greater commercial consciousness due to geography (and lack of relentless touring). As it goes, they've become alt cultist favorites and a band's band (Eric Carmen loved em, Iggy Pop loved em). They're hard not to love- their previously buried track "Please Stand By" was one of THE songs of the 2010s after being exhumed and reissued. But what I'm really here to convey is that The Shivvers' singer and composer Jill Kossoris released this slammin solo album in the early 00's called 'Invisible'. "If You're Looking For Love (Count Me Out)" is the track here. It's got that Everly Brothers thru a meat grinder thing going on that was starting to rear its beautiful head in commercial country music in the 80s and 90s. Like Carlene Carter, Juice Newton, Wild Choir, Foster & Lloyd. Crunchy power pop music with the bounce of Western boom-papa boom-pa boom boom-papa boom. Not unlike Nick Lowe's C&W exploits or Billy Burnette in the late 1970s. If this were a Shivvers single, it might have been their best one. It's such a killer track!! Love this shit Jill!! That track ain't avail to share on IG so we're attaching 'Love Is The Stranger' - a shuffling K.D. Lang-Shadowlands-esque honky tonker. But jam Looking For Love into your YouTube [read: Brave app] browser and let er rip next!! . . . We're in the shop this afternoon packing Monday's online orders. Get in touch to browse in person or sell us your collection: [email protected] . . . #theshivvers #jillkossoris #altcountry #powerpop