If you’re reading this, I’m sure I don’t have to preach to you about the virtues of vinyl over CD or mp3. I like records the best but I listen to all three, depending on the circumstances. Even though records are my favorite format, I actually stopped buying vinyl after I got my first computer. I wasn’t going to sell my record collection or anything, but the convenience and freedom of iPods and mp3s was liberating and exciting. But after a couple years I started buying vinyl again, and part of the reason is that I love the ritual of going down to the record store. And the best part of that is going through the used racks. I can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday than sifting through the musty remnants of other people’s record collections. Used record stores reveal the hidden history of rock and roll, shit you just can’t buy at Borders. And the best part is that it’s cheap.
Last weekend I found a hidden gem for $2: Down The Road by Manassas. Two bucks! For the price of this record I could have only downloaded the first two tracks from iTunes. Many times a two-dollar record will be scratched, warped, and generally unplayable, but that wasn’t the case this time. It was in great shape.
Manassas was a short-lived group from the early 70s led by Stephen Stills during one of Crosby, Stills & Nash’s many fallouts. This was their second and final album. I had never actually heard their music so I pulled it out of the stack immediately and tucked it under my arm as I continued flipping through the racks. I bought a couple other things that day (the new Tom Petty and a used Coltrane disc), but this record got me the most excited. The thing is: the used CDs at this place go for $9, and if this record was nine bucks, or even six, I never would have bought it. But I’m so glad I did, because it’s great.
This is very much Stephen Stills’ record. His name gets top billing on the marquee, even above the name of the band. Looking at the cover it almost looks like a solo album. But it also stars ex-Byrd and Burrito Bro Chris Hillman, CSN drummer Dallas Taylor, and a solid supporting cast, with cameos by Joe Walsh and former Domino Bobby Whitlock. It’s an upbeat record with staccato organ bursts, barrelhouse piano runs, and lots and lots of raucous slide guitar. Picture the Rolling Stones playing “Wooden Ships” without the purple berries and you’re almost there.
Opener “Isn’t It About Time” is a driving mid-tempo protest song about Viet Nam, with handclaps that break into applause at the end. Hillman takes the mic next for his bluesy betrayal song “Lies”, and then they take a Latin left turn with “Pensamiento”, featuring Stills singing in Spanish. It’s a nice change-up and adds color and depth to the album. This is followed by “So Many Times”, a mandolin-tinged number that mellows down easy. Side one concludes with “Business On The Street”, a classic Stephen Stills song that wouldn’t sound out of place on a CSN mix CD.
Side two starts Burrito style with the country honk of “Do You Remember The Americans”, all pedal steel and group harmonies. Title track “Down The Road” sounds like a Buffalo Springfield outtake, but the slide guitars make it fit right in. “City Junkies” could be the fraternal twin of “Let’s Spend The Night Together”, right down to the chord changes and lead piano. Next up is “Guaguanco De Vero”, another Latin jam that probably had Carlos Santana slightly jealous he didn’t write it. The final track on the album pushes the Stones envelope even further with washes of wah-wah and some nice guitar jams. And just in case you didn’t get it they named it “Rollin’ My Stone”.
The other great thing about buying used records is that sometimes traces of the original owner shine through, from something written on the cover or maybe left in the sleeve. I once found a Pretty Things record on a curb in Queens that had an 8 × 10 photo tucked in the gatefold depicting a shaggy, mustachioed man and his velour-draped lady friend. It was priceless. From these little clues I like to imagine what the initial owner was doing while they were listening to the record. The person listening to this record was probably dealing with an annoying family member, or thinking about a nemesis from school, because they took a pencil and wrote on the sleeve, in big letters, “Ray is a schmuck!”
