Singles 45's & Under: PowerSource - Dear Mr. Jesus

College is a great place to foster and develop one’s cynicism. In light of tragedy and things beyond one’s control, cynicism serves an important purpose. If offsets the realities of this cruel world by preparing us to tackle another day. If we linger too long on everything that is wrong with this planet, we find ways to hasten our exit from it, either consciously or subconsciously.

I never understood child abuse growing up, but then again, what is there to understand about it anyway? It’s a topic that grows exponentially horrid when you have children, and as a person who believes that we as a species should be better than killing another person in the name of justice, I falter a bit on the position whenever I hear stories about child abuse.

In 1987, a New York attorney was arrested after beating his step-daughter  to death. She collapsed after a blow to the head, and as she lay in the bathroom of the family’s Bronx apartment, slipping in and out of consciousness from her injuries, her step-father left her alone without medical attention, occasionally leaving the home to freebase cocaine.

He lived with a woman for several years, and she was also to blame for allowing the abuse to continue in the couple’s home. When she returned home from her job as an editor of children’s books for Random House one evening, she found the child close to death. The girl had been suffering for over 10 hours. It was at this time that she finally convinced her abusive partner that they needed to contact the authorities. The girl later died from her injuries.

The case gained national prominence, but I remember it for another reason.

During the trial, a radio station discovered a song recorded by PowerSource, a contemporary Christian musical group led by Richard Klender. The group recorded a song called “Dear Mr. Jesus,” a schmaltzy ballad about child abuse with stunningly bad 80’s production values. The song’s notoriety was secured when Klender asked 6 year-old Sharon Batts to perform lead vocals on his new song.

PowerSource released their first and only album Shelter From The Storm in 1986. “Dear Mr. Jesus” was nestled in the Bedford, Texas’s full length and probably would have gone unnoticed if it weren’t for the aforementioned child abuse case in New York City. When some clever disc jockey found it and began playing it during the trial, listeners called in by the thousands to request it. From there, it began to spread across the country, where it finally entered the Billboard Hot 100 chart, peaking at #61 in January 1988.

I remember it being played repeatedly in the Midwest during the 1987 holiday season. My cynicism took note of the song’s content and the manner in which Mr. Klender chose to address the topic by enlisting a 6 year-old girl to sing it.

Take a look/listen to this incredible piece of 80’s righteousness and marvel at how Klender seemed to foreshadow later events about a girl “beaten black and blue.” The girl narrator is troubled by the news and decides to take her concerns directly to Jesus, or “Mr. Jesus” as it were.

Taking a clue from George Jones’ classic “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” Klender saves a money shot for the end of the song, when the little girl asks Mr. Jesus to look into this topic of child abuse, and to keep a family secret to himself.

“Please don’t tell my Daddy, that my Mommy hits me too.”

While my cynicism certainly took notice of this forgotten gem, it was the song’s curious decision to highlight the topic from the perspective of a 6 year-old girl that stuck with me for almost three decades. I recently found the song online and have been thoroughly enjoying it in the most ironic of ways for the past week.

In fact, I have been subjecting the children to this piece of fine art, causing my daughter to sing the refrain of “Please, don’t let them hurt your children” over and over, while my son has decided to stick with the “my Mommy hits me too” line, particularly when his own mom tells him to come in for the evening.

I also have the song on vinyl, a promotional single that I acquired from a radio station. When I found it, I used it for a few cassette mixes, utilizing some production tricks in the process. On the flip side, Klender conducted an interview with the young Sharon, asking her complicated questions about abuse and her supposed advocacy concerning the topic. Of course, her responses were exactly what you would expect from a 6 year-old girl who had been heavily coached beforehand. There are lots of one-line answers as well as the expected “child abuse is bad” message. It is exploitation at its most blatant, but it is exactly what you’d expect from a song that was created from such obvious heart-tugging that it can potentially cause cardiac arrest.

For my mix tapes, I would let Klender’s introductions and interview “questions” spin at the normal 45 r.p.m. speed. Then, whenever Sharon would pause to respond, I would change the speed to 33 r.p.m., causing her voice to resonate with a creepy, lower pitched voice. To hear Sharon’s innocent responses under the guise of a middle-age man’s voice was positively stunning. I wish I would have kept a copy for myself.

Child abuse is certainly no laughing matter. I understand this completely as a parent. But while my own opinion of this topic can certainly elicit unchecked rage from within, there’s something inherently wrong about exploiting a child to address a subject as morally repulsive to begin with.

Jesus, thought I’d take this right to you…

Singles, 45's and Under: Chuck Dukowski Sextet-"My War:

How many teeth has this headstock seen?

For every year the Rolling Stones exist and by definition begin dismantling their legacy, there is another example of an artist-let’s call them of an “older” age-that’s still able to maintain credibility and relevance even when the hairs go grey or start to come out entirely.

That was one sentence, by the way.

I don’t know what the fuck Chuck Dukowski was doing since he was in the band SWA. And SWA was such a shitty band that I really didn’t mind not knowing what Chuck Dukowski was doing musically.

Years past. These characters get brought up again when you’re reading some old remembrance by a former SST Records associate and you think: “Chuck Dukowski! What the fuck!”

And that’s when you seek out a split single of two former SST alumni, one of which is covering a great Black Flag tune.

Dukowski slaps a fancy word for six on his name and takes up bass duties again, while his wife, Lora Norton, steps in to become the lead mouth of the Chuck Dukowski Sextet.

To say her gender had me concerned when tackling such a brutal song wasn’t the case at all. In fact, it made me put this on my top “mustfind” list during Record Store Day.

Recorded in one take with no overdubs, the Chuck Dukowski Sextet transforms “My War” into their own, while doing the impossible by taking an iconic hardcore anthem and turning it into a brilliant revision.

The age drops off everything; there’s no hint of Dukowski’s d.o.b. And Norton gruffs up enough anger, with her frequent shouts of “Oh, Mother Fucker!!!!”, that she could easily pacify a buffy Hank Rollins in a fair fight.

The song takes on a new resonance, particularly considering such notable cases of violence or bullying that have made our news recently. “You’re one of them! You say that you’re my friend! But you’re one of them!”

It’s awesome.

Worth every dime.

But wait! There’s more!

Ol’ beardo Mike Watt brings together the Missingmen moniker and picks his old favorite Roky Erickson for another cover, “Sweet Honey Pie,”

It sounds like a soundboard recording, which could be my way of saying the recording is charmingly rough. And Watt’s such of softie and he’s picked such a charming Roky song that you’ll play it a few times and delegate it to side B.

Not that this is a bad thing, it’s just that the CD6 flip is so much more awesomer that you’ll find yourself burning up the grooves.

Singles 45's and Under: Elastica - "Stutter"

I listened to Elastica’s debut album for the first time in ages the other day as well as the single to “Stutter” for no real reason other than I like the BBC recording of “Annie” better than the album version.

It all brought me back to those halcyon days of the mid-90’s when people like myself could smugly declare “We won!” in a premature attempt to collectively pat ourselves on the back at the thought that we had finally converted punk rock/post-punk rock as the norm.

What a complete crock of shit.

Looking back now, as we wipe off the circle jerk of Nevermind reissues and the “vitology” of Pearl Jam, it seems almost embarrassing to think that a few slack-jawed flannel wearers could even believe that they’d be able to topple the might of the recording industry and their power in transferring subversive music into viable commodity.

There I was, right in the middle of an ode to impotence considering the impotence of my naïve youth. What started out as a revolution turned into flock of farm league also-rans, who in turn, transformed even the Double A entries into chart toppers.
I think of all of those rugrats that I’ll have to explain Daughtry, and even though I’ve been told that I should ignore bands like Nickelback, I still think I should apologize for them too. This is not what we intended, and it makes even the most derivative of bands like Elastica seem utterly original in their faux art reprise.

Immediately, I want to transfer a copy of Elastica into the zzZunes of those younger kids to get them on the right track. I want them to take it all in and then immediately give them the keys to Wire’s Pink Flag and The Fall’s Perverted By Language just to jack up the sales totals to a more reasonable figure.

I want them to realize the critical importance of those efforts because they were so overlooked when they were first released.

As far as Elastica is concerned, I can tell you that the eye-opening moment for me wasn’t how they up and nicked those aforementioned underground heroes, but how they finally expressed an opposite sex response to a topic that we all try to “keep between the sheets.”

“Is it something you lack/When I’m flat on my back/Is there something that I could do for you?” Justine Frischmann sarcastically snaps, questioning why her partner seems to have difficulty achieving what should be the most basic of reactions from her suitor.

Not to make excuses-which is what “Stutter” is, a litany of plausible excuses for her man’s failure to launch-but it is an event that every man faces at some point in their life. Guilt, intimidation, and an fear are all part of the shit running through a young man’s head, as are the ways in which we compensate for those things.

Growing up, men would casually refer to things like “whiskey dick” in an off-handed excuse, and when cocaine entered the mix, you never experienced the level of desire that drug provided while having to navigate how useless your sex organ was while under the influence of it. You ended up a sweaty, flaccid wreck trying not to look your partner in the eye while trying to get the thing to match wits with your desire.

You may have pondered what that partner was thinking, and “Stutter” confirms all of your worst fears.

Singles 45's and Under: Shellac - The Rude Gesture

It starts off like a dirge.

Hang on. I forgot to switch the speed to 45.”

It starts off like some early history math rock gem, which is funny because Steve Albini looks like an analytical guy.

I’m speaking to Shellac’s Rude Gesture e.p., a three-song single that I’d count more as a single than an e.p. But why cause trouble?

I gotta believe that-from a singles perspective-“Billiard Song” counts as the “hit” side, or at least the emphasis track. I mean, you’d think the “emphasis” track would be “side A,” of which I’m guessing as The Rude Gesture leaves a lot to be desired in terms of information.

What it does have, and I specifically remember this when I did a mail order purchase-remember those?-with Touch & Go records back in the day. I used to think Touch & Go was the shit back when you actually could think of record labels as “the shit.”

“And company? You can’t buy company!” goes Albini on that track. It’s a stallion of dry-sounding guitar work with a bit of tempo change shenanigans after bits of ratta-tat-tat staccato jabs. It’s a bit long-winded, with bits of big chord statements about…a dude that “cursed like a billiard player.”

Now that I look at the liner notes, it tells me that “The Billiard Player” was the last song on this e.p. Side B.

“Rambler Song” is more of my style, engaging and snotty.

It’s the package itself that’s the draw, though I hardly see why. My limited edition screenprint, reportedly made from root beer concentrate, has faded into a yellowy hue from its original color of brown.

Actually, that is kind of cool.

And rare too. I noticed like copies with asking prices as high as $75.

The songs may not be worth that much-and they’re not, if purchased digitally-but the memories sure might be, with this post-punk blast from an era when you could still buy things on faith from both the bands and the label they were signed to.

Singles 45's and Under: Atari Teenage Riot-"Deutschland Has Gotta Die!"

You’ve probably gathered that my politics run a little left of center, but even I have my limits to when progressive thought is burdened by reality and by academic nonsense.

I’m not sure where I fall on the whole Occupy movement as a whole-but I do know that jack shit was being done about the white collar criminals that got away with foreclosing our future just to make a few extra bucks unethically.

And all of this makes me think that this winter could be a lot worse for the Occupy protestors, with colder temperatures giving a slight reprieve while our local law enforcement get to model their riot gear and move out a bunch of hippies who hang out at the local park.

Sometimes I wonder, “Are these the same people who felt the animosity of the older generation when Spiro Agnew and Richard Nixon belittled the war protesters 40 years ago?” Do these same people on the receiving end of ridicule now beat a similar drum towards today’s youth?

I wonder where our protest singers are? I wonder who will rise up to the challenge of lending an eternal voice to today’s struggle. I think of who is ready to lead the youth, and then I get dismayed.

There’s nobody there.

My mind thinks of Atari Teenage Riot, who seemed poised to be that band over a decade and a half ago, even when there was no real struggle for them to align with.

Would it surprise you that they’re back, and that there now seems to be a struggle perfectly formulated for their progressive ideals?

I spent $3 on the Grand Royale single for Atari Teenage Riot’s “Deutschland Has Gotta Die!” back in 1997, and judging from the amount of record wear I noticed on a recent spin, it became an immediate favorite.

Everything on it seems to be on the wrong; hyper drum beats and distorted guitar samples layer beneath Hanin Elias’ title screams, while head ATR, Alec Empire, barks orders like a good instigator.

The flip, “Riot 1996,” is just “Riot” repeated over an over, while a sample of Dinosaur Jr.’s “Sludgefeast” just hammers that word into the ground.

I love this single. It makes me wish the kids could have their generation’s version, because music this good could just about occupy anything.

Singles 45's and Under: Aerosmith - Uncle Salty

Aerosmith began as a single for me.

“Dream On” to be exact, released a few years after it appeared on the debut.

Released when the iron was hot after the release of Toys In The Attic, “Dream On” was all over the radio that year. The flip side was another song off of the debut, “Somebody.”

I liked both songs enough to pick up another single, this time “Walk This Way.”

As awesome as it is, I was also drawn to the flip side, “Uncle Salty.” Sometimes a friend from the neighborhood would come over to my house when the weather was bad and we’d fart around and look for things to do. A favorite for me was “Uncle Salty,” where I’d put a lot of emphasis on the creepy line “Oooh, it’s a sunny day outside my window” of the chorus.

It wasn’t until college that I actually bought the full-length of Toys In The Attic. A guy I knew at college suddenly found God in the form of a girl who was herself a heavy Christian.

Evidently, she pulled out an ultimatum, telling him that his extensive collection of rock and roll cds had to be reduced, particularly the ones she felt were immoral.

Now all of this was explained to me by this guy, who went on to offer me the unbelievable price of $4 a cd if I wanted to help remove some of the offending titles.

I chose Aerosmith’s Get Yer Wings, Toys In The Attic, and Queensryche’s Operation: Mindcrime.

I also bought a couple of Marillion 12” singles.

He asked if he could buy those back a few months later. When I asked him why he had a change of heart, he went on to explain that the Christian girl when back with her boyfriend, leaving my acquaintance in the cold.

In retrospect, I probably should have offered to return the 12” Marillion singles. He liked them more than I ever did and he probably needed them more too.

But I wanted to teach him a lesson to not discount the music that fueled his experiences, and for him to cheapen it because of a girl’s lame brain idea or to demonstrate that the music doesn’t hold power over him was ludicrous.

He also drove a Yugo.

We didn’t speak much after that, but I have a strange suspicion that he’s probably right where I left him a few decades before: still in the basement of his parent’s home.

Check out the rip of The Beatles "I Want To Tell You" in it.

Singles, 45's And Under: Wilson Pickett-"A Man And A Half"

When it came to singles, I was the only one in the house that had a record player. It was a hand me down, a small portable player that could be hauled around at a moment’s notice.

It had a single speaker, a volume and tone knob.

That’s it.

It wasn’t until I started working at the swimming pool before I made enough money to buy a true component system, one that could qualify as “high in fidelity.”

I’m sorry Spanky, I had to live my own life.

My records were also hand me downs, and occasionally, my single collection would grow by huge leaps. I wasn’t sure how the records showed up, I only knew my carrying case got a little tighter inside.

I remember once that I noticed that there was a bunch of Motown and Tamla records that showed up. Previously, I only had a few Motown records, but then there were a bunch more along with a new label that I’d never seen: Tamla.

It was like someone injected a bunch of motor city soul into my music palate, just for discovery.

There was no mention of it, and I kept my mouth shut for fear that they’d disappear just as soon as they came.

One day, I noticed a bunch of Atlantic records had found their way into the record case. Now I recognized Atlantic; I had Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” and played it often. I even had a pair of Yes singles, believe it or not.

In short, I was familiar with the rock roster of Atlantic.

That changed with the new titles I found with the label, the singles featured songs by such names as Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, and a guy by the name of Wilson Pickett.

I liked Wilson the most, particularly the track “A Man And A Half.” It was raw, as were most of the newly discovered tracks.

Again, I have no idea where they came from. It was obvious they weren’t from my parent’s stash as they pretty much switched to 8-track after I was born, placing the unit and tapes well out of reach.

I do remember one of my first memories around the age of three. Like most 3-year olds, I didn’t want to go to bed when it got dark. One night, a bunch of youngsters came over to visit and I was ushered off to bed.

Most of them had longer hair-it was hard to tell the difference between the girls and the boys.

I was intrigued.

A couple of times I simply marched downstairs in an attempt to use a bit of charm to buy a few extra minutes.

I was marched back upstairs.

I quietly made my way back to the top of the stairs and found my best strategy was just to remain silent and watch the group between the banisters.

For some reason, I think that my additions must have come from those teenagers. A quick note of the single itself shows a telling drill mark. I’m guessing that this means it’s either a promotional copy, or a cut out.

I would have lived in Shenandoah, Iowa at this time-the hometown of The Everly Brothers-and this would have been my dad’s first teaching gig. It’s plausible that, given the extremely white population, soul singles may have found their way onto the bargain bins.

I loved that little swirly thing at the bottom of the big “A.” But now, even more, I love how it was recorded at Muscle Shoals, Alabama.

Note to self: I’ve got to make that and Sun Studios in Memphis a family trip destination.

And a swing through Muscle Shoals, too.

Pickett was born in Alabama, but he moved to Detroit before he started out in music. The street corners and churches gave him the pastoral grit that he’s known for.

Forty odd years later, I still don’t know who to thank for sneaking him into my record case.

Check out his badassed self here:

Singles 45's and Under: Carole King - "Jazzman"

Carole King’s Tapestry was one of those albums that got a lot of airplay in our home during the early 70’s. It was one of those records that I wasn’t allowed to monkey around with like some others that I have documented on these pages.

To make up for this, my parents bought me a copy of the single “It’s Too Late,” which I’d play (the flip was “I Feel The Earth Move”) incessantly. Sometimes, I’d bring the copy of Tapestry up to my room- adhering to the request to not take the record out of the sleeve-and just stare at the cover art.

It was strange that my parents even had the record. They had addressed the problem of my destructive hands by switching to the 8-Track format, placing the player and tape cartridges up beyond my reach. I think back at all of the awesome albums they had on 8-Track and feel bad that they were presented on such a shitty format.

I’d play “It’s Too Late” and look at the cover of Tapestry, studying the shot of a barefoot Carole sitting by the window with her cat. She looked so exotic to me, a result of my Wonder bread community where Jewish may as well be Chinese. So to me, Carole King looked like some unattainable young woman from the city who had no qualms telling an old boyfriend “Something inside has died, and I can’t hide it, I just can’t fake it.”

I began to develop a crush on Carole King.

She also did Really Rosie around the same time, which secured another bond-but I was ready for the proper follow-up to Tapestry, not some greasy kid stuff.

Then, she came out with “Jazzman.”

I bought the copy you see in the picture, mainly because that was all I could afford on my measly allowance, and wished I had a bigger picture of Carole to gaze upon. I was taken by her eyes-a vibrant set of blue-but wished I could see more of her features below the neck. There was absolutely nothing sexual about my infatuation-I was much too young to grasp that kind of desire-but instead it centered around an ideal of what I thought a “cool” woman should be like.

It’s something that I still fight with today as my collection of Kate Bush and Cat Power records will attest to. Remember the scene in High Fidelity where they talk about dating an artist, longing for the day that their blurry image can be seen In the back cover shot. That’s me with Kate, Chan, and at one point, Carole King.

I told the story of my crush to one other person, and was immediately met with a look of “Are you serious? Carole King?!” Beauty does indeed lie in the eyes, and I’ll admit that my taste in women has changed since my pre-pubescent years.

My parents bought me a portable cassette player that same year-another entry in their long line of obsolete music machines. The first cassette? A copy of Carole King’s Wrap Around Joy, the album that “Jazzman” is featured on.

The cassette player would later eat the recorded music, but the bigger complaint was how the cover art to that tape was even smaller than the sleeve to my single.

No worries: another Jewish girl from New York would soon take Carole’s place and it is almost as embarrassing. This time it was my Mom’s copy of a Bette Midler album, featuring the buxom redhead with cleavage revealed-and it came at a time when things like that mattered more than the casual cool pose that Carole offered a few years prior.

Singles 45's & Under: Tobin Mathews Orchestra - "Ruby Duby Du"

Ah yes, another one of my 45’s.

You can tell it’s mine, because (again) I’ve indentified it as such with a childish handwritten “Todd” right under the publishing information.

I do this sort of thing with cars, electronics, and furniture, but it never seems to have the same results.

“Ruby Duby Du” is performed by the Tobin Mathews “Orchestra” (more on this later) and the label states that it’s from the movie Key Witness, both of which my parents have no recollection of.

Neither Mom or Dad could identify where this record came from and neither one ever recalled going to a movie called Key Witness, the only reason I could think of why you would even buy this single.

Thanks to the internets, I’ve learned a few things about this record-and the story is intriguing.

First of all, Key Witness was a movie-evidently an overacted drama about a witness to a gang killing….1960 style-that featured none other than the late Dennis Hopper. It also features Johnny “I Can See Clearly Now” Nash in a role. The plot sounded good enough for me to include it on my Netflix queue, but I’m not holding out for a stunning piece of work.

“Ruby Duby Du” is the theme music to the movie, but from what I understand, it is a different version that the Tobin Mathews’ version.

The version here is an original pressing from Chief Records, a small label out of Chicago that asked a bunch of local musicians to re-do the song. The head of Chief Records then put together a “front-man” by calling up a local guy and asking him if he wanted to be in a band to support the labels up-and-coming hit single. The label head named the fellow “Tobin Matthews” after simply lifting the first and middle name from his own son.



Willy Henson was a guitarist from Calumet, Illinois. By the time “Ruby Duby Du” hit number 30 on the Billboard charts, he was better known as Tobin Mathews. Although Henson…er, Mathews…was well known around the Chicago scene, he didn’t play a note on the song.
I find this fascinating-a label decides to record a cover version, and after it’s recorded they decide to build a band around the session performance.

Henson had enough talent and good looks to eventually parlay the “Ruby Duby Du” gig into a couple of contracts with Warner Brothers and Columbia records.

Henson/Mathews has his own blog where he’s cataloged some of his rock music stories and photographs from his past.

Singles 45's and Under: Glen Campbell - Where's The Playground Susie

Here's a look at the Capitol label circa late-60's/early 70's.

Here's a Glen Campbell gem that he performed when I saw him in Riverside this summer.

Unfortunately, not everyone was so lucky. Some crowd favorites weren't performed at all.

I heard a middle-aged woman lament to her husband on the way out that Glen didn’t play “Dreams of the Everyday Housewife.”

If that was my wife, I’d say she was trying to drop a hint.

She looks in the mirror and stares at the wrinkles that weren't there yesterday
And thinks of the young man that she almost married
What would he think if he saw her this way?

He didn’t notice. They kept walking together to the casino door.

Speaking of, the review of the show continues to receive comments of anger from some Campbell fans who felt I was too harsh on the aging country superstar, focusing too much on his advancing sunset and not recognizing his contribution to country and pop music.

But the fact is that I love Glen Campbell, and teleprompter or no teleprompter, I had a great time at the show with my Boomer neighbors. They simply have a hard time understanding that the Glen Campbell we saw on that afternoon was a different man than 30 or 40 years ago.

It’s obvious that Glen is showing the signs of age-which is why it’s critical that any fan with a passing interest see him now before it gets embarrassing.

Singles 45's and Under: The Beatles - I Want To Hold Your Hand

Case in point: here we have an original 45 of “I Want To Hold Your Hand” b/w “I Saw Her Standing There.” Note the nifty Capitol swirl! Note my declaration of “Wow!” wonderfully hand-written by yours truly at the age of three or four. Note how, even at that early age, the seeds of cataloging seem to be in place, thanks to my documentation of "1964" on the left side of the label.

The fading of the orange color represents my feeble attempts later on at trying to remove the markings with a pencil eraser.

Somebody do the legwork and tell me what this thing goes for in mint condition.

Aside from the horrendous condition of the label, the grooves of this single are completely shot, changing the color of the vinyl from traditional black to a near grey quality. This is probably due to a cheap needle from my old record player and a curious tradition of taping loose change to the top of the tonearm with Scotch tape.

One thing is sure: I played the piss out of this single when I was young, entranced by the power of rock and roll with no regard for how much the Beatles’ first American smash hit might be work in the decades to follow.

Singles 45's and Under

I went to my folk’s place for Thanksgiving.

It’s different now that the parents live in a different town-sometimes it feels weird to be there after they spent decades at our old house, the same one I lived in since 1978.

In 1978, I had 165 45’s. I know this because I wrote the number on my record case. The following year, it increased by only 10.

I know this because I wrote that number below the first one.

The vast majority of my singles were hand-me-downs from my parents. It was their preferred format growing up while mine was most definitely the album.

But those old singles did provide me with a lot of memories and, more importantly, they taught me a lot about music. Singles-at least the ones I purchased-were used as a way to see if I liked an artist. I was the type of guy that listened to both sides, and if the b-side was a success then there was a good possibility that I’d like the whole album.

To hear my Mom talk, they would buy a bunch of their favorite hits in high school and then tote them around to each other’s houses for study nights, sleepovers, or whatever it was they did for fun as teenagers in small town Iowa.

Their record players enabled them to stack the 45’s up, dropping a new disc the moment the tone arm got out of the way. That picture is one of the three cases that I received to lug around those 165 singles. It’s probably in the best shape of the three.

I wonder what ever happened to the Amberg File & Index Company?

My Dad brought out the record cases one day over the holidays, presumably to ask if I want to see if there’s anything worth taking, while secretly hoping that I’d take the whole lot of them and get them out of his storage room.

I glanced through them to see if there were any gems, and there are several, but the issue is that they’re not worth anything and they are completely worn out in most cases.

I didn’t take very good care of those 45’s and no one told me to treat them with care, as they might be valuable someday.

So I did what any stupid kid would do: I wrote all over them. Mostly my name, but occasionally I’d just write stupid shit on them, some primitive form of ownership in case there were any doubts of who they belonged to.

On the floor of my parent’s furnished basement, I lamented over a bunch of Apple singles with “Todd” written with permanent pen on the green apple logo. I see a Peter, Paul, and Mary single with the entire label ripped off, only to be drawn back on with my 8-year-old hand. I see an old Beach Boys single with the yellow/orange swirl Capitol label on it, identifying not only the song (“Surfer Girl”), but also that “Todd is #1.”

My 1978 single inventory that was on that box also marked the moment when I began to start caring for my stuff. I noticed that I began keeping the sleeves of those 45’s around that same time. I began cleaning the grooves before playing them.

Most importantly, I stopped writing stupid shit on them.

Instead of taking these worn out and worthless (value-wise, not musically) singles home with me, I just began taking photos of them. I’ll post the photos of some of these and then relay a story about the songs-probably something in regards to what impact the song had on me or some other personal artifact.

Because what came from those grooves is more important that what those grooves are worth in mint condition.

At least that’s what I tell myself every time I see those desecrated Apple labels.