If these records could talk…
They’ve been gone for 10 months. How many hands they’ve exchanged I don’t know. They left on June 7th of last year, when I decided to take ’em out of the house for a night on the town only to see them run off into the distance when my back was turned and back window smashed. It’s happened before, but this time was much more painful. They’ve been in the family for such a long time, traveled halfway across the globe, & the rarity of their beings practically immeasurable. It took me years of hardcore digging and numerous trips back home to acquire them — and let’s not forget a handful of these were my dads, the guy who raised me around vinyl and played these records not only for himself and his family but for Icelanders in clubs and on the radio many decades ago, just like I do now.
I won’t bore you with the details…wait, yes I will. This is just too good. I was on the bill with Madlib 10 months ago and thought i’d bring out some heaters. Put the records back in the car after. Someone saw me (or tailed me). Went back in the club. Came back, window smashed, shit stolen. Out of the trunk too. Record case was still there tho, on the ground — dicks. I filed a police report (thank you Asha G. for linking me with a Frisco cop who actually gave a shit) — got some insurance money back but a 100 bucks wasn’t covering jack. Called every indy record store in the Bay to let ’em know. My cousin sent me a couple of replacements from back home. I gave up hope. Things like this generally don’t reappear, and whoever nabbed them most likely didn’t have a clue as to their worth (estimated between 2-3 grand). Yes, these were stupid rare psych and prog rock LPs, mostly from the 70s, from Iceland’s “experimental days” (I know, little has changed). I had nightmares about it for a while. Real talk.
To sum it up, there’s nothing quite so awesome as the solidarity in the DJ and record scene. My boy Eric got word from the homie Paul, who got my number, called me, and told me that he had seen one of the records I had described when this all went down, FROM TEN MONTHS AGO (good memory Paul)! It was being sold on Ebay, and the description stated it had some writing in the bottom corner of the jacket (my dad had a very intricate cataloging system which included numbering each LP in his collection, usually in the bottom corner of the back of the cover). Paul got the number to the seller, a guy by the name of Fred Schrunk, who owns an indy record store on 3422 Mission Street in SF entitled Thrillhouse Records (support them, for real).
I called Fred, told him the deal in detail, and he told me had my fuckin’ records. I drove over there immediately. He had ’em, all of ’em — after almost a year of hitchhiking through SF, they appeared, every single one, at Fred’s store 2 days prior. He doubts the guy who brought ’em in was the one who stole ’em, but honestly I could care less. I have my records back, and it feels absolutely amazing. Chalk one up for good people who look out for one another. Thank you E Da Boss, Paul Campagna, Fred Schrunk and Thrillhouse Records, and San Francisco for keeping them safe for 10 months.