EVERY RECORD HAS A STORY

Want to know where I went to school? Welch's Music, Soundsville, Good Karma, Arcade, Scratching the Surface, Monty Rockers, Blue Meanie, and Off the Record. These were the local independent record stores that I went to, from the time I bought my first record at age 10, through my young adult years. My two brothers and I were total fiends. Lawnmowing money, paper route money, tips from busing tables, just about all of our expendable income was spent on records. Periodically it would get to the point that my parents forbid us to buy more records. We'd often ignore that, and bring them home through the back door, or if it was a 45, just cover it up with a jacket or something. 

One summer day I'd ridden my bike to Welch's Music, to buy "American Pie" by Don McLean. Welch's was an old fashioned music store. They sold instruments and sheet music, gave music lessons, and sold records. When I returned home, knowing my Dad was at work, and that my Mom was not likely to notice (or pretend not to notice, she was much more lenient), I walked right in the front door, bagged record in hand, right into the living room, where my Dad was. He had come home for lunch, which he didn't often do. I was busted, red handed, and he went off. He had a temper, particularly when one of us kids disobeyed. He began yelling at me, and yelling at me. He continued yelling at me, cornering me in the kitchen. I had no defense, I broke a rule that had been spelled out clearly. I had defied his authority. The minute or so he was going off seemed like it would go on forever. So I did something I'd never done before or since. I intentionally broke the record and dropped it in the kitchen trash can. Then he said "Go to your room." I was fucked. 

I knew what that meant. While he returned to his lunch, I sat in my room trying to prepare for what would ensue. After what seemed like an eternity, he called out from the other end of the house, and told me to get in his truck. It was about to get heavy. He got in the drivers seat and we took off. I had no clue where we were going. He pulled up in front of Welch's Music and told me to get out of the car. All sorts of things were going through my head. The only thing I could think of was that he might go off on the clerk who had sold me the record, that's how confused I was. We walked into the store, and up to the counter. He asked me what record it was that I'd bought. I was probably stammering when I said "American Pie". He asked the clerk for the same record, paid for it, and then handed it to me. Then he dropped me off at home, and returned to work. It was the only time I ever went record shopping with my Dad, and it was the first time I remember realizing that, underneath all of his heavy disciplinary anger, he had a soft side. 

My Dad passed away several years ago. In his last decade or so we did get a chance to share music with each other. His soft side had completely taken over. And I still have that 45. Though the song lost it's luster after hearing it approximately fourteen million times, I still still treasure the record itself. It has a story, as does just about every other record I own. The majority of them were bought at independent record stores, which is what this post was supposed to be about. Tomorrow is Record Store Day. Go shopping. My Dad won't care.

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Record Store Day

HOW TO STAY IN BUSINESS

The Sensational Big M.R. and His All Bitchin’ All Stud All Stars (Click here for full size)

It's Record Store Day today, and it got me thinking. I've been to a lot of record stores and have had a lot of record store experiences. By far, the event that still amuses me to no end is the day that me and about eight other guys went into a record store and shoplifted. Let me clarify: we didn't shoplift a record. We literally shoplifted a shop.

It was about 1979 and the record store was Monty Rockers, run by one of the scenes more colorful figures (and everybody's cool older brother), Dan McLain. He was a musician and scene ringleader, and a partner in the record store. Few people realized that the store was not wholly owned by him, because his partner was the money man and never, ever, there. Dan was the music brains, and what he lacked in business acumen, he made up for in his contagious enthusiasm for music. (I once saw him get an entire party singing along with "Man Smart, Woman Smarter" by Harry Belafonte. With every "That's right! The Woman is-uh-Smart-er!" his beer would be raised, and his arm would swing, anointing everybody who was shouting along).

After a year or two of struggling, his partner had enough of McLain's relaxed style of business and decided that he would take control of the store. So, he had the locks changed and he hired someone to work the store. All was in place for a takeover, or so he must have thought. But he was dealing with McLain, someone much more likable and, for many, the reason they shopped at that particular record store in the first place.

So McLain figured, without finances, he would still need some sort of leverage to keep the store. The best solution he could come up with was to simply take the store back. In broad daylight. So, he rounded up about eight or ten guys and had us all meet at "the Meade house", where a handful of them lived. I arrived on my Honda 90 and passed out "M.R. Task Force" badges. Some of the guys had baseball bats, so they were cast as the heavies. And I do mean cast. This was a rag tag group of music freaks and most were not all that tough. But the guy working at the store didn't know that. He's never seen any of us, except McLain, so it was an opportunity for all of us to get our Eastwood rocks off.

McLain as Country Dick Montana

Soon after meeting up, we got into a fleet of vans and trucks and drove to the store. Once there, one of the guys with a bat when right over to the phone and cut the line. He then stood next to the incredulous new hire, and while slapping the bat to his hand said "This store belongs to a friend of mine" in a gruff Bronson-like voice. I found it hard to keep from laughing, because the guy with the bat was so far removed from tough guy, I was unsure if he could pull it off (forgetting that he was in a SNL-like comedy group and fully capable of keeping in character).

We loaded up racks and records, and while we couldn't get everything, we were all knowledgeable enough about music to get the good shit. The store was left with absolute crap. The sort of shit small record stores have to keep the racks filled. I have no idea what transpired in the days that followed, but McLain was able to retake control of the store and eventually found a new partner who understood his style and actually liked music.

To give you an idea how important that store was to the scene, not long after the shoplifting incident, when McLain ran into financial difficulties, a benefit spaghetti benefit/backyard concert was held. It sounds quaint, but it was a was a modern day punk rock barn raising, featuring the best bands in the scene (among them the Zeros, the Crawdaddys and the Penetrators). That store was genuinely loved, and not because of the inventory. Like most good record stores it was dependent on a social vibe, a secret ingredient that cannot be bought or sold, only shared.

McLain would later assemble an all star band comprised of members of San Diego bands, deemed the Sensational Big M.R. and His All Bitchin’ All Stud All Stars. A few years after that, he became "Country Dick Montana" and utilized the same musical magnetism that made the store a popular hangout to propel the Beat Farmers to semi-fame. In 1995, he died onstage from a heart attack, while doing what he did best, whipping up a frenzy.

The Sensational Big M.R. and His All Bitchin’ All Stud All Stars: Who Do You Love, Beat Generation, and Burnin' Love mp3s and lengthy story at the Che Underground

Behold the Economic Solo - another post about Dan McLain, Gene Vincent and Monty Rockers

McLain's fanzine: Snare (complete issue scan)