In the last week of June, I happened upon a record store website that made house calls. Since I don’t have a car, and have been wanting to deal with my collection of over 70 vinyl records for a while (ongoing de-cluttering project), this caught my attention. I sent off an email and received a reply back on July 1st. Part of it was procrastination on my part, so we’ve been back and forth for a bit until my last communication on Aug. 17th.
When I didn’t get a response, I was determined to followup. On Friday, I picked up the phone and called the store’s number. I explained who I was and had been in contact with the store’s manager via email. It turned out the this person had recently left the position, which explained for the disconnect. The voice on the phone explained he was the only one in the store and would have to call me back.
By the time he called me back, he’d read my emails. He explained that my collection of 70 records (ranging from classical selections to all four original releases from the Culture Club) sounded like it was not really what they were looking for. He pointed out they were interested in artists that essentially were well-known, but not so famous that their records glutted the market, like Dire Straits or Culture Club. He gave the example of a record collection they just evaluated – 400 jazz records which included Ella Fitzgerald and Etta James. Couldn’t compete with that. If I sent him a list of artists and titles, he offered to evaluate my collection just to make sure that there really wasn’t something of value.
The current manager (the gentleman who phoned me) said they typically put the records they can’t sell out on a table in the store. I thought okay, that’s what I’ll do. I thanked him for his time and hung up. My gut instinct was that I had a “giveaway” record collection. Well, I have my own table – down in the laundry room. Early Saturday morning I hauled the whole mess from out of the cabinet of my entertainment center; thoroughly cleaned the bottom shelf; and reorganized my oversized books. Then I ferried the records down to the laundry room with a note saying “Free to a good home.”
Yesterday, when I popped downstairs to put in a load of laundry, I discovered that all the records were gone, except for two albums – a boxed set of Handel’s Messiah and Leo Sayer’s Thunder in My Heart. It might be my weird world view, but I found this to be an interesting comment on society in general and changing tastes in music in particular.