I picked this platter of gold (Gateway GSLP-4500) up at the Grimes Goodwill a few months ago – as soon as the needle hit I knew exactly what I had on my hands – the source of Hooverphonic’s CB chatter sample in Revolver from “A New Stereophonic Sound Spectacular”:

• Breaker 1-9er, are there, uh, any smokies out there with their ears on?

• If you want a smokie, good buddy, try channel 9. . .

That’s all I needed to know.

In my recent record exodus, I fear to admit, I’d let this gem drift into the “go” pile – after realizing (as with the albums mentioned in The Prodigal Songs) that it would fetch less than a dime I pulled it from a life in long-term storage from a pharmaceutical salesman (I mean no offense, I’m really glad that guy bought the rest of the go pile).

On a related note, while digging for a cover image on the net, I found this post, drawing some great lines between CB chatter and Twitter.

I’m currently exercising a type of exodus for parts of my collection – with changing needs for space in the house I decided it was time to let go of a fair number of records – I’m guessing a thousand were selected – and have listed the bunch on Craigslist.  Tonight I ran through the lot (with a prospective buyer coming soon) and decided to pull a few that meant more to me than the 3 cents or so I’d be pulling in when they sold.  Tonight’s record is one of those pulled from that unfortunate consequence: Grover Sings the Blues.

After Grover (a good, light listen, with some undertones of deep-rooted sadness and a few skips, pops, and smiles) I tossed on Bob and the Devil – I can’t say that my soul was deeply moved but I was impressed that it wasn’t as bad a set of sermons as I anticipated.  Learn more about Bob and his work (and find a CD copy of Bob and the Devil for a $7 donation) at thechaplain.com.

Tonight I’m doing something I haven’t done (but have needed to do) for a long time – sort through 45s to find stacks to take to the bin.  For a year or two I’d buy any record collection I could get my hands on, thinking soon every stack of neglected vinyl would be carted off and run to the dump to make room in the basements of jazzy old folks who’d forgotten what a joy it was to listen to their collections. By this method I’ve amassed a ton of records, and unfortunately about half of them are trash. . . tonight’s a night to find how many I can pull out. . .