He Spins Me Right 'Round, Baby, Right 'Round

This past weekend I was in San Francisco.

While touring the city (and much to my delight), I stumbled across a nifty record store during my meanderings: Rasputin Music & Movies. It was "The Last Great Record Store" so proclaimed its bi-line proudly.

And of course, record collector that I am, I ventured in. I was immediately surprised by the size of the place - half a block deep and about the same in width with no less than 5 stories (Five! Stories!) of CDs, vinyl and DVD collectible goodness and of every genre imaginable.

It was the records I was most interested in, however. I ate the place up for the better part of an hour. I gleefully flipped through platters and platters of delicious vinyl encased neatly in clear poly sleeves. I was in heaven. I could have spent hours in the place without problem. Thus engaged, time spent would have gone by in a blink of an eye.
 
And in fact, that's just what happened. I spied the time and of a sudden I needed to be on my way. (But not without a small take. 3 pieces of vinyl just shy of $9.00. The trio included a couple Shriekback singles and a Stan Ridgway rarity, all in outstanding condition.)

Paid for and packaged, I jested with the checkout person who rang up my purchases and exited the store with a big, fat, sappy smile on my face.

And then? Monday morning? Something dawned on me:

Taking the records out of their bag, I looked at the colorfully vibrant Rasputin Music carry-all with more than a bit of interest.

On both sides of the bag the mysterious, mad Rasputin eyed me sternly. That's when I realized his gaze was electifyingly intense.

His look bore to my very core. He was glaring with laser-focused eyes. I pulled away from them (no easy task) long enough to scan the entire bag ... and I was transfixed by what I saw:

An endearing image of a black and white French Bulldog being cradled by Raspy complimented with an old hand-cranked record machine. "The Last Great Record Store" the bag proclaimed. 

Plus, Rasputin Music is accommodating to a fault, too:

We pay cash," Raspy offers, "for your CDs, DVDs, games, LPs, videos and books." Plus ... they offer trade in for your old stuff.

Flip the bag over and even more interesting (and curious) tales are told. 

Flames lick around the again steely stare of Rasputin, this time adorned with angelic wings and boasting 40 years of service in the business.

But ... here's the really interesting thing: Take a look at the top of the bag:

What ... !??? "Bullets" ... ?!? "Poison" ... ?!? What do those have to do with music ... ?!?

And beneath Rasputin? Markers and tombstones of record stores gone by the wayside: Aron's ... Music Land ... Moby Disc ... Wherehouse ... Record Finder ... Tower Records!

And yet another curious thing. That proclamation:

Wow. Really ... ??? Don't you find that a bit odd?

I mean ... is it actually a respectful nod of condolence and remembrance to those long-gone shops? Or does Rasputin Music have something to do with their demise ... ?!?

Think about it. Outside the occasional mom and pop record shop, vinyl stores have gone the way of the dinosaur over the years. Of late, however, vinyl has made an incredible resurgence. A huge resurgence, much to the delight of the collector.

And there's more. Not only has there been a definitive resurgence, but profitability of new vinyl - with its limited pressings, claims of rare recordings, "lost" versions of classics, hard-to-find alternate recording takes and more - has skyrocketed. To the benefit of those few record stores still plugging away ... just like Rasputin Music.

Is something sinister at work here? How does a 5 story store make it in the world today? Why the tip of the hat to the record shops of old? What the hell is the deal with the "poison" and "bullets" verbiage on the shop's bag? Why Rasputin - with his hypnotic gaze - as the "spokesman" for the business?

I informed Clark and Jeff of my findings immediately and we got right to work delving into the above questions. What did we find? Sinister doings? Coincidence? Wool being pulled over the public's eyes? Something else entirely?

You won't believe what the The Unbelievables found out ...

Kinda Strange Tunes

So ... that hat? The one we all drew from to get some random musical celebrity for this week's monkey business?

Here's the thing: First, you have to understand I'm the last of the three to "draw" from the hat. And that means you have to know shenanigans from my partners in crime(fighting) are surely to ensue when I come up to bat.

Don't get me wrong: Being last has its advantages at times. This time? Not one of them ...

"Your turn, Michael! Get out here! Jeff and I are waiting!" Clark called to me a little too enthusiastically while I was somewhere down the hall in our Unbelieva-digs earlier this week.

"Let me stop what I'm doing and come satisfy your whim, Clark ..." I called out. I was brushing my teeth at the time, I didn't have pants on (I know ... shocking) and really wanted to jump in the shower ... but ...

I entered the office where Clark and Jeff were beaming with delight, obviously at something I was unaware. Jeff was stifling snickers and Clark was outright doubled over from laughter prior to me making my appearance.

"Jeff's got the hat. Reach in and grab a name ... no peeking!" Clark commanded.

I stuffed my hand inside the hat. I could feel at least a dozen folded pieces of paper at the bottom of the thing and I swished them around a bit, finally drawing one out.

I looked at it while unfolding it, flipped it from being upside down once opened, then put my hand on my hip:

The name I'd drawn was Roy Orbison. 

"Funny. You guys are a laugh riot ..." Jeff's snickers began anew and Clark did his best to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any further guffawing from taking place.

Jeff held out the hat once again. I drew another piece of paper.

Janis Joplin.

I drew again.

Gene Autry. Really.

And again. 

Minnie Pearl.

"All right ... you guys have had your fun. How many more dead people are in the hat?!?"

"You've actually - and amazingly - picked out each and every dead one," Clark confessed. "We don't know how you did it, but you're good, You. There're none but the living left in the hat from this point forward ..." he assured me.

"... uh, huh ..." I countered and stuck my hand in one last time.

Weird Al Yankovic. Nice. This was the celebrity I had to get songs from.

And let me tell you, Weird Al is no piece of cake to get hold of. The best I was able to do was get in contact with his publicist who informed me his 2½ year-long tour which ended last October really took a toll on him. Translation: It was not possible to speak with Al directly. When I revealed my intentions, the publicist said the best he could do was pass along what he thought were some of Al's favorites.

Naturally, I was skeptical. But there wasn't much I could do about it in light of Al being on the sly. 

So here's what I was able to glean. First? "All By Myself" by Eric Carmen. Why? I have no clue ...


Secondly - and not so surprisingly - the Blue Swede version of "Hooked On A Feeling" ...


Lastly - and most troublingly - 10CC's "I'm Not In Love." I don't want to know why ...



Now, guys: Can we get back to some real blood and guts crime type stuff? Because this week sort of creeped me out ...

Top 3 Albums, not just tunes

Hi folks. It's Wednesday and that means it's my turn to draw a name from the hat. Who will I get...?

Elvis Costello!
If there's one thing Elvis likes more than glasses, hats and scarves, it's having eclectic tastes in music. Or as he says, "I don't feel any form of music is beyond me in the sense of that I don't understand it or I don't have some love for some part of it." He was reluctant to share his three favorite songs with us, claiming that it would be impossible to limit that list to a mere three, but I told him I didn't have all day and asked him to just get on with it already. He insisted that it be whole albums, not just songs, and these are the three he pulled from his top shelf.

"I like this one a lot. This is, of course, Larz Kristerz and the first chapter in the 'Stuff Party' epoch. I love the concept of a Stuff Party. It can be anything you like because it's about stuff and stuff is whatever it is. 'Why are there geese in here? Who is that person dressed as a shrimp? Where is this blimp going? No one can say. It's a Stuff Party'."

"I'm not normally a huge fan of Gustav Holst, I mean I respect his work, of course, but he's not someone I find terribly interesting. I do like the direction he took with this album, though, interplanetary space war with marital aids as weapons. That's boldly creative and super sexy." A NOTE FROM CLARK: That may be how a rock star feels about it but neither of these people have any concept of cover and concealment or how to take up an effective firing stance. They'd both be riddled with dildo bullets within seconds.

"As you can tell, I love concept albums, an art form that has disappeared, it would seem. This one is my absolute favorite. In my opinion, it's the Sgt. Pepper of the 'husband-and-wife-try-to-form-pirate-crew-using-a-hotel-laundry-cart-as-a-ship-but-repeated-attempts-to-produce-suitably-ugly-children-are-all-failures-so-they-have-to-break-down-and-buy-a-ventriloquist-dummy' genre. You know, that whole thing."

Well, that's the Top Three from Elvis Costello. Tune in Friday when it's Micheal's turn to draw a name from the hat!

We Want To Be Your Rubber Ball

Both my compatriots Jeff and Clark have done admirable jobs denoting our muscalities. (Though, Clark's mention "one of the questions I am most frequently asked by fans and foes alike" is a little questionable ... especially coming from our foes who are usually either on the run from us or dazed and confused in the hoosegow.) Regardless, there's one final item worth stating here in conclusion. 

A personal preference of mine (in addition to Esquivel!) is a little ditty that blisters the ladies' sensibilities ("Hello, Ladies!") when they hear it tear the air asunder, instantly dialing up the party mood  excitement level to "11" ... and making us Unbelievables the suave and stylish gentlemen you all know us to be:

I can see your resistance to getting up and getting down is wearing away even now. Because ... we are your Boogie Men.

Not so "unbelievable" after all ...

The Unbelievables love the classics

We, The Unbelievables, are often associated with the term "retro". I prefer the term "classic". "Retro" conjures images of  things rooted firmly in the past, whereas "classic" means something that never goes out of style, such as fashion. Still, the perception persists. For that reason, people are often surprised when we mention a fondness for the music of current artists. Well, why wouldn't we, as long as those artists are rooted in the classic aesthetic we find so attractive?
One such artist is sultry singer/songwriter Kendra Morris. She's got a classic soul-influenced sound that I find captivating.

I had heard about Kendra from various associates and went to see her perform at a lounge on the lower east side of some city or another while on a brief Unbelievacation. I ordered a Tanqueray with a Cold Duck chaser (classic!). Kendra was on stage with her band and she was every bit as good as advertised. I was impressed, but I played it cool. She saw me, recognizing me from who knows where, and cut her set short. She came off the stage and approached me at the bar. "Clark, I really like those pants that you're wearing today... you could hide an army of tiny men under the bells! Do you sew? Could you make me a pair??". Nice. Not only a classic voice but an eye as well. I was even more impressed. And everybody knows I never refuse a request to make a woman a pair of pants.



I consider it a code to live by

 After a little more small talk, she let me know about her real problem. "My tortoise Melvin has informed me that he would like to join your league of high fashion male model crime fighters. Although he doesnt have thumbs, he has somehow mastered Instagram selfie photography and duck face. Would you be interested in this? He is pissed at me for not writing a song about his shell and says he doesn't want to live with me any longer." As it turns out, human-animal domestic counselling is something of a hobby of mine, along with songwriting, so I was able to resolve the situation with this song I wrote...

"A tortoise can be anything he wants.

A firefighter or an astronaut.

An Unbelievable or a Hong Kong fighter.

Or even a roommate for a singer/songwriter.

Oh whoa whoa whoa Melvin

You've got a really nice shell (vin)

On a scale of one to ten, it's a twelve (vin)

Keep on being true to your self (vin)

(spoken) Oh Melvin,

Believe me, I know living with Kendra isn't always easy.

But don't be too hard on her. She's only human after all.

Besides, you're going to live to be three or four hundred years old

And that's a mighty long time to stay pissed at someone.

Oh whoa whoa whoa Melvin

You've got a really nice shell (vin)

I wish it was a scratch and smell (vin)

You got me under your spell (vin)"

Of course, it worked like a charm and Kendra and Melvin are still together today. This has allowed Kendra to concentrate fully on her creative pursuits. You can buy her latest album "Banshee" at her official site, as well as on iTunes and Amazon. To date, she has not recorded a studio version of "Melvin". But if you attend one of her live gigs, request it and see what happens!

Later this week, Jeff and Michael will share their classic favorite artists with you!



(The Unbelievables would like to thank Ms. Morris for writing her own dialogue for this chapter!)