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Additional terms apply.Our payment security system encrypts your information during transmission. We don’t share your credit card details with third-party sellers, and we don’t sell your information to others. Please try again.Please try again.Please try again. Please try your request again later. Designed for anyone who collects records for pleasure or profit, at garage sales or on eBay, this guide is both informative and entertaining. Engaging entries and essays explore the development of all recording mediums, from 78s to MP3; the distinctive character of imports; “most collected artists ” from The Beatles to Nirvana; collectible labels, such as Sun, Chess and Motown; original packaging that enhances collectability; and much more. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. Full content visible, double tap to read brief content. Videos Help others learn more about this product by uploading a video. Upload video To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. It also analyzes reviews to verify trustworthiness. Please try again later. John 3.0 out of 5 stars It shouldn't be called the Music Lover's guide to record collecting. A More appropriate title would be The music Lover's guide to the history of records.The Arturo Toscanini that most music lovers remember was conducting La Scala and the New York Philharmonic around that time. We don't think he was singing. Can the author address this. Perhaps I read the excerpt wrong. In this case, we're not talking about an obscure historical figure.Almost falling asleep as you reread the same tired line 3 times before you realized you had been doing so. Well this book is not entirely like that, but it does come close.
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I came away feeling like I was told to read this book instead of picking it up because I choose to. While reading I came across some line about a shop owner having a priceless gem, and I realized I had better things to do with my life like check gemm.com to see if I could get my hands on a LP I've been wanting. At least this book did one good thing, when I went looking for that LP I found an awesome deal at GEMM. It's all about that silver lining my friends. The bottom line: the reading at times seemed laborious but it does help you solidify your own understanding of why you started collecting in the first place.Based on the online preview, however, I'm concerned about some of Thompson's research. Still, looking forward to reading it.Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1 Previous page Next page. Please try again.Please try again.Please try again. Please try your request again later. Designed for anyone who collects records for pleasure or profit, at garage sales or on eBay, this guide is both informative and entertaining. Engaging entries and essays explore the development of all recording mediums, from 78s to MP3; the distinctive character of imports; “most collected artists ” from The Beatles to Nirvana; collectible labels, such as Sun, Chess and Motown; original packaging that enhances collectability; and much more. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. Register a free business account Full content visible, double tap to read brief content. Approved third parties also use these tools in connection with our display of ads. Sorry, there was a problem saving your cookie preferences. Try again. Accept Cookies Customise Cookies Used: GoodUK Expedited shipping available on this item for 4.99. Fast shipping. Excellent Customer Feedback. Over 10 Million items sold. UK Expedited shipping available on this item for 4.99. Fast shipping. Excellent Customer Feedback.Please try again.
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Please try your request again later. Feb 6 - 26Designed for anyone who collects records for pleasure or profit at garage sales or on eBay this guide is both informative and entertaining. If offers a wealth of detail and informed opinion a unique in a field dominated by stodgy price guides. Engaging entries and essays explore the development of all recording mediums from 78s to MP3; the distinctive character of imports; most collected artists from The Beatles to Nirvana; collectible labels such as Sun Chess and Motown; original packaging that enhances collectability; and much more. Create a free account Buy this product and stream 90 days of Amazon Music Unlimited for free. E-mail after purchase. Conditions apply. Learn more Representative 21.9 APR (variable). Credit offered by NewDay Ltd, over 18s only, subject to status. Terms apply.Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. Get your Kindle here, or download a FREE Kindle Reading App. Engaging essays and entries explore every medium ever used to transcribe music: the first vinyl 78s, 45s, 8-track cartridges, cassette tapes, LPs, CDs, MP3 and more, plus specialty items like colored vinyl. Some artist entries include interviews with musicians and collectors, insights on rarities vs. Landmark labels collected for their own sake are also covered, such as Sun, Chess, and Motown. And for those who believe a recording is not collectible without its complete packaging, photo essays illustrate original inner album sleeves, accompanying stickers, pictures, posters, and other artwork.Thompson has also contributed to Discoveries, Live. Music Review, Spiral Scratch, Record Mart, and similar magazines in Poland, Germany, Japan, Canada, and Australia. His work has appeared in such key music magazines as Rolling Stone, Alternative Press, Mojo, Q and Melody Maker, and he has written liner notes for such major artists as Lou Reed and Pink Floyd.
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Thompson's books - now numbering over 70 - include the best-selling Never Fade Away: The Kurt Cobain Story and Third Ear guides Alternative Rock, Funk, and Reggae and Caribbean Music.To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. It also analyses reviews to verify trustworthiness. Please try again later. Ron Jones 3.0 out of 5 stars Way to much space for discussion on record labels, too little on music styles and collection areas.You just want more, it drags you in. Conclusion? Wrong Title for exciting book.Must read for anyone who want to learn the history from the invetion of Edison phonograph up to 2002 when this book was published. Upload Language (EN) Scribd Perks Invite friends FAQ and support Sign in Skip carousel Carousel Previous Carousel Next What is Scribd. Books Audiobooks Magazines Podcasts Sheet Music Documents Snapshots Designed for anyone who collects records for pleasure or profit, at garage sales or on eBay, this guide is both informative and entertaining. Engaging entries and essays explore the development of all recording mediums, from 78s to MP3; the distinctive character of imports; “most collected artists ” from The Beatles to Nirvana; collectible labels, such as Sun, Chess and Motown; original packaging that enhances collectability; and much more. Designed for anyone who collects records for pleasure or profit, at garage sales or on eBay, this guide is both informative and entertaining. Read More Music All categories Publisher: RowmanLittlefield Released: Sep 1, 2002 ISBN: 9781617744921 Format: Book Part One: Collecting and Collectors An Informal History of Record Collecting I was lucky. I got my start in record collecting in what was a golden age—probably the last one there ever was.
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Looking back today on the 45s and LPs I carefully plonked down my pocket money for, it seems incredible to believe that such fabulous treasures could be picked up so readily, that the store owner didn’t go home every night and kick himself to death for letting another priceless gem slip by for the cost of a can of soda. You’ll forgive me if I don’t say exactly when this was, because it really doesn’t matter. All who pick up this book and can blissfully recall their own early days in the hobby will know the answer intuitively, because that’s when they, too, got involved. A golden age, a time when there was magic in the air and glory in the grooves, and every record that hit the streets was another of the greatest ever made. Of course it was, because why else would they have started collecting. There were, after all, so many more important things they could have been doing, like improving their grades or cleaning their rooms, or washing behind their ears every day. But no. Instead, selfiessly heroically, they sacrificed the pleasures of a normal, happy childhood to embed themselves in the minutiae of music. And, just as we look back on our school days, convinced that the establishment was at its social, creative, and educational peak during the years in which we attended, so we look back on that other most formative moment in childhood, the discovery of music, with the same sense of wide-eyed wonder. Could things ever be so great again. It could have been five years later, when every garage was a psychedelic shack, or a decade after that, when new wave ruled the roost. Whenever it was, record collecting is possibly the only (legal) hobby around that offers a shortcut to your soul. Others—excellent schoolwork, tidy rooms, and clean ears among them—may be more aesthetically beautiful or educationally fulfilling.
But records, particularly pop (rock, funk and punk, soul and ska, jazz and techno, call it what you will) records, can make you laugh or cry without your ever knowing why, can make you get up and dance or run off to be sick, can force you to experience the entire range of human emotions, and—this is the clincher—can do it so quickly that almost before the moment’s begun, and certainly before you can begin to analyze it, it’s over. Until the next time you hear the same song. Sometimes it isn’t even the music we connect with. Or rather, it isn’t only the music. The label itself can have a resonance that mere words can never begin to explain. Perhaps this is why many collectors, desperately searching for a particular song, will nevertheless reject a copy on a foreign, or even domestic, reissue label. For it isn’t merely the song they are searching for. It is the artifact itself, the tangible embodiment, if you will, of whichever experience or emotion that dictated their need for the record in the first place. It could be a classic RCA Victor release, with Nipper the dog and the gramophone horn. Maybe it’s an old black British Parlophone or Columbia single, the Beatles or Cliff Richard, the giant silver 45 logo a trademark of quality that has never been matched. The checkerboard of Chess, the wholesome crunchy promise of Apple, the lascivious lips of the Rolling Stones, the bespectacled pig of TMQ. And, if a logo’s worth a thousand words, then the slogans are worth many more: Sounds great in stereo. If it ain’t Stiff, it ain’t worth a fuck. All rights of the producer and of the owner of the record work reserved. Remember when, in the first flush of youth, a new record wasn’t simply something you’d spin a few times, and then file away, carefully alphabetically, in an archive-quality protective shrink-wrap jacket. The days when the first thing you did was rip away the shrink-wrapping... onto the floor, then into the trash.
Out with the record, all fingers and thumbs (you’ll wipe away the fingerprints on the front of your sweater tomorrow), onto the turntable, drop down the needle, up with the volume. Then you’d sit with the sleeve and read every word. More than that, you’d absorb them. Every lyric, every credit, every last iota of information sucked in as if you were the kind of sponge your teachers had despaired of your ever becoming in the classroom—and they were right, because that kind of stuff didn’t matter half as much. So what if Wellington won Waterloo. Benny Andersson, Bjorn Ulvaeus, and Stig Anderson wrote it, and they won the Eurovision Song Contest. In 1974, that was a lot more significant than some dusty old battle. Old-timers deny it, but it’s the same today. No matter that information now zips around the planet at the speed of thought, and that the average eight-year-old knows more about pop idols’ lives than his or her parents even cared to imagine. Album jackets are still a mine of arcane information and secret knowledge, the thrill of a new acquisition is still as physical as it is aural, and fingerprints can still be removed with a quick swipe down the front of a sweater. Maybe some things have changed. No matter how garish and arty they may look, CD labels simply don’t have the resonance of the old vinyl counterparts, all the more so since they revolve so fast you can’t even try to discover if you can read things in circles. Remember the old UK Vertigo label. If every record company had selected a mass of black-and-white concentric circles for its logo, the entire psychedelic movement might never have happened. Or, it might never have ended. To American listeners, accustomed to Sabbath releases appearing on staid old Warner Bros., the remark was little more than a throwaway that could have been applied with equal validity to any band in the world. To British listeners, however, it wasn’t a joke.
Play one of Sabbath’s Vertigo records at 78, keep your eyes firmly focused on the spinning disc before you, and seeing God would be the least of the revelations in store. When Vertigo dropped the design in 1973, urban myth insisted that the government had forced it to, because someone went mad just watching the logo spin. It probably wasn’t true—the story was spread by the same people who claimed the B-side of Napoleon XIV’s They’re Coming to Take Me Away Ha-Haaa!, the catchily titled !Aaah-Ah Yawa Em Ekat Ot Gnimoc Er’yeht, was banned by British radio because someone else went insane trying to decipher the lyrics. The possibility that radio rarely plays records that are simply the A-side spun backward never crossed anybody’s mind—not in those naive days before the evils of backward masking were exposed in the media. (And wherefore backward masking today. Surely someone, somewhere, has figured out that if you hold down the CD player’s rewind button and listen very carefully, the multimillion rpm gobbledygook has to have something suitably wicked to say?) It is true, however, that record collecting isn’t what it used to be. Turn back the years, to as recently as the mid-’70s, and record collecting as a formal hobby barely even existed. Yes, people did collect records; yes, there was already a thriving network of specialist stores whose sole business was to buy and sell rare music. Even then, records had value; even then, dealers were well aware which would sit gathering dust on the shelves and which would fly out the door the moment they were put on display. But they gained that information through experience. There were no publications on the subject, or if there were, they were obsessive little discographical creations run off in small-run private editions, barely available and prohibitively priced (by the standards of the day).
Goldmine, today regarded as the foremost record-collecting publication in the US, was little more than a fanzine, sold at record fairs, swap meets, and via mail-order subscriptions; Record Collector, its UK counterpart, was barely a gleam in its creator’s eye. Price guides were nonexistent. The first, Jerry Osborne and Bruce Hamilton’s self-published 33, and 45 Extended Play Record Album Price Guide, appeared in 1977. Grading was an unfathomable mystery (okay, so some things haven’t changed), and a book like this would never even have been written, let alone mass-produced, by a major American publishing house. Things began to change around the end of the 1970s. The Price Guide had something to do with that. For the first time, a book was available that not only unlocked the mysteries of a rare record’s worth, it also went some way toward explaining why such a record was valuable. But equally important was the music industry itself, and the sudden realization that it wasn’t simply marketing music and musicians. It was also marketing a product, and the better that product looked, the more likely it was to be sold. The concept was road-tested in the UK. British 45s had traditionally been issued in generic paper sleeves since the dawn of recorded history. During 1976—77, an increasing number of limited-edition picture sleeves were the first manifestation of this new mood, and they proved an instant hit. Singles in picture sleeves sold. So more picture sleeves began appearing. Soon they stopped being limited editions. Soon they stopped even attracting attention. By the early ’80s, if you wanted to be noticed, you didn’t have a picture sleeve. People started collecting those records as well. The advent—again in the UK—of the first commercially available 12-inch single raised the temperature even further.
Embarking on another of their frequent raids on the Who’s back catalog in fall 1976, but searching for a new way of persuading people to buy it (again), Polydor reissued the Who’s 1966 classic Substitute on LP-sized vinyl and found itself with the group’s first Top Ten hit in five years. A few weeks later, Ariola-Hansa issued the first single by German disco band Boney M. in the same format. Daddy Cool shot to No. 6. By the turn of the year, and certainly by the following spring, 12-inch singles were pouring out of every label in the land, usually bearing the magic words limited edition. Some of them even were, but it didn’t seem to matter either way. Bands that might never otherwise have had a shot at a UK chart single suddenly found themselves rubbing noses with the richest, most famous hit-makers in the land—New York new wave acts Television, Talking Heads, Blondie, and the Ramones were all promoted early on with the format, while new disco releases were scarcely given a second glance unless they appeared in the large format. Gimmick followed gimmick. Colored vinyl was next, and this time it was a transatlantic conspiracy. The technology had been around since the days of the 78 and was especially rife in the US during the early ’50s. But only a handful of labels had even tried to bring it into the rock age, most recently such enterprising UK independents as Stiff and The Label. Now the majors got to work, utilizing the same limited-edition tactics that had worked so well with the 12-inch, and reaping precisely the same rewards. It didn’t even matter that, in many cases, the limited-edition colored vinyl seemed far more common than the regular, boring, black variety. By early 1979, a band without a strangely shaded single was a band without a prayer. Suddenly record companies were falling over themselves trying to create the next marketing phenomenon. It could, indeed. Vertigo revisited! Experiments were made with odd- and awkward-sized vinyl.
Picture discs were next. Again, an old 78-era technology found new life after years in the marketing dustbin. In spring 1979, Elektra’s UK wing launched the Boston new wave band the Cars with a very fetching picture disc depicting, of course, a car. It sold like hotcakes, and My Best Friend’s Girl had already stormed to No. 3 when the first disquieting media reports suggested that, whereas other limited editions might have bent the walls of mathematical credulity, Elektra was driving a freight train through them. An acknowledged printing of 5,000 copies had, by some estimates, exceeded that figure ten times over, and the presses were still working. The ensuing scandal came close to demolishing the entire concept of limited-edition releases in the UK, all the more so since this scandal was very swiftly followed by even more serious allegations of chart hyping (illegally influencing a record’s sales to ensure higher chart positions) at other labels. By that time, however, America, Britain, Europe, Asia... the whole world, it seemed, was transfixed by an even greater obsession. The problem with picture discs, colored vinyl, novelty-shaped discs, and all the so-called collectible gimmicks that launched so many sparkling careers, was that they demanded a certain show of confidence on the record buyer’s part—not only that the edition truly was limited, but that the record was worth buying in the first place. If every new release was issued with one collectible variant, regardless of whether the record was any good or not, how did you know what to buy. Easy answer—you didn’t. So you stopped. However, what if the same technologies were utilized retroactively, to pretty-up records that you already knew, already loved—and possibly, already owned. This was something that even the US, where niche markets alone had been truly targeted by the inventive marketers of recent years, was unable to resist. The Beatles’ Sgt.
Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, with a picture of the Lonely Hearts Club Band embedded in the grooves. The Beatles, also known as The White Album, in pure white wax. The possibilities seemed endless, and so it proved. Entire classic album catalogs were remarketed in exciting new colors, and if, as it very swiftly transpired, these new pressings did not have as high fidelity as they could have, then that simply proved what great investments they were. Unplayed or unplayable—either way, they remained in tip-top condition. It is difficult to say at what precise point the army of gullible consumers that went into these booms metamorphosed into the army of serious collectors who emerged from the other side. But it happened, and it happened swiftly. In the mid-’70s, the only people who knew what a rare record was worth were the people who actually determined such things. By the early ’80s, the information wasteland of just a few years before had been neatly spruced up and completely paved over. Rare record mega-marts were springing up where once only cultish swap meets had lurked. Price guides grew from obscure private publications—which are now, in some instances, changing hands for as much money as many of the records they list—to sprawling encyclopedias packed with microscopic print. Little old ladies with antique stores on Main Street were adding rows of extra zeros to the price tags on their Beatles LPs, and casual browsers, stunned to discover that a long-forgotten component of their childhood was now worth its weight in gold, suddenly realized that they had to have it. And just when it seemed that record collecting had gone as far as it could, that every conceivable gimmick had been pulled out of the sack, and every conceivable notion for repackaging the past had been driven into the ground, some bright spark invented the CD, and the whole shebang began again.
Close to 20 years after the first 5-inch aluminum discs began appearing in record stores, claiming to offer superior sound in half the space, and swearing that they were the future of music, it’s difficult to remember precisely how much cynicism greeted them. Indeed, even the most optimistic supporter of this exciting new format could never have imagined that, within so brief a period, not only would almost every prized album of the past have been revived, remastered, and remodeled with bonus tracks galore, but that many of the old bands themselves would be back, rejuvenated by the interest stirred up with the reissue of their catalog. True, there were casualties. Record collections gathered painstakingly together over a course of so many years became... not obsolete, for no format (not even 8-Tracks) can ever truly be said to have died out completely... but certainly outmoded. New releases no longer appeared on vinyl; older issues were deleted and disappeared. On the secondary market, in the world of used-record dealers, swap meets, and fairs, the very nature of the business changed overnight. Still a search for hits-you-missed and oldies-but-goodies, the business now needed to expand to assimilate the new format even as it struggled to absorb the vast flood of old material, as entire collections were discarded by owners upgrading to CDs. In the realm of the rarest records, of course, nothing changed. An Elvis 78 is an Elvis 78, no matter how far technology moves away from wind-up gramophone players. Vinyl that was collectible before CDs, remained collectible after. But no matter how many thousands of records there may be with some kind of inherent value, there are millions more that are simply filler for the dollar bin, or that rot on the street in a box marked Please take me away. Elvis 78s are the caviar of collecting. Frampton Comes Alive is the bread (without butter). The thing was, a lot of people were now hungry for a few slices.
CDs, so perfect for those occasions when you require uninterrupted music for more than 20 minutes at a time, nevertheless seemed cold and sterile in comparison to previous formats. Besides, no matter how much music was now being reissued in the CD format, there was many times more that remained stubbornly unavailable, as the most avid collectors were swift to point out. RCA reissued Jefferson Airplane’s After Bathing at Baxter’s in stereo, and suddenly it was imperative to pick it up in superior mono. Polygram reissued Roxy Music’s Country Life with its topless-Fraulein jacket restored, and suddenly, the old American cleaned-up version made a fascinating conversation piece. Old-record collecting skyrocketed in popularity for many different reasons, but new CD reissues had a lot to do with it. In and of themselves, CDs at first appeared to offer little of interest to the traditional collector, beyond the obvious advantages of previously unissued or rare bonus material, arguably superior sound, and, increasingly as the format aged, an attention to detail and to consumer and collector requirements that vinyl had never taken into consideration. The medium itself was singularly unappealing; the words cold and sterile again come to mind. As it developed, however, and ironed out the kinks, a whole new discipline came into being. By the early ’90s, CDs were firmly established, both in the marketplace and in the collecting community. Promotional releases, one-track CDs that replaced the DJ 45s of old, assumed at least some of the glamour of their predecessors, while record labels’ increasing propensity for samplers heralding forthcoming box sets, hitherto restricted to cassette tapes, took on immeasurably higher value following the switch to CD. Soon, advance (media) copies of almost every new album were being issued on CD (again, as opposed to the earlier cassette), a handful of which have since ascended to unimaginable heights of desirability and price.
The advent later in the 1990s of officially produced promotional CD-Rs appears to have throttled this particular area somewhat, since the gold-colored discs and computer-generated white labels are simply too easy to counterfeit to allow their collectibility to survive. But collectors are adaptable. They’ll find a way around that eventually. It is true that some stalwarts of the old vinyl-collecting world will never be recaptured on CD. But many more have, ranging from inadvertent pressing errors that gift the first few lucky purchasers with alternate versions, mistaken masters, and so on, to limited-edition secret tracks. The increasing globalization of the world’s record companies has done nothing to stem the flow of exclusive mixes, unavailable B-sides, and unusual sleeves issued all around the world. And, while the 7-inch single may be dead from a corporate point of view, an entire generation has now grown up for whom the multisong CD single, the mini-album, is all they have ever known, and all they will ever care about. The European fashion for issuing multiple versions of any given CD single, each bearing its own unique B-sides and mixes, will bedevil completist collectors of many individual artists for years to come, and that’s as true for modern stars such as Moby, No Doubt, and Garbage, as it is for crusty old veterans like David Bowie, Paul McCartney and Bob Dylan. In 1994, the Rolling Stones issued five different versions of their Out of Tears single in Britain alone—proof, as if any was needed, that even traditional icons have found a comfortable place in the modern industry. Today we have music coming out of our ears, almost literally. It can be downloaded from the Internet as MP3 or.wav files, fed into our televisions via the self-styled miracle of DMX, and programmed into the ring tone of our cell phones. It permeates every fiber of modern society. New audio formats harnessing DVD technology promise ever more perfect listening experiences.