I found it at last!
It was an old phonograph record that had a song with a real catchy beat (people these days call it a "hook") that I discovered on an online auction site. To my delight, it wasn't just in good or passable shape, it had never been opened since the date of its manufacure. How lucky can anyone get?
Of course, that depends on your definition of luck and how excited you can get about an ancient, ultra lounge LP that's good for nothing but setting a mood. It might be a mood for dancing, romancing, or just listening to after the rest of the house has gone to bed and you can't sleep.
Since the record was sealed, it wouldn't do me a whole lot of good unless I opened it. And therein lay the dilemma: to open or not to open. I thought about it a day or two, giving my actions careful consideration and looking at all options.
1. Don't open it. So I've invested thirty dollars (six times what it was originally worth in 1966) and have a record occupying a bin. If all I am going to do is look at it, why buy it?
2. Open it. There goes the value of the record (to collectors) who will now get a cut on the price since the seal is broken, if in fact I decide to sell it. But, I'm not going to sell it, I bought it to enjoy, and the only way I'm going to do that is to break the seal.
3. Buy it on CD. Can't do it. It was never released on CD, with the exception of two tracks on a larger boxed compilation. Reissue activities over the past few years have ensured that more obscure recordings are finding their way to sellers' shelves and colectors' libraries, but the minute the recording is brought out on CD, the worth of the original issue is diminished. Again, I'm not selling it ever, so why worry about it? True, I could have a $50 for the record sealed, but then all I have is money which is probably going to be spent on something stupid or a dinner out that is loaded with trans fat, cholesterol, and carbs, which will eventually kill me. Then I never will hear the record and my wife will tote it to a thrift shop. Someone will buy it and use it for a clay pigeon (vinyl records can really fly if thrown correctly). What to do, what to do.
4. Buy another copy of the album - there were several online. But why tie up more money in another copy, have two, play one, while I show off my sealed copy to someone who really isn't a fan of that music or the singer?
5. Enough of this already. I'm going to bravely break the seal, carefully play it, transfer it to CD, throw the disc on the changer some rainy afternoon, and sit down with a cup of coffee and enjoy both.
Who says I can't make decisions?
Note: "Ultra Lounge" used in one of the preceding paragraphs is a marketing term for cheesy music heard mostly in bachelor pads. Guys heavy intro retro will furnish their homes ala Late American Garage Sale with Veg-O-Matics in plain view on the kitchen counter, melmac dinnerware, nine different patterns of silverware (nothing matches), have lamps on with much too big a shade on them, and have a Hi-Fi (record player) in the living room. Think I'm kidding?
Another note: The album at front and center of the above mentioned drama is "Do I Hear A Waltz" by torch singer Jo Stafford who was also a great interpreter of the American Ballad. This was her first release on the Dot label. Kinda classy and colorful logo, no? The album now reposes in a bin (opened) between a limited edition white vinyl pressing of The Beatles' "White Album," and "Shaved Fish" by John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band. There's no method to this madness. . .
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