Stone Machine
If you’ve read “the LBS” (The Old Ball & Chain’s shorthand way of referring to my book), you recall that it ends with a list of my favorite albums. Who am I kidding? You’ve already memorized the list in alphabetical order. There’s a longer tale to be told about acquiring Tool’s Ænima—the penultimate album on my list I’d yet to grab on vinyl—but this one concerns my recent acquisition of the final slab.
Nearly all my record buying is done in indie stores or on eBay. Record nerds were surprised for years when I’d tell them how I didn’t use Discogs, the premier online record buying website, because I disliked the lack of product photos. When I finally took a chance on Discogs last summer, I purchased a Keith Richards LP from a seller in Spain who transacted in British pounds. (No tax havens, surely.) The 33 arrived as described until I extracted the inner sleeve, covered in an ink blot suggesting a blue pen exploded onto The Human Riff’s image. When I asked the seller why he didn’t disclose the ballpoint orgasm, he said I should’ve requested photos. (He had disclosed a few minor flaws in the description—but not the blue ball—which is why I skipped an inquiry, assuming nothing had been withheld.)
Long story short: I threatened to cancel my credit card when the phone representative told me they wouldn’t fight PayPal any longer, ultimately winning the chargeback and getting the album for free, the only way I’d accept an expensive LP that didn’t meet my obsessive-compulsive criteria. And maybe I emailed the deceitful seller months after the transaction, “Just wanted to let you know Capital One ate the charge so thanks for the free LP you misleadingly sold me” as payback.
The last place I’d visited prior to The Quarantine was a record shop I love in Vernon. Sensing record shopping was going to vanish for the foreseeable future, I needed one last fix. I chatted with Ian, the owner, at length (like usual) about the band with the best overall discography (we agreed it was probably The Velvet Underground), how it would be irresponsible if he stayed open any longer after that day, and how some kind of alchemy present in his store had gotten me that Ænima copy from a fellow shopper who sold it to me two weeks after we met, one of the weirder coincidences of my life. I asked Ian if he’d ever gotten in Bone Machine.
“I’ve only seen one copy. Sold it to a guy who was looking for it the same way you are. That never comes around.”
“Well, if it does, call me immediately.”
When my fresh $1,200 Covid wire transfer (ssshhh: they’re sending it from Jeffrey Epstein’s bank account) arrived, I made the decision to achieve closure. “If I could die from this virus, I gotta get Bone Machine beforehand,” I told myself.
Unfortunately, there were a few falsely advertised bootleg copies on eBay. One listing on Discogs intrigued me: the price was right, the condition seemed nearly perfect, and it was unquestionably a first pressing.
I emailed the seller, Jan, asking for photos to avoid another disaster. Due to the time difference in Denmark, it took him a day before he replied. (Or so I assumed.)
“Sorry, I was incapacitated today due to a very long workday and something like kidney stones passing afterwards (ouch!). Will try tomorrow. It really is as described though.”
Then he added a caveat.
“Forgot to say - and it's too dark now (no flash).”
My new Danish pal appeared to be an honest record salesman-slash-albino who lived in a (presumably dry) cave, disliked fluorescence, and primarily ate beets and chocolate.
“Yikes. I hope you feel better.”
He ultimately sent the photos, proof he was telling the truth in his description. Soon I would be able to listen to “A Little Rain” and “In the Colosseum,” but for the first time with a several second gap playing between them while I walked to my Audio-Technica. I’d initially hesitated when I viewed the original price sticker appended to the album cover, later deciding it added unique value. Even better, any time I played the album it would immediately remind me of Jan, his urethra in agony as he used a flamethrower to see the toilet while clutching his gravel-filled genitals.
Browsing on Discogs may become more frequent, not that I’m hunting down additional white whales. I’m mainly excited to email sellers in other continents in hopes that they’ll disclose their ailments. I’m chasing down a guy with eczema who lives beside a volcano, a lady with a parasitic twin who alphabetizes her coin collection, and a transgender paraplegic who builds robots with his fake limbs. Now that I think of it, might be a while before I have time to spin that copy of Bone Machine.