The Bones of An Idol

"We cling to the raft, we are missing by half what we wanted,
But we escaped with the bones of an idol
Escaped with the belt and the title, but our land is gone."

--The New Pornographers, The Bones of an Idol


This is a bit of a post-script to the previous post regarding the closing of "The Finest," the venerable old record store in Fort Collins. So you may want to skip down and read the older post first, but do what you will. I decided to take a trip down to the The Finest record store on Saturday, their final day, to see what was going on, reminisce, and maybe pick up a few deals on CDs. Yes, I still buy CDs, I'm old school that way. But I haven't bought any at the Finest in years, it seems like. Maybe one or two now and then, but the vast majority I now purchase on line. This is of course a primary indication as to why the Finest, and other record stores of the like, are going out of business.

So I cruised across town to see what I could dredge up on the last day. Turns out they were selling CDs for 50 cents per CD, or 25 cents per if you bought 100 (!) Pretty good deal there! So I walked over to the rack of CDs and started to leaf through them, and an unexpected wave of nostalgia washed over me. I used to do this all the time! leaf through racks and racks of CDs. And I don't think I'd done it in years. It was a bitter-sweet feeling (more bitter than sweet? Sorry, couldn't resist). The music lovers who read this will know what a pleasure it is to browse through stacks of CDs, looking at the strange bands, the popular bands, the new stuff, the old classics. Looking for the perfect disc to complement your mood, fill in that gap in your music collection, or maybe looking for a particular disc, and maybe finding a completely different disc. And I wouldn't be doing that again, at least not in this town, possibly never. So I went through them all. Not that there were that many to leaf through by this point, the carcass having been picked pretty clean by the culture vultures who came before me, but I didn't want to miss anything this one last time. I started at A and went all the way to Z. My time was somewhat limited so I stuck to the pop/rock section, which is my kind of music anyway so no harm done there. I was hoping I would find something I liked, something that would make the venture worthwhile. And for 50 cents per disc, I figured I could take some chances and get some things I wouldn't normally buy. What the hell. Support your local business, I thought ruefully.

I ended up finding 16 discs to purchase. 16! All 16 for $8! And in retrospect I kind of wished I'd have bought more. But 16 was enough, certainly. I'll list them all at the end, it's an amusing list to me. But what really made it worthwhile was 1 disc in particular that was really just perfect. Honestly I'd have paid $8 just for this: "Of Skins and Heart" by "The Church."



It's a terrific album, and it was also a CD that I used to own and frequently listen to when I was in college, but had subsequently sold at some point in some unguarded moment of stupidity. I'd always vaguely regretted selling it. And there it was in my hands again. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until I saw the cover. It immediately reminded me of all the great songs therein. I turned it over to see the song listing and most of the songs came back to me right away, just by looking at the titles. Even the song title font elicited memories of listening to this CD in my dorm room 20 years ago. Proust can have his madeleine, I have this. I couldn't believe I was going to be able to purchase this CD for 50 cents. It was worth so much more than that to me. Maybe more in terms of sentimental currency than filthy lucre, but all of a sudden I felt like I was ripping these guys off for this precious little treasure. I entertained the notion that maybe I'd sold this exact copy of the CD to The Finest 20 years ago, and there it sat for 20 years, waiting for me to come back and claim it on the very last day at the last possible moment. In reality I don't think this was the case but it's a romantic notion to which I'll cling.

It really made my day, finding this long-lost CD. Sure, I could have simply bought it on-line at any number of intervening moments between when I sold it in the murky past and yesterday, but the symbolic relevance of finding it here, at the Finest, at the place where I may have even purchased it all those years ago, felt more reassuring and correct.

And shameful as well, that this poor store would give me so much happiness on the day of its closing! I walked to the counter and paid for my treasures and my trash. I thought about giving the clerk a 20 and saying "Harry, keep the change." I really didn't know what to say, actually. Sorry you're closing? Thanks for all the tunes? How come you didn't hire me 20 years ago, you jerks? It didn't really matter what I said, so I just said thanks, took my change and my CDs, and walked out.


So what does the fall of Saigon sound like? As promised, the list of 50 cent CDs purchased by yours truly, in alphabetical order in which they were found:

"Breakfast Club", self-titled, from 1987. I got a chuckle out of this one since it was a CD I bought in high school for the single "Right on Track," but sold shortly thereafter as I believe the rest of the CD is absolute rubbish (we'll find out shortly!). Not the same nostalgic wash of the Church, but it made my chuckle, and that's worth 50 cents apparently.

Buffalo Tom, Sleepy Eyed, from 1995. A 90s alt-rock band I'm slightly familiar with, worth a chance. And I know a Tom from Buffalo! Although I think the band is from Boston.

The Church, Of Skins and Heart. See aforementioned notes.


The Church, Parallel Universe, 2002








The Church, Forget Yourself, 2002. I was so full of good-cheer over finding the Skins/Heart CD that I snatched up all the other Church CDs I could find, regardless of quality.






Dada, American Highway Flower, 1994. See Buffalo Tom above.

Bryan Ferry, Taxi, 1993. I've a blind-spot for Bryan Ferry. This CD looks suspiciously self-indulgent and therefore bad, but it's Bryan F'ing Ferry!







Liam Finn, I'll Be Lightning, 2008. Score. This was a CD I was considering buying actually. Liam Finn is Neil Finn's son, Neil Finn of Crowded House and Split Enz. Hope the apple doesn't fall from the tree, because Neil is terrific. Speaking of Finn...

Tim Finn, self-titled, 1989. My roommate in college actually had this cd, I liked it but it's been probably 20 years since I've heard this. Sweet find.

The Juliana Hatfield Three, Become What You Are, 1993. This CD I'm almost certain I owned at some point, but it's been lost for several years now. Happy to have it back. One of C_ favorite CDs from college actually. But look, honey, I got one for you too!








Lush, Lovelife, 1996. I had the older Lush CD college, don't know much about this one.










The Mission UK, Children, 1988. This was probably only second to the Church CD in terms of "oh wow" nostalgia. I loved this CD in college, got sick of it at some point, and sold it. I think it only has one good song on it "Tower of Strength", but what a song! easily worth 50 cents just for that song. Youuuuuuu are a tower of Strength, To Meeeeee-eeeeee!

Beth Orton, Daybreaker, 2002. I only know "Mount Washington" from this CD but I recall that it is a well-reviewed release (ed: not true), so it's worth a shot.

Graham Parker, Don't Tell Columbus, 2007. He gets a free pass for "Squeezing Out Sparks", don't care if this is rubbish.

The Sundays, Static & Silence, 1997. See Lush above.

24-7 Spyz, Gumbo Millenium, 1990. A post-Living Colour all-black metal-rap-funk 90s indie band. One of my friends liked these guys in college, I think I even went to see them once, seeing the album cover made me crack up so I bought it. I did listen to this one and it certainly sounds dated, and self-consciously different, but it's interesting, and that counts for something I suppose!

The Finest, RIP

"What are your three favorite bands?"


Oh great. I'm sunk. This is an application question? This is at once wonderful and terrifying. Wonderful in the sense that I could land a job where this was one of the interview questions. Terrifying in the sense that I'm probably not going to answer the question correctly. Really, how do I answer? What are my three favorite bands? What do I want people to think my three favorite bands are? What three bands could get me this job?

And the kicker:

"What is the most Obscure Band you know?"

Oh, the pressure! Most obscure? I'll have to dig deep and come up with the most magical band ever here.

The year is 1989, I'm staring at an application for a job at "the Finest". The Finest is Fort Collins' well, finest record store. They have all the cool music. As a music lover it would be an honor to work there. I would be considered a music elite -- or snob, more likely. Call me what you will, but I would be on the front lines of all that is new and interesting and experimental about music! I would be a music sage. But was I worthy of it? Likely not.

But try I must, apply I must, for this is 1989 and I am a freshman at Colorado State, working at an indescribably awful job cleaning dirty dishes in my dorm cafeteria for minimum wage. This job I took after quitting my job making bagels for a local bakery, a job which lasted all of one sweaty flour-filled afternoon. In hindsight the bagel job was probably much better than the cafeteria job, but the bagel job was admittedly crappy also, and much farther away from where I lived.

But neither job could hold a dirty food tray to working at a record store! I could be just like those guys in "High Fidelity"! Of course this was before that movie came out. Now I wonder, which High Fidelity character would I have been? John Cusack, the crabby snobbish delusional owner? Jack Black, the unkempt recalcitrant snob? Or the bald thin dude who looked like Moby, the snobbish reserved recluse? Or (gasp) the square old man who gets dispatched upon requesting new Stevie Wonder music instead of the good stuff? I mean really, I spent all of my spare money -- such that I had, which wasn't much -- on music anyway, maybe I would get a discount working there. Maybe the other clerks would make me cool music mixes. I was lost in a reverie of being that guy; the guy who knew all the cool music.

Things were different in 1989, pre-Internet and pre mp3. Alternative or Indie music was difficult to come by back then. Even if you knew what you wanted, you had a hard time finding it. And even when you found it you could rarely afford it. Those import discs were expensive! People with cool music collections were heroes of a sort. They had rare albums. Their opinions mattered. Frankly it was difficult even to know what the cool new music was. Small bands, indie bands, didn't have the ability to market themselves effectively. If they weren't signed to a big label, they had difficulty getting their message out, getting their music heard. The listener had to make an effort to find music for themselves. But where? How? It helped to have an older sibling who listened to music, and I had two, actually, who both had good yet different taste. Otherwise one had to befriend the weird people at school. You know, the ones who dress up like it's Halloween, every day (what a give-away).

And my weird friends L_ and K_ had the best, coolest musical taste of anyone I knew. New Order, the Cure, the Smiths, of course, but also deeper stuff like Bauhaus, Skinny Puppy and Public Image Limited were familiar territory to them. I got by on recommendations and mix tapes. But the independent record shop, "the Finest" in my case, was the ultimate treasure-trove of interesting and unusual music. I tried to discover new music for myself, but it usually seemed to end up all wrong. I'd go to the music store and peruse the racks, and look at the recommended music. All the clerks at the Finest got to "recommend" something, on a special rack right next to the door. Music you'd never heard of. Music, probably, too amazing and different for you to enjoy. But one felt compelled to purchase it in order to gain admittance to the club of cool music lovers.

I was always intimidated by that recommended music rack. There were 16 different bands there and I've never heard of any of them! Do I go based on cover? That cover has a candle on it. How arty! I wonder if it would be too difficult though? That one has a topless lady on it! How provocative! I wonder if it would be too confrontational though? But would I really like it? Probably not. I'd buy it, take it home, listen to it 10 times in a row and try really hard to like it, and then put it away, never listen to it again, and sell it 5 years later. Was the joke on me? Or was my taste just too provincial? I thought I really liked cool music, maybe just not quite cool enough for the record store clerks. I mean I liked New Order, at least I thought I did, but not the early stuff. I liked Ministry, but only the early stuff! I tried and tried to like Joy Division, but largely to no avail at the time, except for the "hits". But I thought, maybe if I worked at the Finest, I'd learn to appreciate these crazy obscure bands. Maybe someday I could have a recommended album of my own on the rack. I was compelled to try.

So I would frequently end up walking round the store with the Candle, the Topless Lady, and 3 or 4 other records in my arms, trying to decide which one of the group, if any, I would take home. It seemed like the most important decision in the world at the time, a decision that would literally change my life for better or worse depending on the choice. Choose well and be rewarded with an album that you would love forever, that would become a part of you. Choose poorly and forever rue the wasted money, the wasted time, and perhaps most importantly the wasted emotional investment.

Now if I was being honest in 1989, my three favorite bands would probably have been: "New Order, INXS, and The Cure". At least those were the ones I listened to over and over, much to the annoyance of my roommate, I'm sure. Not too outrageous there, but better than, say, "Def Leppard, Guns 'N Roses, and Jimmy Buffett" (the three most popular bands at school that year), but probably not cool enough for the Finest. I considered stepping it up a bit: how about "Joy Division, Bauhaus, and, uh, The Clash". Yeah. But what if they asked me questions about those bands? "Who was in The Clash?" Mick Jones? Wasn't he in Foreigner? That can't be right can it? "What's your favorite Bauhaus album?" Uh, the one with the face on it? "How come Joy Division broke up?" Oh you either know it or you don't; no way to bluff out of that one. Am I, *gasp*, a poser? Now I'm ashamed. I realize that my taste, my musical knowledge, my cool just don't measure up. I can see the dismissive smirk of the clerk at the Finest as he brushes back his black bangs and reads my application. I can feel his withering stare as I face the rack and ruminate over his recommended music, music he knows I can't appreciate as much as him.

Now I'm angry. Those fascists! How dare they try to pigeon-hole me into three bands! I like all sorts of music, damn it! I should have answered, "Screw, You, and (The) Fascists". Ha ha, those are probably all real bands. In retrospect that just might have gotten me the job. But I decided that it was better to be honest. If they can't see my raw potential then I don't think I'm cut out for working at the Finest. Ok, "New Order, INXS, and The Cure", it was. Ironically Joy Division, Bauhaus, and, The Clash ended up becoming much more popular with me than any of those other bands, but in due time, not right away, not in 1989.

So the dreaded 3 favorites question was now answered. But what about the Obscure Band? How do I answer that? I think they were looking to see if I was keeping up with the latest music. So I put down the most recent band I'd heard of. In retrospect this turned out to be a bad choice. No, not Milli Vanilli, thankfully they hadn't burst upon the scene yet and I was spared that choice. The night before I had watched "120 minutes" on MTV, and I picked a band whose video I saw that night: Camouflage. Obscure, certainly, but ultimately pretty bad. Turns out Camouflage was a second-rate German Depeche Mode wannabe band. Really not a horrible choice, and one pretty consistent with my other answers, but a band that would probably be laughed at by my heroes at the Finest.

I turned in that application, along with dozens of other music-snob hopefuls, but I didn't think I had much of a shot. I liked New Order, sure, but I still liked Rush. Heck I still liked Ratt, for that matter. Still do! And I didn't get the job at any rate.

So really what is the point of this story? Actually it is a sort of eulogy to the Finest. You see, the Finest is closing it's doors this Saturday for good. The days of the record store are over, my friend. I mourn its passing because it represents a culture of music aficionados that largely no longer exists. I won't miss the store per se, I'll miss what it represented. I still love music, I still buy a lot of music, but it's been years since I bought anything at the Finest. And if I'm not buying there, that place is in trouble. I'm on-line now, just like everyone else. I get my music recommendations from music blogs and on-line reviews. Amazon and iTunes recommend new music for me, based on what they know I already like. And they're frequently right. And much less condescending about it than the raven-haired clerk at the Finest.

But even still there's something about the passing of the Finest that makes me melancholy. Certainly its passing reminds me of the passing of my own years and reminds me that I'm not as young as I once was. But also it reminds me that the thrill of discovering new music is not as exciting, difficult, or rewarding as it once was, ironically because it's so easy to find great music now. There's less joy in finding that new incredible band, because everyone already knows about it now, there's no arduous act of discovery. That rare song? Nothing is rare anymore. Everyone has everything on their hard-drives. The mystery is gone. Every song I could ever want to hear is always at my fingertips, and that ease of access somehow makes the music a little less special.

Part of me loathed the Finest because of how mainstream, how un-cool it made me feel. But part of me loved the Finest because of the mystery is represented. If I could just unlock its secrets and slip past its traps, I could discover great treasures. The Finest was a castle with a beautiful maiden locked in its tallest tower. iTunes is a brothel. Everything you iDesire is iThere, and assessable, and doled out to anyone with the means, regardless of worth. The thrill is, indeed, gone. Thank goodness the music is still there. So Rest In Peace, the Finest, the times have surely passed you by but your memory lives on in song. Weird, indecipherable song.