by JOHNSON CUMMINS

My name is Johnson Cummins and I am a vinyloholic. Like most fetishes, my lust for sticking the needle in the groove of virgin vinyl started at a young age when I got a copy of Kiss Alive. A couple of years later, I escalated quickly to my first U.K. import of Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks (different cover art than the domestic pressing!) and before I knew it, my sick disease surged and I soon found myself helplessly in the grasp of the talons that is called record collecting.

I have spent countless Saturday mornings prowling the back streets in search of garage sales and flea markets, let my elbows battle it out for space in record conventions and other dingy dens of iniquity, all in hopes of procuring doubles of records I already have, albeit with slightly different pressings— 12” singles, bootlegs, rare picture sleeve 7”s, picture discs, coloured vinyl, superior Japanese pressings, rare original mono versions, 180-gram vinyl versions etc.

These searches for vinyl treasure is more commonly known among the record junkies as digging, as we “dig” through crates and crates of records with an insatiable zeal in hopes of finding the next big score. Lately, one of us diggers had finally hit the jackpot with media fawning all over him while the rest of my ilk take on the colour of envy and will forever talk about the One That Got Away.

Chelsea finds

Vancouver transplant and coowner of Backroom Records and Pastries shop Warren Hill was on a trip to New York and went to a Chelsea neighbourhood in the summer of 2002 where he noticed the street was blocked off as tenants held a street fair. Upon seeing four stacks of records lined up on the street, Hill’s pulse quickened, pupils dilating as his fingers retracted in claw form and performed like diligent foot soldiers while he thumbed through familiar flotsam like K-tel records and probably the ever present Herb Alpert’s Whipped Cream and Other Delights (you can’t give that piece of landfill away) in hopes that there would be some gold glittering in the Manhattan sun.

Most of the records were waterdamaged, but he did manage to separate the wheat from the chaff with a rare 10” from folk-blues legend Leadbelly on the Folkways label, the first pressing of Jonathan Richman’s debut record on Beserkley, and an oddity from the Velvet Underground that was anonymously housed in acetone covered aluminium with “Velvet Underground 4-22-66, Attn: N. Dolph” etched on it. Not being much of a Velvet Underground fan, Hill decided he might as well take a chance on the record, thinking it was probably just a bootleg; after all, the Leadbelly record was the real diamond in the rough here, and at 75 cents, it would at least be worth a listen. Having the advance knowledge that acetate versions of LPs only have a finite amount of life before the fidelity is greatly reduced, Hill just filed the Velvet Underground record alongside his mostly gospel and folk blues collection and didn’t think much of it.

On a trip to Portland, he brought the record along to a friend and fellow digger hoping he might be able to shed a little bit more light on it. Lo and behold, when they put the needle on the record to make a digital back-up copy, it became instantly obvious to his record collecting fiend/friend and card-carrying Velvet Underground fan that this 75-cent record was far more than a tossed off bootleg but actually one of rock ’n’ roll’s greatest lost artifacts. The acetate turned out to be a rare version of the seminal debut record from the Velvets with completely different mixes and/or takes.

Although not even making a dent in Billboard’s Top 100 at the time of its release, the Velvets’ first record, sometimes referred to as “Peel Back and See,” after the Andy Warhol-designed sticker of a banana on the cover, would go on to become one of rock ’n’ roll’s most influential records of all time. Hill’s acetate is the only known surviving copy of these alternate versions, with undocumented rumours circulating that V.U. drummer Mo Tucker owns a copy, as well as David Bowie, who apparently is quoted as saying it is his most cherished possession. Needless to say that after the excavation of this rare piece of wax, a media shitstorm was unleashed on poor Hill.

Waiting for the man

The media attention helped flush out some interested labels hoping to give the record an official release, so Hill began trying to get hold of Lou Reed’s management as well as the Velvet Underground’s current parent label Universal, but all parties contacted responded that the record was of no importance.

Having exhausted the more traditional avenues, Hill finally put the record up on eBay, secretly hoping it would go to somebody more deserving. The first initial bid was innocent enough, with eBay user name “dangermary” making a sheepish bid of $26.24 before the serious collectors smelled blood in the water and began to quickly drive the price way beyond expectations. The day the auction was to end I paid a visit to Backroom Records and Pastries to finally meet with Hill, the king of all diggers.

Located halfway down a back alley and marked only by a single record nailed to a door with a hand-written sign saying “Come On In,” Hill’s shop is located in literally a plywood shack that sits precariously on the back patio of a house. My visit marks the last week of his little store doing business— not because of Hill’s impending eBay fortune but because the non-insulated shack just becomes unbearably cold in the winter. Hill doesn’t want to sit in sub-zero temperatures for hours on end while customers’ numb fingers peruse the bins of records.

By the time I get through the door, I have to wait in line to talk as a journalist from CBC radio already has him retracing his steps for the umpteenth time. Hill is obviously getting a little sick of his newfound attention and slumps in a chair, perhaps out of habit to hide his digger bad posture from leaning over milk crates of records. “I really didn’t know CBC had so many different shows,” he mutters.

Tuckered out

By the time to I get to talk with Hill, the acetate has gone way beyond anybody’s expectations and is sitting pretty at the $140,000 (U.S.) mark with six hours still left on eBay’s clock. Oddly enough, Hill isn’t checking in on the auction too much and is doing business as usual, even remarking that the 1981 Gang of Four 7” I am looking at isn’t all that hot (he was right— post-Entertainment Gang of Four just sounds like Hot Hot Heat on a good day), as well as the James Brown instrumental record I am thinking about buying (he was right again—non-stop jazz wanking with nary a JB in sight). He is clearly tuckered out from the heap of media attention and is still recovering from his two days of record digging in Ottawa and Sherbrooke. “Actually, you can find really good stuff in Sherbrooke,” he says.

Of course, I have to pose the $150,000 question and ask what he plans on doing with all of his winnings. His answer comes quickly: “I want to hire out a restaurant and treat all of my friends to all of the poutine they can eat and then maybe take a trip. Outside of that I haven’t really been thinking about it because I don’t like to spend money I don’t already have.”

More for the store

On Friday, Dec. 8, at a little after 11 p.m., his auction closed at $155,401 (U.S.) with eBay user “Mechadaddy” apparently taking all of the marbles. Sadly, just before the Mirror went to press, and as many naysayers expected, Mechadaddy was a fraud and turned out to be as skint as Wesley Snipes after tax day. Although it sounds like malarkey, Mechadaddy, who lives somewhere in the Los Angeles area, said he had fallen victim to a co-worker’s prank. This co-worker apparently used Mechadaddy’s computer to make the bid without his knowledge. Yeah right!

When I finally get him on the phone Tuesday night, Hill seems to be more concerned with packing for his upcoming trip to Taiwan than with any plans regarding the acetate. He says he is leaving the next move up to his aforementioned dealer, who goes by the name of Steve Wax, and said that putting up the auction again with stricter security is probably the next course of action. “I really don’t want to think about the auction right now because I’m just really excited to be going to Taiwan for the next five months. I guess I plan on playing a lot of Ping Pong for the next little while.”

Before I left his store days before the bid turned out to be a red herring, I did manage to at least hand him $20 in exchange for some pristine copies of The Live Kinks, Smokey Robinson’s Away We A Gogo, biker film soundtrack Angels Die Hard and Perry and Kingsley’s Moog-driven masterpiece The In Sounds From Way Out! Looking back in hindsight when he put my four crumpled $5 bills in a cash box, it seemed obvious that the money hardly matters that much to the wax monger.

“Digging for records was never about the money for me, and as far as the auction goes, I’m not going to count money I don’t already have. I’ll always be waking up early and going to all of the garage sales no matter what happens. I just feel lucky that I can make a living off of selling records at my own store. I still can’t believe that.”

Backroom Records and Pastries will re-open in spring 2007.