It was another cold, misty summer day in the coastal town of Lincoln City, Oregon. I had recently turned twenty and I was feeling lost. I was back in my small home town after dropping out of college. My life was a mess. I was trying to recover from a poorly done and ill-conceived double nephrectomy during the spring and my mom was struggling through kidney dialysis three days a week at clinic about an hour away and her condition was worsening. I was working, but only minimal daytime hours.
I was lost. Numb.
Listless. Directionless. So, what did I do? I finished work and drove south to the lone
record store in town. Driftwood Mac. Mike had been running the store for several
years by that point, but I don’t think anyone knew how it survived. I’m glad he persevered as long as he
did. It was a home of sorts. Music and the records and CDs that contained
that music were my comfort. I loved the
artwork, the smell, the feel, the sounds, and the information. Mike was busy painting the walls of the
shop. He did this often, as well as
rearranging the display racks. The shop
was rarely in the same position as the previous visit. It never took long, before the old unchanging
inventory would reveal itself. Mike had
a vast collection of 60s psychedelic band H.P.
Lovecraft, as well as a strangely prolific stock of 80s American punk label
SST’s discography, as well as
imports from the arty UK label 4AD
Records. That’s what was so strange
about his inventory is that it catered to a very small niche of music
fans. One might think that he would’ve
stocked the current top 40 style artists and would’ve plastered his walls and
displays with ephemera dedicated to the hit makers. However he managed to survive, he did, and I
am thankful.
On that particular day, he slipped a
CD into my hand, as I perused his strong supply of Dinosaur Jr. colored vinyl.
The CD was a record label compilation.
It had a very simple design.
White with an aqua flavored green font and picture. It was named Glass Arcade and the record label was Sarah Records. He had done
this to me before. He had given me a Flying Nun Records compilation named In Love with These Times that blew my
mind! Even at that point, a couple of
years later, I was still learning new to me artists by referencing that
CD. I don’t remember if I purchased this
recommendation, or if he gave it to me. He
simply told me that I would like it. By
the time I returned to my childhood room, the mist had become so thick and
heavy outside that everything was soaked and it was difficult to see. I put this unassuming CD into my player and
shuffled stuff around my room, opened the window blinds and the window allowing
the cool damp air into my bedroom. The
dimming light of the evening was shrouded by heavy clouds, yet a crack of
sunlight emitted a haunting golden glow from the west horizon. I laid back onto my bed and let the sound of The Field Mice’s “Holland Street”
envelop me.
Glass Arcade included no dates, only a couple of murky green photographs, and the band names of song titles for the sixteen songs. I did not know of any of these artists, or songs, but damn the first few songs not only felt like they fit perfectly together, but also fit the gloomy weather. This was my definition of rainy day music. This music was reflective, thoughtful, and quietly inventive. I absolutely loved it!
What was this? This music was a timeless collection of songs
from an alternate universe, where introspection is valued and introverts are
the most important target audience. I
listened intently as every song played, and then began the disc again and then
again. I immediately began planning
mixtapes to make that included a lot of these songs paired with similar things
I had discovered in the few years leading up to this moment. Some of those early Creation Records bands, some of the 4AD artists like the Cocteau Twins, and my favorite songs by
The Go-Betweens. I felt inspired by this mysterious music.
It would be a couple years before I learned that the occasional Sarah Records release that I would purchase were actually new and that this music was currently being made. I hadn’t been sure if these were artifacts from another period of time. I felt like I had been pretty knowledgeable about music, yet this entire Sarah thing had alluded me.
I’m currently reading These Things Happen: The Sarah Records Story by author Jane Duffus (https://www.janeduffus.com/sarah-records). I’ve had the book for about a year and a half, but am just now getting to it, and I am reading its finely detailed account of the label and the co-conspirators involved incredibly slowly. It’s a well written book and completely thorough, immersive and enjoyable (for Sarah Records fans especially). I am savoring it. Not only am I a huge fan of the label and most of the artists who recorded for them, but I am a huge fan of the inspiration that this fandom provided me.
It was that punk rock thing. The Do It Yourself thing that was cool. Not the DIY corporate sloganeering that defined home makeover design media in the early 00s, but the make the shit you like – anyone can do it idea that Punk rock first brought about. Don’t like what you hear on the radio, then make your own music. The music of Sarah and the way the label tried to go about things by being fair to their artists and fans by trying to avoid the sexist greed and depravity of the rock-n-roll institution was not just noteworthy, but admirable. Sarah, along with many small indie labels such as K, Slumberland, Pop Narcotic, SpinArt, Teen-Beat, Simple Machines, and Independent Project Records, helped me feel a part of a community. I’ve never been a scenester. I have always been reluctant to fall in with a particular insular music scene. Yet with artists, labels, and mail order distributers all over the western world introducing me to terrific music, it felt like my world was expanding and that somehow I was part of it. No, I wasn’t making music, but I was helping spread the word and supporting those who did. It was rewarding and exciting! I was corresponding with people all across the globe on a very personal level, instead of just memorizing their names from record sleeves as I listened to their music. Nearly every day I was receiving 7” singles, demo tapes, letters, or postcards in the mail. This was what inspired me to start writing and to (mistakenly) believe that my voice was valid. Even though my world was growing through this indie music stuff, it also felt smaller. Suddenly, I fely=t important. Everything was not so daunting. It helped me realize that there are lost souls everywhere and we can bond over our shared sensibilities. It wasn’t long after Mike introduced me to the Glass Arcade compilation that the idea of This Wreckage was born. Who would’ve thought I’d be still trying to make it interesting 34 years later?
Whatever the case, reading about how immersive the Sarah devotees were back when the label was active (1987-1995), reminded me to go back and listen to my introduction and how it made me feel then. It still inspires me as much as the music gives me those rainy day vibes. Yes, there’s a lot of nostalgia there, as I miss the idealism and the innocence of my own youth. It makes me wonder if it’s not just me losing that fire with age, or if we as a whole have. I’m savoring the book because I do want those feelings back and listening to these old songs helps.
