In the 1964 Supreme Court case Jacobellis v. Ohio, the manager of a motion picture theatre in Cleveland Heights, Ohio was convicted under a state obscenity law of possessing and exhibiting an allegedly obscene film. The State Supreme Court upheld the conviction. The U.S. Supreme Court reversed the decision. During the proceedings, Justice Potter Stewart made the infamous remark with regards to pornography: “I know it when I see it.” (In case you're wondering, he went on to say that “the motion picture involved in this case is not that”). You might well wonder where the hell I am going with this introduction… Well… several places actually.
First of all, I'm pretty sure the movie theatre cited in this case was the same one where I saw my first X-rated double feature. Yep, The Heights Theatre on Coventry was basically known for two things back in the day: raucous midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show on Friday and Saturday night, and X-rated double features all other times. Second, we're actually headed to Ohio this weekend, and though I doubt there will be time for even a quick visit, one of my favorite used record stores is located on Coventry; down the street from where The Heights used to be.
Upstairs, Record Revolution was all import records in thick, loose-fitting plastic bags, black lights, wild posters, t-shirts, and drug paraphernalia in glass cases. I loved flipping through the expensive imports, squinting at the names of bands and musicians I had never heard before except for one hour a week on Sunday nights from midnight to 1am. That's when Cleveland's premiere radio station, WMMS, used to broadcast “Import Hour.”
Import Hour was basically an excuse for dj Kid Leo to forego a playlist and spin any kind of tunes he wanted to play. Music by the likes of Kevin Ayers, Curved Air, Parliament Funkadelic, Caravan, Nektar, Van der Graaf Generator, Pink Floyd, Soft Machine, Magma, Klaus Schulze, etc. It was a total music free-for-all that introduced me to the world of “prog rock,” “kraut rock,” “space funk,” fusion jazz, “space rock,” and the Canterbury School. I would either lay in bed with my baggage handler-sized head phones on while the music phased wildly from one side of my skull to the other, or I'd “swipe” songs off the air using my father's Zenith tape recorder; it's microphone strategically positioned in front of the tiny speaker on my clock radio. Now that, my friends, is high fidelity. It's also, I suppose, a portrait of the sound recordist as a young man…
Upstairs, Record Revolution was all import records in thick, loose-fitting plastic bags, black lights, wild posters, t-shirts, and drug paraphernalia in glass cases. I loved flipping through the expensive imports, squinting at the names of bands and musicians I had never heard before except for one hour a week on Sunday nights from midnight to 1am. That's when Cleveland's premiere radio station, WMMS, used to broadcast “Import Hour.”
Import Hour was basically an excuse for dj Kid Leo to forego a playlist and spin any kind of tunes he wanted to play. Music by the likes of Kevin Ayers, Curved Air, Parliament Funkadelic, Caravan, Nektar, Van der Graaf Generator, Pink Floyd, Soft Machine, Magma, Klaus Schulze, etc. It was a total music free-for-all that introduced me to the world of “prog rock,” “kraut rock,” “space funk,” fusion jazz, “space rock,” and the Canterbury School. I would either lay in bed with my baggage handler-sized head phones on while the music phased wildly from one side of my skull to the other, or I'd “swipe” songs off the air using my father's Zenith tape recorder; it's microphone strategically positioned in front of the tiny speaker on my clock radio. Now that, my friends, is high fidelity. It's also, I suppose, a portrait of the sound recordist as a young man…
So, upstairs, expensive records from England, Germany and Australia with really thin, flimsy covers. Downstairs… downstairs was a veritable treasure trove of used LP's ranging anywhere from 25¢ to $5. And here's the rub… absofuckinlutely zero alphabetized cataloging took place in the cinder block basement of Record Revolution. None. Zip. Now anybody who knows how meticulously my music is currently shelved might think such an arrangement would drive me crazy. On the contrary. This retail chaos simply meant that I could spend hours in a different quadrant of the basement every weekend searching for those rare, dirt cheap gems. And when I finished systematically sweeping through the record crates I could start all over again because in the amount of time it took me to go from one end of the room to another, more records would arrive. Kind of like Sisyphus with his rock… and roll. Sorry, I couldn't resist… Needless to say, I used to board the #9 bus at Coventry and Mayfield so loaded down with records that I feared taking them in the house all at once when I got home. My father didn't give a shit that half of the stack only cast a buck. It was a stack of records and that, in itself, was no good. So, I used to hide the bulk of my purchase in the milk box, wait until he went to bed, and then slip out to retrieve the rest under cover of the night. To this day I still have some of those fifty-cent LP's — with the price stickers still on as testament to my record hunting prowess.
Finally, my third reason for name-checking this particular Supreme Court Case—besides the hometown association—is simply this: in a way, pop music is like pornography. Justice Stewart said “I know it (pornography) when I see it.” Likewise, I can confidently say that I know it when I hear it. Pop music, that is. Speaking of which, Monday night was a very interesting night for both naughtiness (not quite pornography) and pop music. On Monday I had the opportunity to see Morningwood (from NYC) and The Sounds from Sweden. The first was silly, high energy pop complete with flying-V guitars, spastic dancing, and concerted efforts by the lead singer to get someone on stage with her to take off their clothes. The Sounds were more polished and business like, and they reminded me of a ballsier version of Blondie. Today's Happy Medium Song of the Day (after all my long-winded rambling) is, what else, “Take Off Your Clothes” by Morningwood. Needless to say, this version doesn't hold a candle to the one performed live on stage at the 9:30 Club. (Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)