Did you grow up
around Orange County?
Darren O’Connor: No, I’m from Hollywood, LA. Echo Park, actually, which really isn’t
anything like Hollywood.
What was it like
growing up?
My dad always emphasized on me, ‘Don’t ever be late, and go
to school. That’s all I ask.’ I ended up being the only one in my family
that graduated and got accepted to Otis-Parsons. Yeah, but I obviously didn’t go. I ended up falling in love with music. In fifth grade I bought a Queen album, Day at the Races, and I got David
Bowie’s, Young Americans album. That was all I wanted was records. Every time I did good, my dad never gave me
money, but like allowance, I’d get something and I’d just ask him for records.
That started back in
fifth grade?
Fifth grade, 1975.
And it’s funny that those two bands are the records that I wanted most
because I didn’t even like any white music at all. I only liked Soul music, other than The
Doors.
What other artists
were you listening to?
The Doors and War and Marvin Gaye. Al Green and that kind of stuff. That’s what my mom was listening to. And rockabilly stuff ‘cause the only thing my
dad listened to was Chuck Berry, Neil Diamond and Elvis Presley. That’s all
that he liked, other than classical music.
He didn’t like anybody, but my mom—it just reminded me of Pinesol,
cleaning the house, windows open, Soul music in Echo Park. It was just what I liked. Creedence I liked, my mom listened to that
too for some reason.
(To customer) How are you doing? You got any questions?
Customer: Um, do you
guys have posters?
O’Connor: No, not
many. I saw a poster store somewhere,
but those aren’t easy to find. I think
there’s a good store in Whittier off on Greenleaf. It’s like a rock shop and they have
sweatshirts, lighters…it’s almost like the old head-shop style. They’re not so easy to find because they take
up so much space and shops can’t afford.
Customer: Alright, thanks.
What’s your history
in the record business?
I closed Neil’s records in 1987. I had a store from ’83 when I graduated,
that’s why I didn’t go to Otis-Parsons ‘cause I fell in love with music. My dad said flat out, ‘If you’re not going to
school, you’re moving out, you gotta find a place to stay.’ Just simple as that, and that was always my
dad’s theme of life was, ‘As long as you go to school and be on time, I’ll do
what I can to support you. But if you
don’t want to help yourself,’ he always said, ‘there’s the door right
there. Whatever you know better than me,
you can always go pay rent.’
Records was all you
could see?
I ended up just going into a store and pulling up New York
Dolls and Dead Boys records from
1983 and started with that and said, ‘You gotta put this up for more money, you
gotta price these, you gotta get these up on your wall and get this farty old
rock of the wall. You gotta put up all
these neat things. Put them up for like
ten bucks—you have them for like two dollars.’
Later, he wanted to hire me, and of course I wanted to work there,
probably more than he wanted to hire me.
At Neil’s?
Yeah, I wanted to work at another store called Turning Point,
but Turning Point was more new records.
They didn’t deal with collectibles at all. Neil was into everything—bootlegs,
collectible—anything with money, he wanted to know about. So I come in with all these punk records,
going, ‘Put these Dead Boys at $10, put these New York Dolls at $10, put the
Cramps up or whatever.’ So the store
started doing really well, and it was off of Broadway in a little tiny shop,
and a lot of crime was going on in that place.
He started having me work, then next thing you know he had to go to
jail. I started running it, moved into a
25,000 square foot store, got a 7” room, got a 12” disco room, and started
getting sections. I wanted to open a
head shop in the back and start doing all these things. Then Neil came back and started getting
crazy. He was buying hot merchandise,
wanted to sell bootlegs, and he wanted to start making bootlegs, and I was just
the cover kid selling records, ordering new releases, doing all the buying—like
everyday and I was only 17 or 18 years old.
I could work 24 hours a day, I was just always there. When I got
that 25,000 square-foot store, I got construction workers and we built a little
stage and a step-up counter where we were above the people. It was kind of cool, ‘cause at the time no
store was like that where you’re atop everyone and you could look out and we
would welcome you as you walked in. Then
I got racks on the wall and started putting punk records up and that was when
the store started going haywire. I had
it and it was going real good, but Neil signed his name…I was a kid, and I
thought I was buying the store from him, but he had it in the contract funny,
like when he’s in jail I can do it, and I have to buy the store at $3,000
dollars a month, and in five years, it would be my store or something like
that. By ’87, it started getting insane
where cops were hanging out in front of the store and all this. In other words, it started getting real bad.
Because of in-store
performances? Or something else?
No, because hot merchandise was coming in and out of
there. The final days, the cops are
outside and I’m drinking a Schlitz and it’s like 10am in the morning and I’m
like, ‘Why’s a cop out there?’ I keep
putting my beer down to the side. This
guy ain’t even letting me drink my fucking beer, what’s going on? The cop’s just out there in the front of the
store just sitting there, and I’m like, ‘Don’t you gotta go get crime to fix or
do something?’ And they were like, ‘No,
you’re the crime. You’re going down,
we’re going to get you.’ He said, ‘You
can make two decisions,’ and he told me straight to my face, ‘You could either
stick with that guy, that criminal, in there and go to jail with him, or you
can help us and tell us everything about Neil right now.’ I said, ‘You know what, no.’ And I just walked back into the store. Neil came in—cops were still sitting
there—and I go to Neil and go, ‘Neil, there’s two options. You’re going to stop buying hot merchandise,
you’re going to stop bootlegging, or I’m leaving.’ He said, ‘You can’t leave.’ So I said, ‘No, you have two options and I
can do whatever I want, I’m a 20 year old kid.’
No one can tell you what to do if you’re a city kid. I had the world by a string according to me—I
had money, I was DJing, I was spinning at Scream, I was really popular making
money doing all this stuff. But he was
like, ‘No, we can’t do that.’ I told him
he was crazy and I went and talked to my dad.
I told him, ‘Dad, this guy’s a criminal.’ He’s like, ‘I’ve told you, never deal with a
criminal. Don’t let any liars or
cheaters or thieves in your life, stay away.’
I come back to Neil and say, ‘I’m leaving man. I quit today if this is what you’re going to
do. If I find one piece of merchandise
that I think is hot in this store, I gotta go.’
Next day, sure enough, all these people are in with stacks of new
release records, like 20 Beatles double CDs, and those were like $40 back then
retail. So I walk in and I’m like,
‘Neil, you’re blowing it, I gotta go.’
And before I could even get out of the store, he calls his
attorney. Neil hands me the phone and
it’s his attorney and he says, ‘Darren, I’m going to tell you right now, if you
try leaving that store, I’m going to ruin your life for ten years.’ I was like, ‘What are you talking about, I’m
fucking leaving.’ He goes, ‘No you
aren’t. You can’t leave. You signed a contract to buy that store with
Neil.’ I go, “Yep, I’ve got three
months, but fuck it, he can have the store, he can have everything, I’m
leaving.’ He said, ‘Nope, we’re going to
ruin your life for ten years if you try leaving that store.’ I’m only 20 so I say, ‘Fuck you,’ and hang up
the phone, then say, ‘Fuck you Neil, I’m leaving.’ I left and I came back with my friends Lee
and Tom, went into the store, left all my record collection that was at the
store—which was quite a bit. My friends
said I gotta grab it, but I told them, ‘Norowitz—the attorney—told me if I take
anything out of that store, that it’s theft, ‘cause it’s his store.’ So I took my record player, I left my records
there, but took a certain little stack of records that I bought myself with my
own paycheck. Next thing you know,
Norowitz, the attorney, comes driving up.
He took the keys out of our vans, stole them, raised them up in the air
and ran down the street on Colorado Boulevard.
I was like, ‘You know what, fuck that guy, let him do it and let’s call
the police.’ My friend, Lee, who doesn’t
put up with anything from anybody, took off after him, and I start running
after him, and Norowitz turns around in the middle of the street, still holding
the keys. So I go, ‘Don’t fucking touch
him Lee, he’s an attorney.’ Norowitz
stopped, Lee bumped into him, Norowitz threw the keys up onto the roof. We didn’t know, but he threw them and they
went up on this two-story brick-building roof.
We end up in jail—all of us—for attempting to hurt a licensed attorney.
What did you do after
that?
I moved out to Tustin, came out here, and hid for two years
and just traded records. I didn’t let
anybody know what the hell I was doing.
Then I opened Vinyl Solution in ’89.
It took me almost two years to finally find a store I wanted. I wanted to move down to La Jolla in San
Diego ‘cause I love that city and it seemed like a good hiding place. So my mom steps in and tells me, ‘I’m going
to help you, but the only way I’m going to help you is if you move on Beach
Boulevard. Half a million people drive
up Beach.’ So I figured I had my balls
in a vice here. I’m either gonna live
with my sister and hide and trade records all day, and keep hoping to open a
store someday, or I’m going to suck up and do whatever my mom tells me. She was like, ‘One thing I’ll do is I’d like
to help you with your career. As a
mother, this is what I’ll do.’ I ended
up opening up this store, and Norowitz comes back, took everything, said it was
all stolen merchandise, on the day that my grandmother died. It was 1989, December 23rd. He ended up getting kicked out of the state
because of me, ‘cause we just didn’t bow down.
My mom was like, ‘My mother just died on the same day that your store
got everything taken out of it—that I saw you work for?’ So she just went to town on the guy and went
to court. It was crazy. I ended up here and dealing with all that.
When you opened the
store on Beach Boulevard, what was the music scene like?
It was a great scene.
I opened the store, but I didn’t know anything ‘cause I’m still thinking
of New York Dolls and The Dead Boys and punk this, punk that in the ‘70s, and
all of a sudden, all these black and white kids with patches all dirty came
walking in here. And they’re like, ‘Do
you have this? Do you have that?’ They were naming bands that I never heard of
that I thought were jokes. I was like,
‘What’s this crustcore and straight-edge stuff?’ I didn’t even know what that fuckin’
was. I didn’t even know what
straight-edge meant. I didn’t know Minor
Threat or 7 Seconds. I’m 46 years old
now. At the time in Hollywood, I didn’t
even know. I heard Minor Threat, but it
was so ridiculous to me that I didn’t even bother listening to lyrics. Same with 7 Seconds. But you know what? That was a big fuckin’ deal out here. Like I said, I grew up listening to Soul
music, and Queen, and Bowie, and then the Pistols, and I never looked
back. In 1982, I laughed at
hardcore. I went straight into
Psychedelic Furs, OMD, Joy Division. Joy
Division showed up in High School. I was
like the only kid at Burbank listening to that, ‘cause I was hanging out with a
lot of older people, so I was obviously very influenced, and I was an art
guy. Even when I was a kid, people were
into like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and stuff like that, and I was into Roxy
Music and King Crimson. I was into that
only ‘cause that’s what my older art friends were into. The first weekend—I’m only here for like four
days—I have a swarm of all these crusty kids coming in. Then all the Huntington Beach kids from like Confrontation
came in and were like, ‘You wanna carry this, you need to carry more
Discharge.’ We could barely give away
Discharge in Hollywood, but I’ll do it.
Go make a list. He made me a list
of about four pages. I ordered it all
that week. It sold like that (snapping
fingers). I thought, ‘This is
nuts.’ All I did was listen to every one
who walked into that store from that day.
I’m gonna do whatever you guys ask of me. It turned into 40 or 50 people my first
weekend. And from that point on, the
store went really good. All I did was
just listen to my customers. I added the
extras, like if Minor Threats first album sells, everything must sell. So I’d order everything on catalogue. Then people would tell me what band they’re
in now, and sooner or later they’re in Fugazi, then I gotta get Fugazi. And it was just selling. I thought I was going to go to my grave
selling Pistols and Cramps and Ramones.
That sells too.
Yeah, but people are moving on here. The other thing was there were 12-year-old
kids into hardcore out here.
With working parents,
so they just cruise freely on their skateboards?
I always wondered how such young kids, when I’d show up at
places on this side, were showing up at shows.
I remember being at Burbank High and having my Pistols and my Dead
Kennedys. Listening to Pistols was like,
‘Wow, I’m allowed to hate.’ I never knew
I was allowed not to like something. And
then I heard the Dead Kennedys and I was like, ‘You’re allowed to fucking
think! This is crazy.’ The book, pulling out that poster and seeing
what Jello Biafra dare say was like…it changed my world. And then I saw kids on skateboards that were
a year older than me, and then I hear DOA.
What do you think it
is about this area that inspires that?
It’s just a suburban thing where they are trapped. A friend of mine told me, ‘You don’t
understand what it’s like out here. We
have these model homes, we live in these nice houses, our parents don’t let us
out. When we go out, we’ve gotta get
violent, we’ve gotta get crazy. We’ve
got a lot of hatred in our stuff.’ It’s
just being in that perfect-type of model home, and things aren’t perfect. A city kid doesn’t see that. They think we’re all crazy, but it’s ok
‘cause we can do whatever we want, ‘cause our mom’s don’t even care about us,
we could do what we want to do. Even the
parents that care, they’re so busy working and getting everything taken care
of, it seems behind the Orange Curtain, even parents are too busy to have
kids. LA and in ethnic areas, family
comes first. They’re living off of
tradition, they aren’t living off, ‘I’m gonna change this thing and I’m gonna
build a new way.’ The full Reagan Youth
type of thing, it was real, but when it started going metal and punk and people
were starting to become songwriters and doing synth stuff and getting all
new-waved out and becoming creative artists instead of just hardcore, Orange
County, for the most part, was like, ‘Fuck you, we’re still pissed. I loved when I was 12 in the backyard
listening to hardcore, and I’m 35 and I still love mashing it up.’ And I think the reason that it’s that way,
like I said, it’s just the way kids were raised in a suburban versus urban
environment—two totally different things.
Also including the
Orange County ideals of surfing and skating.
They go for it, and they didn’t do that in the cities. I’m not saying that there weren’t great
surfboarders or skateboarders that went to Santa Monica that ended up
here. Those people just had a total
outside life that was different than the usual kids that went to the park and
played baseball. That wasn’t exactly
what you do in this area, I don’t think.
Like my friend was saying, he used to listen to hard-core when he was
12—his brother was telling him about the Pistols. And then he thought he was going to carry it
through with the local hardcore that Zed was teaching them at Zed’s
Records. Next thing you know the ‘shock’
comes around and those kids came around, and they hit rocks hard. They’d find drugs and get crazy on them. I think they just had to skip a beat. We were, as LA people, already smoking weed
and doing dust and having a great time and learning on your own road how to
handle life, and drinking beer in an alley.
It seemed like that just wasn’t cool for a long period of time in the
Orange County thing when hardcore and straight-edge moved in and it seemed like
the whole thing. And then there was the
other crew that were the black and white crusties, like the Reagan and The
Confrontation, which won in ’89 in Maximum Rock n’ Roll as the best single of
the year—a Huntington Beach band. They
were political, the fastest, loudest, grindiest band, and those were the kids
that came into my store and were telling me that Discharge is their Sex
Pistols, that’s how they explained it.
They said when they were 14-years-old they were listening to Discharge,
and The Amoebics, and all this black and white hardcore, and they had to make
it more angry and more pissed, drink more and get louder. It seemed like there were two ways. The kids were either grindcore and vegan
people, to straight-edge meat eating people.
There was vegan straight-edge, but there was also the angry little rich
kids in the baggy shorts and the baseball hats that were hardcore, and never
let it go. That was just a way of life
for them. My friend would say, ‘You
don’t understand, when we grew up, it was like, ‘Mom, dad, I did all the
dishes, I ate all the food off of my plate, I finished all my homework. Can you drive me to the show?’ Parents were like, ‘Okay junior, should we
pick you up after?’ All you would do is
go let out your aggression. You can’t
come home fucked up ‘cause mom and dad are going to pick you up. You can’t be climbing through a window and
acting crazy, you’ll probably be slated off to a mental board and your parents
won’t even deal with you. But it seemed
like that was just the way it was. There
was a thing they would call Chore Boys, and it was all the kids that were like,
‘We’re going to listen to hardcore and get crazy, and then go home and go to
sleep in our perfect home.’ And then
there were the skateboarder kids, the Duane
Peters, and the Lorman, and the Ricky Barnes, and Lucero—all the people I
met. When I met them I was like,
‘There’s real people in this town that actually live on their own, wander the
streets, drink, get thrown outta bars, and laugh the whole time while they’re
doing it.’ We’re not going to jail,
we’re not outta control, we’re just loving life. This ain’t no dress reheasal, we used to say
that. This is our step in life right
now. When I’m on my bed, I don’t want
any regrets, I don’t want to be like, ‘I wish I would’ve.’ Don’t hurt anybody, don’t steal from anybody,
don’t lie, keep your same chick you had for two or three years. We all know we’re going to take a tumble,
we’re gonna get dropped like a bad habit, or she’s gonna cheat on you, or we’re
going to do something messed up and their gonna get fed up with us, but it’s
ok, let’s just live our lives. There was
that crew too, which is like TSOL and the Vandals when they started. Punk was a way of life so much more here like
nowhere else, and I don’t think it will ever die because of that. Just like people who grow up in the Marines
and they are always Marines. With punk, it’s kind of the same way. Even if you’re a fireman later, you always
remember…all I hear from 50 year old men is, ‘Yeah, Social D over at the
Casbah,’ or Black Flag or whatever. It’s
like, they still live that. So Orange
County is a totally different type of world from anywhere else.
What do you think
about the scene nowadays? Any venues you
like?
I’ve always thought, as far as Orange County, a venue will
never last. There will never be a club
that stays punk—the city will snuff it.
It will always have to move. It
will be like little ants just finding new places to go. As much as you try to water it down or get
them, the ants are going to come out in the sunshine and find where to go. That’s the biggest thing, there’s no
traditional nightclub and nothing old that was around. It all gets snuffed out. It’s a shame, but it does. And that goes for anyone trying to do an
all-ages show, but this is such a conservative town that I don’t think people
will ever have a place. Detroit Bar had
to change ‘cause there was no way what it used to be, when it was Club Nazi, or
Club Mesa or whatever, would last. It
was tough and there was blood everywhere and guys with swastikas across their
neck, and those guys were the bouncers and they were supposed to win every
time. They never got in trouble. They were the bouncers and you did what they
said. If they didn’t like someone, you
had to leave, and there were people that backed them because they were
homeboys. Gangs and the culture that
Orange County is against, they’re exactly kind of like, but in a white way. You go to the wrong club in LA, it’s because you’re
in the wrong territory of a gang area.
That’s pretty much the same thing here, but in a different way. Club Mesa couldn’t stay the way that it was
going. As strong as it was staying in
that mode, and holding true during the whole Fuck Dolls, Stitches, and that
whole revival of punk that came back, it had to die out. That place had to get overtaken with some art
form. And it stays there because it’s
art form now.
The indie movement.
Yeah, it’s like everywhere in Long Beach but Alex’s. You can play any kind of music at those
places, but they frown on any kind of hardcore because people get violent at
that shit. It let’s out aggression. But the scene is always going to stay. There’s always going to be a scene out here,
I believe.
How could there not
be a scene of some sort in Orange County when you have so many diverse
sections?
And it’s so remembered and traditional. I mean, there’s movies about the Orange
County punk scene. The Adolescents,
Black Flag, bands that came from near the water. It doesn’t have to just be Orange
County. TSOL, Social D, Vandals—you
could just go all down the line and there’s 30 or 40 bands like that. Being a punk in the LA part as opposed to the
Orange County, those guys were a lot bigger than us. When I was at shows in LA, I was in the
corner wanting to talk to some old homeless guy who went to the punk shows
before that. I wanted to learn from that
guy. Seemed like when the Orange County
people came, they didn’t want to learn, they wanted to stampede. It was like, ‘Oh we’re gonna get out some
aggression.’ They invented
slam-dancing. The whole term is Orange
County. It’s a living, loving thing out
here.
Was there a time when
you were working directly with venues?
Ticket sales or anything like that?
Yeah, we’ve done ticket sales with the Galaxy in the older
days and the ‘90s. It never seemed to
follow through ‘cause tickets were already going computer-wise. And because we didn’t barcode, no one wants
to deal with guys who are going to do cash—even though we’ve never fucked up or
messed up. Is it about 8pm?
It’s probably right
around there.
Yeah, ok, it says 7:09 on the clock over there and I don’t
change the clock. Actually my phone
would tell me.
We talked about
ticket sales going digital. How do you
think the digital movement has affected the industry?
It kind of booby-trapped everyone into making it really
rough for kids to get ticket at fair prices.
They have to pay a service charge, they have to have a computer, they’ve
got to have a credit card. They’ve gotta
do these things or have their mom do them and they’ve got to have them
done. They can’t go, ‘Fuck it, I’m gonna
go to LA for the weekend and I’m going to go buy some tickets at the Palace and
go get the tickets with no face-value, just straight across. We do that for our shows. The tickets are $35 for the punk rock thing,
plus a service charge online, or you can get them here for $22. Gotta have cash, but you get them for
$22. It’s amazing how big shows don’t do
well at all. Everyone just does it
through the computer, zip, pop, have their number verified on their computer,
print up their e-ticket, and go do it.
Like, we have punk rock tickets, and I’m telling you that everyone is
gonna call, and I’m gonna get at least 500 phone calls Saturday morning and
Friday night asking for tickets. I feel
like saying, ‘Are you serious? You had
to come home from work, make dinner, take a shower, brush your teeth, have a
few drinks at a party, and want to pick up your tickets now, when these bands
are getting f-ed having to pay to play?
The bands have to go and pay the promoters, and they have to pay to play
if those tickets don’t sell. It seems
like very few people buy tickets ahead of time.
Everyone is so used to a credit card and a computer and everything at
the tip of their fingers, they think they don’t have to rush. It’s like, there is no way on earth that I
should have 80 tickets for the punk rock thing for $22, when they’re
broadcasted everywhere else as $35 plus the service charge. You would think it would get around that Vinyl
Solution has these tickets. We put them
on Facebook, we did them on all of our social network stuff saying come help
the kids, buy tickets, they’re only $22 a piece, cash only. I know it’s going to be insane Friday. I’m going to want to throw my phone through
the window, ‘cause every time we do a show—like we had Fear tickets and they
had to pick them up the day before, but we had 50 Fear tickets for The
Observatory. He’s trying to break us
into The Observatory. Like for HFL, he
brought us tickets—no one has come to buy them.
Even that I thought would sell hundreds ‘cause HFL is from across the
street here. But you can go to The
Observatory and get them now. It hasn’t
affected me, and pretty much credit cards have been going fine since almost
back when I opened this place. It’s kind
of the same effect, but I did use to sell tickets way better in the glorious
‘90s.
Before the days of
the iPhone.
And that’s probably just a habit. I can’t live without this thing (holding up
iPhone), and I do everything with this, but I do not buy or do anything with
credit cards over my phone. I know it’s
probably stupid and everyone else does…
Seems safer not to
process that type of information through a cell phone. Although, they definitely are convenient…
They’re perfect.
Google answers all your questions and is great. They get real personal with you, but I’m sure
iPhones do the same. But Apple I finally
got brave with, ‘cause I was always scared of Apple, but somebody finally told
me, ‘Just have some confidence and realize that the Apple phone is only as
smart as you are.’ I just laughed
thinking, ‘So if you’re stupid, you can’t do it. I’m not going for that. I’m not telling myself I’m stupid. I’m gonna learn.’ So I practically started touching everything
and realized that I can go back and it’s ok.
Now it’s like I never want to go back to a PC. But now it’s like, ‘What the fuck, I can’t
get my Google? Google tells me
everything!’ A friend of mine, Lee, who
knows everything and he doesn’t use computers, him and I have books and books
and we just sit at bars and we talk about and read Mojo every month. We talk about it and get totally amazed at
the stuff that Mojo talks about. That
magazine is like our little Bible. On
the 8th it’s out, we’re going to go pick it up. If I don’t have my kid, I’m gonna go to the
bar and get ripped and just read that thing all the way through. Four days later, we’ll meet at a bar and are
like two little girls talking about, ‘Did you read that article about
so-and-so? Can you believe it?’ It’s just really nuts because that’s just the
way we are. But we learn those facts, we
read those facts from that magazine, and that’s important to find out what Ian
McCulloch said about Joy Division at the time, or what he honestly thinks of
them now, or what he thinks of his people.
They always have the 20 years later articles about this and that, and
there are reissues and new books and new movies, new DVD’s and documentaries
that come out and it just gets crazy.
It’s like we’re the two happiest kids in the world on those days. And it’s really frustrating when there’s a
kid younger than us telling us something when we’re talking and I’m like, ‘I
know more about Johnny Thunder, I’ve seen him like six times. I was the number one collector in the
country, I’ve talked with him, shared cigarettes with him, I’ve drank with him,
flown to visit him. You know more about
him than me, according to your computer.
You just check that, then say things.’
Facts have a certain
perception, according to who is writing them.
That’s what Lee is like.
Now you can’t argue too much because there’s people on top of your shit,
but when Wikipedia came out, it was a liars club. I’d see stuff and know, that’s not true. Many people have said it, but someone said it
recently, like Lux (Interior) said it as a matter of fact, ‘Oh I died? It must be true.’ When they would interview him, people would
ask, ‘What did you think of that great rumor about you dying?’ And he’d go, ‘Well it must be true,
right? I’ve died like six times, on
drugs I’ve never even done.’
People love their
gossip.
It was like that when I heard he really died. Someone told me on the internet or texted me
and I was like, ‘Good one,’ and just kept driving and didn’t even worry about
it. Then I called Lee, and Lee was like,
‘Let me find out. Well according to the
Cramps fan base, it’s true. They’re not
accepting any friends, do not show up at the funeral, and all this stuff.’ I asked, ‘Can you say you’re sorry or your
regrets?’ And he said, ‘You can, but she
(Poison Ivy) isn’t acknowledging anyone.’
I’m like, ‘I’m not arguing with you Lee, you probably know what’s going
on. I guess he did die.’
What would you say
the role of the record store is today?
I’ll use a perfect example, Record Store Day, everyone
wanted the five hottest things; the Jack White or whatever, the Bruce
Springsteen, the Devo Live double album, it doesn’t matter what it is. It seemed like that was what my phone calls
were all day. People were out chasing an
Easter egg, like, ‘I want that Wonka Bar.’
People used to buy records when they liked them. They didn’t have to be told that it was cool
and time to go do this. I’m not against
it, it’s the greatest idea, I’m happier than a pig in shit for Record Store
Day, but at the same time, why do you gotta be reminded? Why does it have to be like rat to cheese,
let’s go get it, it’s on the internet…?
I dig the help-the-independent-stores thing, don’t get me wrong, but why
do we have to be reminded? We do that
for McDonalds. We do that for
Coca-Cola. Let those guys put
commercials out for you to go remember to have a Coke everyday, or go eat at
McDonald’s three times a week.
Everything is a brand
these days.
Art shouldn’t be like that—but even the commercials are art,
aren’t they? A witty jingle of a
McDonald’s commercial is gonna get you to buy their food. I’m gonna say that the good things about the
records is that it’s opened people up, because so many people don’t have genres
or categories or closets anymore—they don’t have to be put in the punk rock
closet, they don’t have to be put in the new wave closet, they don’t have to be
put in a jazz closet. Hip-hop artists
like everything and if it has a cool riff, they’re gonna try it. They’ll put a Metallica riff next to a Cramps
riff, next to a Sugarhill riff, next to a Miles Davis. But I wish people had the attention span to
listen to the whole record because that’s when you really love music is when
you own entire albums—and you look at them and feel them and you’re sitting
down with your drink. There are a couple
things better than that, but that’s a really good feeling…of alone time…that
lasts. No one calls me after 10pm. You can pretty much guarantee. I could answer that phone but I’m busy
listening to records or doing laundry.
I’m busy, I’m not gonna talk on the phone. You can get me tomorrow.
(Steps away to check out a young male customer at the
register.)
O’Connor (To customer): Great fuckin’ record man.
Customer: Totally.
O’Connor: I went and
saw them just recently with Paul Collins Beat.
Customer: Yeah, I’ve seen Peter Case and he’s super good.
O’Connor: This is one
of my favorite singles I’ve gotten rid of a good 80% of my pop singles, but
this one, no way.
Customer: Yeah, as
soon as I saw it…I thought, I can’t pass it up.
O’Connor: The live stuff, the studio stuff, it’s just the
best pop where you don’t get tired of it.
Alrighty, you doin’ a card?
Customer: Yeeah.
O’Connor: Okie
dokie. You’re all set, catch you later.
Customer: See ya
later.
(Customer leaves.)
As a record store,
how do you picture yourself? I mean, you
have two young guys like that come in, cruise around the store, and probably
find something that they might not find elsewhere.
Yeah, that’s kinda what it is. I mean, that kid is a really open-minded type
of kid. You never know what he’s gonna
buy. He used to be the most fashionable,
best looking little punk kid. He was in
a really good band and he’s really witty and smart. Punk was really exciting to him and he liked
all the new punk just as well as the old punk, then he started getting into the
new-wave as well, and now he’s crossing over to just picking up stuff. He’s still getting records at least once or
twice a week. He’s not a rich kid, but
he can afford a record or two and he always supports the scene and always
tries. And those kinds of people are
always really good. Just three years
ago, which is decades ago to him, but three or four years ago, he was just
picking up CDs and shirts all the time.
He’s really smart and he knows music, but in the last couple of years,
he’s been buying records like crazy—and an array of them. It’s all over the place, you never know. Like, he bought a $20 record, and that’s kind
of outlandish for him. He doesn’t buy
too many reissues that are new, which is a big deal. But he’s like a lot of people, they like
dollar and five-dollar records, for the most part. I sell those better than anything, unless
it’s the new Tom Waits or Cramps or some really profound new record that comes
out that people wait for. That White
Stripes guy, if he puts out a record—like today, all I got was phone calls for
his new record. I hate to be a dick, but
that’s not my forte of music. Those
people aren’t my people. I’m not going
to chase that goose egg. When I was
younger I would be all over it. I wanted
everything new, I wanted every customer, ‘cause I remember when Nirvana was
coming out and I was like, ‘Man, I fucking hate that band,’ and I could do that
in LA ‘cause there were so many stores, but out here, people want to give me
their money because this is their store.
It’s like, ‘Don’t make me go to Bionic, and I don’t want to go to Tower
enough to buy that record. Even if it’s
more money I’d rather pay to buy it from you.’
It made me feel like, I gotta get on the ball here. I gotta get whatever they want. I’m not making money like I used to, but it
feels like my store more than ever in my life.
It’s my absolute passion and love, and I love getting things for people
and doing a lot of important releases, but now that the money is so hard and
I’m not making bricks of money. It used
to be that I wanted to get anything for every customer. Now it’s like, I want to get what I think my
customers might like the most. I just
want to make the people who support me happy.
I don’t want them to say, ‘Pretty much you’ve got this, but you don’t
have this.’ I want them to feel like
they know their home-cooking, you know?
They’re not going to change on me.
Well, they’ll mature, but they’re not going to change and they come here
for a reason ‘cause we suit em’ and people like that. I kinda know if, for instance—whether it’s a
Bags record or a issue of the new Tom Waits, or Townes Van Zandt--that’s more
important for me to have at this store, than to have the new Jack White. It beats me.
It beats the hell out of me—Record Store Day—when I know I’m not going
to get those things. Literally, somebody
said, ‘I can’t believe you don’t have the Social D on yellow vinyl for Record
Store Day.’ I had to be like, ‘Look, I
ordered 40 of those, and I got zero. I
thought for sure I would get that yellow vinyl for Record Store Day.’ I bet they’re off in Massachusetts, at the
one-city one-stops you know? Or all
around the colleges. That record was #2
or something in Billboard charts for alternative music. It was Record of the Year and stuff. They have billboards on the side of the
freeway and stuff like that. And you
know what, that kinda hurts when you’re like—I don’t mean to be cocky—but kids
like us built that shit. I’ve sold
thousands of that, and this is what we get on Record Store Day? A big fat goose-egg?
That seems to be the
industry in general.
It is, and that’s ok.
You don’t want to get your feelings hurt, but that’s why I’m saying I’m trying to stay and not throw any
change-ups at my customers, and try to make a new one stoked. It’s great, I love to see these people. I just feel like their heads are
opening. I’m never gonna make fun of a
kid in art. I love the whole idea. I love that you’re different, I love all
that. When you come into my world and
all of a sudden vinyl is cool, I’m never going to mock someone for that. It’s just the greatest thing and it’s one of
our last hopes. I’ve always said of life
that, the day that art and music and literature is gone—basically art—freedom
of speech is gone, this world is over.
We think that, because of art, that it’s a free world. But when that gets taken, it’s going to be an
ugly, fucked up world and we just can’t let it happen. So I just praise God for anytime that any
person does anything different. When I
was younger, I’d make fun of like, ‘Dumb fuckin’ rich kid with his Capezios and
legwarmers, what a mannequin.’ Not only
could I never afford that, but I never wanted to be like that. As a punk, you
didn’t want to be like that. You wanted
to wear your torn up flannel, you wanted to have orange hair, and it wasn’t
even bad to get beat up, you just kind of expected it. And you hated people that wanted to be cops
one day. But as you grow up, you realize
we need all these different people in our lives. It’s so beautiful to see that two people can
hang out, and be so different.
If someone new walked
into the store, and they had no clue about the scene, what would you suggest
for them to listen to?
I usually have to talk to them for a little while and get
them warmed up—see where they kind of stand.
They have to have some kind of category, whether it’s The Doors, or the
Sex Pistols, or Elvis Costello, or power-pop.
I need a general idea of what kind of the power-pop you like, then I’ll
lean them towards that. I usually just
start walking around the bins and start flipping through, ‘cause it doesn’t
come to me until I’m looking through records, and then it’s like a fire in my
head and I can just start nailing them.
But it takes me a few minutes to talk to them. I don’t just lump someone into a category.
No two people go
after exactly the same thing.
If you say you like stuff like David Bowie, I’m gonna start
throwing you things like Roxy Music and stuff like that, and just keep going
‘cause that’s what I grew up on and that’s what I’m into. I’d throw Queen at them, and if I see them
shying away, I’d be like, ok, you’re more into the Rolling Stones, so let’s try
Faces. Or, you’re more into guitarists, I’ll throw you over to the Ted
Nugent. Maybe you like some songwriters,
so go for Bob Dylan. Or if somebody said
they wanted something new and they liked Nick Cave, I’d say grab the Grand
Elegance. If someone said they liked
new-wave keyboard synthesizers, but I want something new, I’d tell them to do
VUM. I have stuff to push them into of
newer or brand new stuff. Some people
want to know something new, some people want to know old that like new, and
then I do the opposite. If they said, I
really like that VUM record that you turned me onto, or I really like that
Grand Elegance. Well I can tell you
right now that VUM listened to a hell of a lot of Siouxsie and the Banshees,
and they listened to a lot of Suicide. And
I’d tell you if you’re into Grand Elegance, they listened to a lot of Nick Cave
and Velvet Underground. Then we’d just
go from there, and then I’d take a look around and pull something out of my
head that is somewhere in between that that kind of would surprise them, or
maybe not. They might be like, ‘Oh I
like that other band, but I don’t even know, who were The Velvets?’ And then they hear them and they’re like, ‘Oh
I love The Velvets.’
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