It all starts, as many great things do, with a flea market.

Hiding amid a large collection of LPs. 8-tracks and 45s was a crate full of drawings. They depicted imaginary album covers, meticulously drawn by hand, completely realized with titles and track listings, and inside these hand-drawn album covers were imaginary records - drawn on cardboard, grooves and all. The artist had created the whole imaginary package - but why? And when?

The only identifying marks on these artworks were a musician’s never-used-in-public stage name, Mingering Mike, and a general area of origin. They told a complex story of a prolific musician with a diverse recording history - only he didn’t actually exist. Using Batman-like detective skills, and some personal correspondences that happened to be slipped in with the records, the man who found this unusual collection of drawings eventually tracked down the original artist, whose reply was simply, “You found my babies?”

The drawings were returned to Mingering Mike, though the collection remained incomplete, as Mike has recovered only about 25% of what he’d created as a teenager - dreaming of being a soul musician in the late 60s, drawing album covers, and even recording a few acapella performances on a reel-to-reel tape recorder with friends and relatives. Mike had his album covers (as well as a large collection of actual albums) taken from him after a management change at a storage space where he was keeping them, and the whole lot went to auction. Presumably, they were split up after this point, and three quarters of Mike’s collection remains out there, untraceable. So, what I’m saying to you collectors is to keep an eye out - there are probably some original Mingering Mike artworks out there still.

No monetary value has been assigned to these ‘records’, despite Mike’s cult following, because every known Mingering Mike record has been returned to the original artist, whose reaction to their discovery speaks volumes about their personal value. I’d like to think that anyone who discovers a Mingering Mike album and knows what it is would give Mike his record back without seeking personal gain, glad in their own role in the Mingering Mike legacy.

Of course, Mike has chosen to remain largely anonymous, much in the tradition of Leon Redbone, Jandek and The Residents. What we do know is that he’s not interested in allowing his minor stardom to endanger his employment, he values his privacy, and most current images of him put him behind sunglasses or some other disguising element. Contact can be made through Dori Hadar, the discoverer of these artworks, and the author of ‘Mingering Mike : The Amazing Career of an Imaginary Soul Superstar‘, which tells this story in full.

Last month saw the release of Mike’s first full-length album, 40 years after the aspirations began. At the moment, it’s only been released as a download on eMusic (to which I belong, fortunately), and it’s composed entirely of the reel-to-reel recordings that he did back in the 60s, unedited and raw. There’s no instrumentation involved - just tapping and voices, and even with the occasional car horn in the background or bump into the microphone. The ten-minute ode to Coffee Cake, and the exceptionally melodic ‘But All I Can Do Is Cry’ (which he wrote when he was drafted into Vietnam) - it all expresses a completely do-it-yourself attitude towards music and recording, and a natural aptitude for the music that he loved.

Mike completists should note that a hand-numbered 45 with Mike’s artwork and a recording of ‘There’s Nothing Wrong With You Baby’ (which is also included in the eMusic album) has been released and can be found at Mike’s new website for a scant $9.50. The rest of the collection is out there, somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

When I dig around tag sale boxes for LPs, I’m generally pretty ignorant about what I’m looking at. The only things I’m informed by are whether or not I’ve spotted a jazz record (which are usually gone by the time I get there), or how hot the chick on the cover is. There’s little else I concern myself with, as I’m not blessed with the encyclopedic knowledge necessary to know which album, amid the usual sea of Christmas junk and Herb Alpert madness, is worth anything. I enjoy buying things obliviously and tracing their stories later.

So, when I hit the Kent Library book sale this past weekend, I bought three records at a dollar apiece. Sure, it was no Cold Spring Library book sale with their ten-cent records, but it sufficed. One of the records I was attracted to was ‘Orienta’ by The Markko Polo Adventurers. Usually, I make an educated guess about which LPs I’m buying have been released on CD or not, and this one didn’t look like it made the successful transition into our modern age - a principle that increases their inherent value to me, and which usually helps increase their monetary value also. Plus, it spelled things funny.

My guess was incorrect, and as I explored, it seemed that 1959’s ‘Orienta’ was actually a standard among the current hi-fi lounge / exotica crowd, and did exist in CD format. The album itself is an imaginary adventure amid the Asiatic countries, with the exact path of the expedition written out as a narrative in the liner notes on the reverse of the album cover. The record’s previous owner, TJ from Scarsdale, did me the favor of marking off their three favorite songs with blue Xs. While I ultimately could have just downloaded the thing or bought the mp3s, the record itself is worth around 5 bucks, and I was more interested in hearing it as it was originally heard anyhow - and it’s not nearly as hip.

Of course, if I’d found the alternate pressing of ‘Orienta’, which has a black bar across the top of the jacket that reads ‘Living Sounds’, I would have netted an $85 find. As it was, I was in it for the music. And a little bit for the redhead on the cover.

I discovered that this record had more connections to my proclivities than I’d anticipated. Further exploration revealed that the album’s musical content was composed and/or arranged by Gerald Fried, who was a noted composer for over 111 TV shows and movies. The most well-known piece of music that he composed was the very-oft-repeated Kirk vs. Spock battle music from the original Trek episode ‘Amok Time’. You know, the scene where Shatner finally finds an excuse to show off his man-chest via a well-placed cut across his Captain’s uniform? That scene

Even if you’ve never watched Star Trek, you’ve heard this music, as it finds itself used and re-used anytime there’s a mock-dramatic battle (usually between two friends) in any show of quality. You can also hear Fried’s work during some episodes of Gilligan’s Island and Lost In Space, and even in horror movies like the weird, expressionist ‘I Bury the Living’. Fried had even won an Oscar, so he knows his stuff.

While talk about ‘Orienta’ seems to focus on the fact that this was recorded as something of a parody of the exotica albums of the time, the music stands up well enough on its own - not unlike recent death metal parody band Dethklok’s superb pseudo-album. It’s not ‘real’, but it sounds so good that you don’t even care. ‘Bands that don’t really exist’ is another collecting theme I tend to pursue, as it were. So, throw on a copy of ‘Orienta’ during your next backyard barbecue, put up the tiki heads and light the torches - it’ll all go together swimmingly.

Last week, I was at Barnes and Noble with Destiny, who still had some birthday gift-cards to spend (her purchases: a vampire book and a Green Day CD; they grow up so fast), so I dug through the discount racks near the front of the store. Amongst the Feng Shui picturebooks and various collected works of Mark Twain (”Now presented in a different order!”), I found one of the greatest books ever put to paper: The Worst Album Covers Ever! Put away your lists of best album covers, as this one is far more entertaining — and more likely to have something you’ve never seen before. The good musicians get good covers; the rest, well, unlike books, judging a record by the cover isn’t always a failed assumption.

As far as media goes, LP album covers provided the largest canvas for a huge variety of artists — almost 12-1/2″ x 12-1/2″ of double-sided blank space, ready to be filled with the oddest, most interesting, and jarring images you could imagine. The artform wasn’t something everyone instantaneously figured out; there was a lot of experimentation through the years (the dust-sleeve inside was barely used for anything before the 1980s), giving plenty of opportunities of both greatness and horribleness.

While it didn’t suprise me completely, Iso actually own several of the examples found in The Worst Album Covers Ever!. The book contains over 80 covers, organized thematically, and most are trainwrecks where the art world was stalled on the music world’s tracks. What they got out of it is an intersection strewn with debris surrounded by police tape; slowing down to take a look is encouraged. Personally I think a few of the book’s “worst”, like the one to the right, would be considered a good cover despite its weirdness. Comedy albums like “Music for Non-Thinkers” should always be exempt, unless they convey something completely different from the contents. The Guckenheimer Sour Kraut Band or Ogden Edsl should have a weird cover. Unintentionally funny albums: those deserve to be called the Worst.

As you probably surmised on your own, there’s more than 80 horrible album covers in the world — here’s samples of some that I’ve got, but aren’t in the Worst Album Cover Book:

Oh, dear — we know the Partridge Family and the Jacksons have matching costumes, but, honey, they had the help of a fashion designer, and didn’t have to buy discount tablecloth fabric.

When hiring a cover designer, make sure that they understand the market: I don’t think afficianados of “Modern Square Dances” would identify with the inbred mountain hick motif. Let alone a shoddy one: “OK, people, we’ve got 8 minutes to get the photo and the entire high school theatre prop room at our disposal — let’s get moving!

OK, one last one, to show it’s not just amateurs at fault:

DEAR GOD — KILL IT BEFORE IT RELEASES ITS SPORES! No, really, I think Carol Channing rocks (how many times have I uttered that phrase?), but I figure her fans know who she is without exaggerating her most exaggerated features. If Carol Channing’s Gargantuan Maw is the main selling point of this album, it’s no wonder this ended up in the cut-out bin.

See how much fun this is? The bonus is: these records are hardly in demand. In fact, they’re usually all that’s left in the picked-over album bins at flea markets and thrift shops. A few of the examples in The Worst Album Covers Ever! do come from moderately famous artists, and were done in rather small runs and can be quite rare. Still, I doubt you’ll have to pay more than a couple dollars for even the most desirable ugly record album cover. Their value is in the kitschy appreciation of an artist who took their task too seriously (or not serious enough). Coming up with a collection of horrible record album covers might be easier than most record collecting, so step up and grab those ugly, poorly designed sleeves and make them your own. If you’d like more examples, Nick DiFonzo, author of Worst Album Covers, has more books and a website.
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I don’t really have any strict criteria for when I go out album hunting, as just about everything I see appeals to some part of my aesthetic sensibilities. This, as a rule, isn’t a great way to go hunting. When you enjoy everything, you empty out your wallet pretty quickly, and you run out of space just as fast. If I were an actual hunter, there’d be a lot more endangered species. I’d absolutely have to have every squirrel I could catch, because one might be a rare variant.

I need to learn to be more selective, but some things unfailingly catch my eye while I’d digging through the record bins. Pictures of robots or outer space themes. Anything with a smiling, clearly traditionally garbed German man on the cover holding either a large stein or an accordion. Jazz and spoken word-slash-instructional records. Things in curvy languages that I can’t read. The exquisitely ugly. And, finally, cleavage.

The medium of the album cover is nothing like it once was, and by ‘once was’, I mean ‘well before my time’. Album covers have become much smaller, and thereby not nearly as fun and displayable they once were. I spent some of my earlier years hunting down Jethro Tull albums just so I might tack them to the wall and proudly display my love. Creative experimentation is gone, and instead we oft get the ugly mug of the generic performer plastered all over the thing. Sure, there are a bevy of suggestive modern album covers, but unless you’re going indie, most major labels shy away from actual nudity. Even when they don’t, it hardly compares to the large-scale, 70’s-era sensuality of the sexy album cover. I’ve often seen such albums put into their own sections at large flea markets for those who collect them for their covers specifically.

The hunt for sexy album covers isn’t a delicate pursuit when your mom is your best tag sale companion and your young niece is usually tagging along. It’s not as if I’m slipping pornography under my long, dark coat and slipping quietly away with it - I enjoy the covers purely for their camp value, but try explaining that to your mom’s bemused, raised eyebrow. It’s not as if I’m in such dire need of moldy old LPs to know what a woman looks like. I have a high-speed internet connection, mom. For real.

The list of erotic and sensual album covers hits a peak in the 1970s, begins to get creepy in the 1980s, and all but trails off in the 1990s and beyond, but the good ol’ internet (bastion of all things sinful and delicious) has list after list of these covers, 90% of them being headless female torsos in various states of contortion or just-barely-coveredness. My collection is mild by comparison, but there’s two undeniably great things about each of these covers….

The typography and the glossy paper. Top notch.

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Normally Derek and I listen to records in the evening when the kids are asleep, but as it was rather warm out and he and I were bored with movie night (we are those kind of parents who limit the number of hours the TV can be watched), we took a chance on the kids enjoying the records too.

We brought up a few stacks, let them dig through them, and played their selections (as well as a few of our own favorites). Be it genetics or environmental, nature or nurture, all three were hooked instantly. So hooked, that the next day we had to head out to the thrift stores to let the kids buy their own records.

Thrift stores always have a record section, and in our area, most of them are sold for $1. Oh sure, a few of the stores price them individually with prices of $5 or more. But for the most part, a kid can bring in their allowance or, as in this case, their birthday money, and walk out with quite a haul. (No one spent more than $1.50 for a record.)

Allie, the oldest at 18, is utterly smitten with musicals and had just finished the summer theater program at Trollwood Performing Arts School, so it was no surprise that she went for the musical soundtracks.

(And it’s a nice break from the Anime obsession!)

She prefers the original Broadway shows, but also likes some film productions too.

On the plus side, these soundtracks are plentiful. Most everyone bought them, and now they fill thrift shop record sections.

On the negative side, Mom had “I’ve got your horse right here, his name is Paul Revere” (from Guys and Dolls) stuck in her head for two days — and it was painful for the entire family (until an attempted assassination by clown knocked the song out of my head).

Allie’s favorite musical is the movie Sound of Music. She learned that while this is an easy-to-find album, conditions are important.

All the kids got lessons in how to evaluate scratches, but Allie had her work cut out for herself and inspected at least seven copies before finding a copy with both vinyl and cover in good enough condition to part with $1.50.

Destiny, the 11 year old, had a bit more of a difficult time selecting records for herself. A perfectionist, Destiny doesn’t like to make mistakes and unsure of what things would sound like, she was hard-pressed to find vinyl she could trust.

One was this retro 70’s recording of Andre Kostelanetz & His Orchestra, For All We Know, because, “I liked the lady on the front and thought it looked cool and I haven’t heard it.” No surprise, Destiny the Goth girl went for the lady in black with the black choker. (I don’t think she was as thrilled with it once played — she prefers to listen to one of Dad’s Frank Zappa albums.)

Of the (only) three albums she purchased, one was the original soundtrack to Annie. Selected “Because I loved the movie!” this one was a hit.

Des was only willing to risk $3 on records, and quickly returned to her favorite thrift store item, books. She apparently feels more comfortable judging a book by its cover. *wink*

Hunter, the youngest, was perhaps the most enthusiastic. Not only did he spend the most money ($12!), he was completely absorbed by the process.

He sat on the floor, contentedly sorting through all the covers. Anyone with a young boy knows that this sort of seated attention is nearly a miracle. (At seven, he’s a new reader yet he found us a new-to-us Trini Lopez record — at our house, we all love the Trini!)

Hunter’s favorite find that day was a collection of 70’s hits LP which contained the theme song to Star Wars. (Hm, maybe ‘movie night’ hasn’t totally passed… all of them are very interested in film related recordings.)

When asked what he loved about records the most, he said, “They are black, and shiny, and when you turn them I love to watch the lines move.”

It may not have been the reply we were seeking, but it was honest.

The kids are extremely fascinated with records. So much so that listening to records currently replaces our weekly family movie nights as entertainment.

As parents, we’re thrilled because listening to records involves much more interaction. We can discuss music, how records are made, and have the kids explore new things. And with records, you can still do other things like play board games and dance together. We’d like to think this is one family hobby we’ll all continue for years to come.

The tricky thing is now that we’ve turned them onto vinyl, we need to find two more working record players. Destiny is the only child who currently owns her own (a Fisher-Price kids player) and she’s the envy of the other two.

Meanwhile, Derek and I are enjoying sharing our record player and making new family memories.