records fair

On the other hand, though I’ve seen Hilotrons dozens of times, I am not about to miss tonight’s show. It’s being billed as the final Hilotrons concert, and it’s sure to equal or surpass any of those final Who, Bowie or Stones concerts from years past. There are a number of good shows happening locally this evening, but unlike The Who, Bowie and the Stones, Hilotrons may well play only one last concert.

It likely does mean, however, that I will not be among the gate-crashers at tomorrow’s record convention at St. Anthony’s Hall. Fortunately, I preemptively lessened any anticipated disappointment by this morning bravely fending off thousands of bargain-hungry seniors at Woodroffe United Church’s annual bazaar, thumbing through the handful of dusty LPs on offer while attempting to converse with a humourless fellow collector. “Mind if I start from this end?” I asked. No response. “Anything worthwhile?” I asked. Again, nothing. One further attempt to break the ice, in the form of recommending an Ahmad Jamal record, went nowhere.

Expect to see that fellow at tomorrow’s record fair. And if you do, please tell him I said hi.

But no matter. I did score three items guaranteed to compensate for whatever rare Kix albums I miss out on first thing tomorrow. And each one, I can safely say, is worth something close to the 50 cents I paid for it.

We’re talking Sheb Wooley’s 1972 Ben Colder effort, Warming Up to Colder, one of several painfully unfunny collections of song parodies recorded by the man responsible for The Purple People Eater. This one boasts would-be knee-slappers like Rosie’s Garden, Runnin’ Bare and of course Help Me Fake It Through the Night. Think of them as the memes of the early-1970s.

Not laughing yet? Well, let’s try folkie Oscar Brand’s collection of Bawdy Songs and Backroom Ballads. Timeless tales like Seven Old Ladies Locked in a Lavatory and Roll Your Leg Over. It’s perfect, the liner notes promise, for “all tipsters and gay lotharios.” Just call me a tipster, then; though, to be honest, I fear this album may fall short of perfection, not unlike Brand’s Bawdy Hootenanny, beside which it is destined to rest untouched in my collection.

Fortunately, while Ben Colder lacks funniness and Oscar Brand offers insufficient bawdiness, Saucy Sylvia is assures us she’ll provide plenty of both on her Agent 0069 “adult comedy” LP. Owen Sound native Sylvia Stoun, a member of the Newport Jazz Hall of Fame doncha know, is apparently still delighting adults with her saucy self, decades after this Jubilee release chock-full of “songs and stories about sex in all its forms.” Also perfect, then, for gay lotharios.

Not bad for 50 cents. And some compensation, surely, for whatever I miss out on tomorrow morning.

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