Apr 21, 2015 Happy Belated RSD/This Is Not A Camera
Who could have expected Record Store Day to be so divisive among record collectors? The idea of encouraging people to buy vinyl and support indie record shops seems like it would be universally loved among hardcore music fans. If you like shiny new records, good for you. Make some friends in line and hopefully share coffee and donuts with them. If you don’t want to mix with freaks and flippers, don’t go. Visit a thrift shop while the sweaty mobs pack the record stores.
Me? I walked around the corner to visit Rockaway Records late in the afternoon and filled some gaps in my collection with already fairly priced Motörhead and Angry Samoans compilations that were marked down even more for the occasion, and skipped the overpriced, pseudo-rare, made-for-collectors stuff which recalls the deluxe-but-super-expensive trading cards or comic books that predicated the fall of their respective industries’ straight-to-collectors schemes. A few days later, I went to Amoeba and grabbed the OFF! 10″–without any lines and with a coupon. Happy Record Store Day to me.
RSD is absolutely a fake holiday, just like Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, and many would say Christmas. And, sure, some of the major labels are squeezing out the indies on the production side just like a lot of EBay parasites are ruining it for the fans who like to sleep in. But it’s as real and as fun as you want it to be. Man, I wish I could have attended the Mike Watt & The Secondmen show across from Amoeba Hollywood, Dengue Fever at Rhino Claremont, John Doe and Exene at Permanent Records, or any of the other awesome free shows that day… I totally would have bought something to support the musicians and shops, too.
Just how punk the new OFF! record (or even a Ramones-themed portable record player) can be if it is branded with the RSD sticker as well as the accompanying price-tag is debatable (and not even the point). But the straight-up honesty, no-bullshit writing, and bulletproof grammar in Jim Ruland’s This Is Not A Camera are impeachable.
Saddle stitched half letter size on econo-but-tasteful newsprint, Ruland’s collected essays about working at an Indian casino are terse, insightful, and page turning. Originally serialized under a pseudonym on the McSweeney’s website, what begins as hyper observant notes on an atypical workplace widens to include keen observations on gamblers before turning the spotlight on his own foibles. The 17 installments are gripping and dark and funny, and never stoop to pass judgment on the Native Americans who own the casinos or the visitors who are addicted to gambling. After all, Ruland readily admits that he too is a recovering addict. It is philosophical not sad, and subtly unifying in its message. Oh, and a great read.
I received my copy of This Is Not A Camera from my friends at RazorCake. It was made to give away at readings of Ruland’s debut novel, the Indian casino noir titled Forest of Fortune, and other street-level literary events. Yet another gap on my packed shelf that I look forward to stuffing and another punk I look forward to following and supporting–with or without a phony holiday.
Catch up with Jim Ruland, who happens to be collaborating with Black Flag, Circle Jerks, and OFF! singer Keith Morris on his autobiography, at jimruland.net. And thanks for reading and following Imprint on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.