All this digital music stuff has destroyed one of my old guilty pleasures. No, not listening all day long to the warm sound, the pops and crackles of Delicate Sound of Thunder on my father's big cans. I'm talking about flipping through album covers at record stores.
Sure, there are some record stores still around, but they only carry classic vinyls, the Bowies and The Beatles and the Rolling Stones of this world. What about these precious gems? What about this raw insanity CYMKed forever in cheap cardboard sleeves, created by some deluded souls who dreamed of reaching the top of the charts with Thank You For the Dove? Where's Dick Black and his accordion? Where can I find Cody Matherson dazzling eyes? Where can I hear Svetlana Gruebbersolvik's lips in action, please? I bet that woman's blowing is something fierce!
Sadly, we can't go through these wonders anymore. But rejoice! At least you can check a lot of them at [Tastebuds—NSFW]
Where can I find this jewel? Do I want to find it? Probably not, no.
I bet Elliot Smith was a fan.
Yes Ken, I request your mustache. I feel jealous.
I'm sure Father McVeigh is a fan of The Ministers Quarters. He stores all their MP3s with his collection of gay porn.
Yes, dear girls, I will use you all.