Back then Times Square had a reputation as a sleazy, gritty, dirty and dangerous place especially at night, but figured I'd be safe on a Saturday morning (I hoped).
The thing of it was, I was starting to meet Beatnik jazz fans who were older than myself. The Beats had weird and wonderful stories of adventures filled with all kinds of characters, and super rare used record finds in Time Square. I wanted to be part of that conversation, and recount my own adventures.
That Saturday, I took a Dexamyl (a mix of amphetamine and barbiturate), then the Number 2 subway train, from Brooklyn Heights to Times Square. My first stop was the Times Square Record Shop, which was a cramped, basement-level store in the subway arcade. The place was run by a guy named "Slim", and was known for Doo-wop 45s. But I was there looking for jazz, and saw a few things of interest, but nothing I wanted to buy. The Times Square Record Shop would go on to be THE place for Latin music in the 70s.
A few steps away in the subway arcade was Downstairs Records, there I found a few used things I wanted to buy. Unfortunately, when the clerk test played them for me, they sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies, if you catch my drift.
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| Downstairs Records |
So I left the subway station, and went up to the street where it was sunny, hot, and humid. My mouth was dry from Dexamyl and chain-smoking cigarettes, and I needed something to drink. So I went into Nedick's which was an early fast-food chain, on the corner of 7th Avenue and 42nd Street.
Nedick's sold hot dogs, hamburgers and its famous distinctive orange drink which was sort of a combination of orangeade and orange juice. It had pulp, but also a ton of sugar, and was served ice-cold.
While I was standing at the counter, with my orange drink (Nedick's had no seats) a creepy guy with pimples pretended to lose his balance, then bump into me and coped a feel of my butt. I yelled "MASHER!" at the top of my lungs, the creepy guy went red in the face, and the guy behind Nedick's counter told him, "Get the hell outta here, before I bust your god dammed head open!", and then asked me, "Are you OK, Miss?". I nodded my head, and told him, "I'm OK", and smiled. He said to me, "Forget about that guy, and try to enjoy the rest of the day, OK sweetheart." and he then told the woman next to me, "I gotta daughter her age, ya know." Then he refilled my orange drink, and said, "On the house."
[Masher now archaic, was a popular buzz word back then for creepy and aggressive men, who harassed and groped women in public places. —Ed]
When I left Nedick's I stopped at the newsstand and bought two packs of Gitanes (French cigarettes) that I couldn't get in Brooklyn Heights, and were considered très chic with the Beatnik crowd. Then I headed up to Colony Records, on the corner of Broadway and 49th Street, in the legendary Brill Building.
On my walk to Colony Records, I passed adult book stores, dive bars, hookers, passed out drunks, homeless people, dirty movie theaters, and assorted other (what we used to call) "Low-lifes". To my fourteen-year-old self, it was shocking, and simultaneously, fascinating, with my Dexamyl high making it seem all so dreamlike and surreal.
Colony Records was founded in 1948 by Harold "Nappy" Grossbart and Sidney Turk. Colony stayed open til 2:30 a.m. seven days a week for decades, until its closing in 2012.
Inside the store, I was approached by an older gentleman, with an upper class British accent, who told me his name was Tony, and asked me if there was anything in particular I was looking for. I told him I was looking for some used jazz LPs. Tony asked me, "Would it be fair to say, you are new to jazz?" I told him I was, and he told me he had something that would be perfect for me. Tony showed me a copy of an album called 'Conception', and told me, "This is a collection of music by Miles Davis, Stan Getz, Lee Konitz, Zoot Sims, Sonny Rollins and Gerry Mulligan. The record is in mint condition, and it's smashing!" I had never heard the word smashing used in that context before, but I knew what he meant and thought it was charming.
We walked to the front of the store, where Tony put the album on the turntable. It sounded great, and Tony said, "I can let you have it for seventy-nine cents." I said, "Sold!", Tony smiled and shook his head, approvingly.
Originally released in 1956, 'Conception' is a compilation album compiled from10 inch LPs, and 78rpm singles recorded for the Prestige Records label between 1949 and 1951. This is a little known classic gem of an album, and belongs in every jazz collection.
The freeload is a 2013 Japanese reissue on an SHM-CD, remastered by Rudy Van Gelder, and seven bonus track, not on the original release.
For the freeload, what kind of sneaky stuff did you get up to in your teen years?
