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The truism, of course, is that you attend the St. Louis Record and CD Collector’s Show as close to opening time as possible. You can even pay a slight, extra fee for an “early bird” pass, allowing you an extra 90-minutes with the dozens of tables of musically themed merchandise. The prime time, then, runs from about 10 a.m., when the doors open to the public, ‘till about noon, the point at which even the hardcore buyers have completed their potential-buying circuit two, or three, times over. At that point, the American Czech Center holds steady for another hour, or two, before the day’s pretty spent.
This, on the other hand, is not how you’re supposed to plan your show attendance: Work a late-night job. Wake up early, to let out your chickens. Fall back asleep till noon. Do some errands around the house. Take unplanned nap until 2. Then, realize with a start, that the show ends at 3:30, though you well know that the cleanup’s underway before then. Yesterday’s show? Yup, this was the master plan here, executed to perfection.
At the time of my arrival at 2:55 p.m. or so, the door fee was waived, which was it’s own sort of reward. The negative, of course, was that the gathering was well into its last moments of dusk, as vendors were hustling their cardboard boxes and plastic tubs out on dollies, through the rows of folding tables and some side doors, for unloading into waiting minivans. Not to say that all the vendors were breaking down early; maybe a third were there for the full count, figuring that sleepyheads have money, too.
If you’ve attended the show more than a handful of times, you know how to traverse the space quickly, and accurately. There’s this one guy with, let’s call them, unsanctioned concert DVDs; he’s off on the left. The cat with the old KSHE board tapes; back corner, right. If looking for deep-discount vinyl, proceed straight to the back, or look just to your immediate right. For variety, as a sort of drinking game, you can try to count how many KDHX DJs you spot in the room, whether as vendors, or shoppers. If you were really knocking ‘em back, you’d be good and buzzed after a half-hour stay. And if that was the case, you’d probably be enjoying a Czech Beer (and maybe a donut) from the concession stand.
While there’s a tendency to think of the place as something of a museum-quality, time-warp version of St. Louis’ rock ’n’ roll past, at least a couple of the vendors were keeping current. For example the DVD seller who displayed this note: “RIP: Davy Jones. Complete Monkees DVD Set. 4 DVD, $20.” There’s no doubt that vendors were digging out Ronnie Montrose albums yesterday for front-of-rack display, too.
This isn’t to say that classic rock is the only coin of the realm, though you’re also not going to want for Budgie and King Crimson t-shirts. There’s a bit of punk rock scattered in, some definite blues ’n’ jazz, for sure a bit of pop cultural stuff.
Near the front door, a familiar fellow in a sharp shirt-slacks-and-hat combo was engaged in one of the Record Show’s most-seen poses, efficiently slipping albums out of their sleeves, judging the potential buy not just for price, but for quality.
“Hey, Pokey, what are you finding today?”
Pokey LaFarge literally poked at two of the three stacks in front of him, an index finger indicating, “There’s some Cuban music right here. And some nice-looking calypso music here.” With that, he continued sliding albums out, the next one inspected was clearly an album without a blemish. Back into the sleeve it went. At which point, he paused for a moment to take a phone call. (Here, we note that seeing Pokey LaFarge take a cell call is akin to watching a pilgrim taking the control of a biplane. It’s just a different kind of visual than you’d expect.)
In the back of the hall, another familiar face. Jim Varvaris is one of the more genial folks that you’ll meet on the shop floor of Euclid Records, so he joked about his presence around vinyl, saying, “I know, seeing me here! Not like I’m around these things enough already.” But when music and records are in your blood, you find your way to the show. Yesterday afternoon, just after 3 p.m., he was getting ready to help a friend, John Frese, break down his tables at closing. He also took a few moments to flip through some nearby stacks, you know, just in case.
The reports from the show, Varvaris told the just arriving, were pretty good.
“John says that it was a good day, lots of early birds,” he said. “And Wings over there said that the last time was the best show that he’d ever had. And today, he made his number, too.”
Truth be told, I didn’t really help anybody’s number yesterday. Slipped the cover charge. Didn’t buy a pretzel from the concession stand. Or a cult oddity on VHS. Or an Ani Difranco tour t-shirt. Or a “Tricky Live in Brighton” poster. Or a worn paperback about the Beatles. Or an unsanctioned concert video of the Scorpions after the Berlin Wall’s fall. Or a DVD of Hanna-Barbera’s underrated Herculoids. Or even that Mötley Crüe cassette that was in-hand longer than anything else on the day. The combination of too much sleep and not enough time to consider things is a wicked one, sometimes.
But you can still have fun at the Record Show without making a buy, even if that idea brings a tear to the eyes of organizers. Here’s one way of doing it: after being an attendee for, oh, about 50 shows, take someone new. Talk about some good score from 2001, or laugh at the sign outside the American Czech Center, which looks like a piece of valuable outsider art.
Really, just exploring what you can of the Czech Center is worthwhile. Even in the main hall, you can stare up at the ceiling and see the rings and ropes from countless gymnastics classes, hanging in waiting. You can peek at the old trophy cases. You can even press your nose against the glass separating you from the bar, which looks like the kind of place that’s seen some fun over the years. This building’s a throwback. It’s not an ancient one, more of a midcentury timepiece. But it harkens back to the day of ethnic societies, all of them offering newcomers a chance to Americanize—and Americanized immigrants a chance to connect with the old culture.
The St. Louis Record and CD Collector’s Show, of course, has it’s own culture. A quirky one, which has spanned the decades. It might be edging into the current century, leaving behind its trademark yellow postcards and offering things like, gasp, attractive T-shirts. But yesterday’s cameo visit proved that it’s still the same, old show. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
It proved another truism about attendance: better later than never.
