Great LiveJournal post about one person's garbage-picked record-album habits:
And if something is not my cup of tea, I try to pass it on. For example, I'm not a huge fan of hip-hop, though I certainly like some of it. Whenever I show up at my local with a pile of records I've scavenged, Andre, one of the barmen, will probably say, sounding genuinely offended, "How come you never get any for me?" A few months ago, I spotted a gigantic stack of mostly hip-hop 12-inches awaiting the Sanitation Dept. I grabbed a gigantic pile, as many as I could carry, and made my way back to the bar, where I'd just seen him. "Hey, Andre, I got a present for you…" I said, and dropped the discs on the bar. "I'll be right back–there's more." It was worth it just to see the startled look on his face. (Out of the whole bunch of maybe 250 I kept about 8 or 10.)
And then there are 78s, which most people don't have the machinery to play. I've become interested in old 78rpm records ever since my father gave me his collection of jazz records–as well as a turntable to play them on–not long before his death. While there were some LPs in the bunch–and some of those were amazing ones–the majority of the collection consisted of jazz 78s, mostly from the 1940s, but some dating back as early as 1929, which means I'm the third generation to own them, since my father was only 15 that year and obviously acquired those records secondhand.
(via Electrolite)
