After The Flood Part II

So this is only partly my story to tell because I was one of the lucky ones.  This one goes out to my man SD because my basement didn't get flooded this time.     

But I have been there.  I have had to throw out records, cds, comic books, concert posters.  And whatever is salvaged still gets boxed away for a time during restoration.  You are a collector that is instantly devoid of a collection.  

It is a moment that makes you sick - sick over looking at your ruined collection and, for me at least, it made me sick to truly recognize how much emotional power these items hold over you. 

There are all these other people that care about you and know you and they ask about the carpet and the furniture and THE DRYWALL.  Who the fuck cares about these things when there are dead and mortally wounded records strewn about? 

Serenity is truly a fleeting thing at this moment.  SD, I am here for you and I look forward to the next time we can listen to music together.   

*****

BTW: I did a google image search for water damaged albums and couldn't really find any and I think it is obvious why - no one wants to nail down for posterity what garish shape their waterlogged copy of Band of Gypsys was in right before throwing it into an industrial strength garbage bag.

But I did find this cool article about some rare Roy Eldridge records that were damaged in Hurricane Sandy.  The restoration effort meant that they had to continuously pour water on the records as they were playing one last time to lift the music off.      

  

After the Flood Part I

If you were anywhere near Chicago last Wednesday then you know how the late afternoon sky flipped a switch to night, shrouded itself in fog and then initiated an all night marathon of rain. 

It all started as I was a block away from the highway.  When I finally hit the on ramp, an old mixtape playing in my deck delivered "After The Flood" by Talk Talk. 

The synchronicity was eerily beautiful. This epic track with its unique feedback squall made the lightning and waves of descending water not only bearable but joyous.   

It took me close to two hours to get home that night; I rewound this song and played it three times to preserve my sanity. 

That very same night I wrote a blog post but neglected to save my work as I wrote.  An errant keystroke as I neared the end caused the whole entry to be wiped out instantly.  

"Aw, fuck it."  I was too tired to start over.  I was grasping for something about how the storm reminded me of the lasting power of this record.  It had been elusive anyway, I rationalized that all my faithful readers were well aware of this album's sway. 

In retrospect I realize that the real message was in that keyboard snag which resulted in loss.  That feedback squall was a flood, not rain.  

I was being warned but I mistook it as a comfort.  I trundled off to bed and slept while streets became rivers. 

*******

Laughing Stock was the Talk Talk's fifth and final album but it was my introduction.  I recently found an article on its creation and mythology that is worth checking out.