인스타그램 스토리 뷰어

The first record on Sun Ra’s Saturn label I found was at Replay Records in West Haven, Connecticut: ‘Taking A Chance On Chances.’ It was in a plain white sleeve, sometime in the mid-90s, and I assumed that’s why it was so inexpensive. I’d previously found a few of the Impulse reissues of Saturn LP’s and they were far beyond my ability to comprehend, and at that time those records were pricier than the random independent Sun Ra LPs one stumbled across in stores in Philly and Chicago. Well, most times they were. The only Sun Ra record I really wanted back then was the one everyone I knew wanted: ‘Languidity.’ That one was always pricey.

Over the years, I’ve become very fond of a small swath of Ra’s vast discography, and I’m intrigued by all of it. At the end of the Magic Isle record event at Now-Again, as Noel was packing up his records to ship back East, and I was hemming and hawing over a perfect copy one of my favorite Ra LP’s – ‘Night of the Purple Moon,’ in its first issue (a black Thoth Intergalatic label and a Saturn Research sleeve) – Noel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, on that and what is my favorite LP by the maestro, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ This copy was autographed by Ra’s vocalist and Arkestra glue, June Tyson. “To Nick, Happy Space Age,” she wrote, in penmanship as elegant as her voice.

The first record on Sun Ra’s Saturn label I found was at Replay Records in West Haven, Connecticut: ‘Taking A Chance On Chances.’ It was in a plain white sleeve, sometime in the mid-90s, and I assumed that’s why it was so inexpensive. I’d previously found a few of the Impulse reissues of Saturn LP’s and they were far beyond my ability to comprehend, and at that time those records were pricier than the random independent Sun Ra LPs one stumbled across in stores in Philly and Chicago. Well, most times they were. The only Sun Ra record I really wanted back then was the one everyone I knew wanted: ‘Languidity.’ That one was always pricey.

Over the years, I’ve become very fond of a small swath of Ra’s vast discography, and I’m intrigued by all of it. At the end of the Magic Isle record event at Now-Again, as Noel was packing up his records to ship back East, and I was hemming and hawing over a perfect copy one of my favorite Ra LP’s – ‘Night of the Purple Moon,’ in its first issue (a black Thoth Intergalatic label and a Saturn Research sleeve) – Noel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, on that and what is my favorite LP by the maestro, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ This copy was autographed by Ra’s vocalist and Arkestra glue, June Tyson. “To Nick, Happy Space Age,” she wrote, in penmanship as elegant as her voice.

The first record on Sun Ra’s Saturn label I found was at Replay Records in West Haven, Connecticut: ‘Taking A Chance On Chances.’ It was in a plain white sleeve, sometime in the mid-90s, and I assumed that’s why it was so inexpensive. I’d previously found a few of the Impulse reissues of Saturn LP’s and they were far beyond my ability to comprehend, and at that time those records were pricier than the random independent Sun Ra LPs one stumbled across in stores in Philly and Chicago. Well, most times they were. The only Sun Ra record I really wanted back then was the one everyone I knew wanted: ‘Languidity.’ That one was always pricey.

Over the years, I’ve become very fond of a small swath of Ra’s vast discography, and I’m intrigued by all of it. At the end of the Magic Isle record event at Now-Again, as Noel was packing up his records to ship back East, and I was hemming and hawing over a perfect copy one of my favorite Ra LP’s – ‘Night of the Purple Moon,’ in its first issue (a black Thoth Intergalatic label and a Saturn Research sleeve) – Noel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, on that and what is my favorite LP by the maestro, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ This copy was autographed by Ra’s vocalist and Arkestra glue, June Tyson. “To Nick, Happy Space Age,” she wrote, in penmanship as elegant as her voice.

The first record on Sun Ra’s Saturn label I found was at Replay Records in West Haven, Connecticut: ‘Taking A Chance On Chances.’ It was in a plain white sleeve, sometime in the mid-90s, and I assumed that’s why it was so inexpensive. I’d previously found a few of the Impulse reissues of Saturn LP’s and they were far beyond my ability to comprehend, and at that time those records were pricier than the random independent Sun Ra LPs one stumbled across in stores in Philly and Chicago. Well, most times they were. The only Sun Ra record I really wanted back then was the one everyone I knew wanted: ‘Languidity.’ That one was always pricey.

Over the years, I’ve become very fond of a small swath of Ra’s vast discography, and I’m intrigued by all of it. At the end of the Magic Isle record event at Now-Again, as Noel was packing up his records to ship back East, and I was hemming and hawing over a perfect copy one of my favorite Ra LP’s – ‘Night of the Purple Moon,’ in its first issue (a black Thoth Intergalatic label and a Saturn Research sleeve) – Noel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, on that and what is my favorite LP by the maestro, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ This copy was autographed by Ra’s vocalist and Arkestra glue, June Tyson. “To Nick, Happy Space Age,” she wrote, in penmanship as elegant as her voice.

The first record on Sun Ra’s Saturn label I found was at Replay Records in West Haven, Connecticut: ‘Taking A Chance On Chances.’ It was in a plain white sleeve, sometime in the mid-90s, and I assumed that’s why it was so inexpensive. I’d previously found a few of the Impulse reissues of Saturn LP’s and they were far beyond my ability to comprehend, and at that time those records were pricier than the random independent Sun Ra LPs one stumbled across in stores in Philly and Chicago. Well, most times they were. The only Sun Ra record I really wanted back then was the one everyone I knew wanted: ‘Languidity.’ That one was always pricey.

Over the years, I’ve become very fond of a small swath of Ra’s vast discography, and I’m intrigued by all of it. At the end of the Magic Isle record event at Now-Again, as Noel was packing up his records to ship back East, and I was hemming and hawing over a perfect copy one of my favorite Ra LP’s – ‘Night of the Purple Moon,’ in its first issue (a black Thoth Intergalatic label and a Saturn Research sleeve) – Noel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, on that and what is my favorite LP by the maestro, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ This copy was autographed by Ra’s vocalist and Arkestra glue, June Tyson. “To Nick, Happy Space Age,” she wrote, in penmanship as elegant as her voice.

The first record on Sun Ra’s Saturn label I found was at Replay Records in West Haven, Connecticut: ‘Taking A Chance On Chances.’ It was in a plain white sleeve, sometime in the mid-90s, and I assumed that’s why it was so inexpensive. I’d previously found a few of the Impulse reissues of Saturn LP’s and they were far beyond my ability to comprehend, and at that time those records were pricier than the random independent Sun Ra LPs one stumbled across in stores in Philly and Chicago. Well, most times they were. The only Sun Ra record I really wanted back then was the one everyone I knew wanted: ‘Languidity.’ That one was always pricey.

Over the years, I’ve become very fond of a small swath of Ra’s vast discography, and I’m intrigued by all of it. At the end of the Magic Isle record event at Now-Again, as Noel was packing up his records to ship back East, and I was hemming and hawing over a perfect copy one of my favorite Ra LP’s – ‘Night of the Purple Moon,’ in its first issue (a black Thoth Intergalatic label and a Saturn Research sleeve) – Noel made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, on that and what is my favorite LP by the maestro, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ This copy was autographed by Ra’s vocalist and Arkestra glue, June Tyson. “To Nick, Happy Space Age,” she wrote, in penmanship as elegant as her voice.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

Atsushi Tanaka doesn’t look at guidebooks or, god forbid, someone’s diary posted somewhere online, when he travels. He seeks experiences on the fringes, which is how he, as a house dancer and hip hop fan in the 1990s, made his way from Kobe to New York at 16 years old. Armed only with an intrepid spirit and a fake passport, he snuck into clubs to hear Masters at Work and Funkmaster Flex. This is also how Atsushi found himself in a leaking boat on the Amazon on the border of Brazil and Peru with, as he remembers, cartel lackeys on land and piranhas in the water, to catch and cook caiman with an isolated group of folks living on an island there.

He will also pepper you with hip hop trivia and test your rhetoric skills. When he asks who you prefer, Black Sheep or Black Moon, and you argue your choice, you realize he could argue the opposite. Generally, however, Atsushi is an agreeable person, as much as he is a soulful and exacting chef.

The Tour D’Argent is next to his restaurant, and the wine list there is as expansive as it ever has been. The prices have skyrocketed, which explains why they still have an unknown negociant’s bottling of 1915 Musigny and, if the sommelier is correct, perhaps a 1904 hiding somewhere in their cellar, under the Seine. The martini on the rooftop bar is as good as the mid-90s Leflaive dangling on the list – in attractive half bottles, as it is mid-afternoon – are dangerous, as one cannot return an oxidized bottle here.

At Café de Flor, the martini is less good, but the people watching is superior. And what better way to take in the Boulevard Saint-Germain than to get our Hemingway on, suggested Nicole.

After 23 years of selling vinyl, we now have the sign that says it. If you’re in LA and want to see what we’re about - stay tuned here as we announce all of our sporadic but usually monthly events this way.

#KeepOnMoving #Vinyl

In 1977, fresh off of their single that went nowhere – the now, forever-classic “She’s Gone” – the Hamilton Movement opened for Rudy Ray Moore in Indianapolis as he was on the road promoting his new film ‘Petey Wheatstraw, The Devil’s Son In Law.’ It’s a wild film, and I’m sure it was a wild show – Dick Melvin, Hamilton Movement producer and concert promoter, had no shortage of stories about his old friend Dolemite, and this show poster came from Dick’s barn about a decade ago.

1977 was right around the time that Dick brought the Hamilton Movement into the studio to record a version of a deep soul song by the late-husband of the woman he sometimes promoted shows with. Her name? Zelma Redding. Her husband? Otis, of course. The Hamilton Movement turned deep into sweetwith their version of “That’s How Strong My Love Is,” which you hear here for the first time. This previously unreleased bit of soul perfection will see issue on vinyl as part of our imminent Hamilton Movement anthology on Now-Again.

18 years ago, I helped my friend Jan put out the first long form project he did with his friend Zdenko as Karl Hector and the Malcouns – ‘Sahara Swing.’

16 years ago, I was in a Munich basement with Jan and the last remaining members of the classic Embryo rhythm section – the late Christian Burchard on drums and vibes, Roman Bunka on guitar, and Uve Mullrich on bass.

Jan said he was considering different directions for his music. I’ve put out some of it – including another two albums by Karl Hector, two by Rodinia and one by Johnny! - on Now-Again.

This is the fourth Karl Hector record and it’s the most kosmiche of their discography. It’s called ‘Yolek,’ and we’ve put it up on an exclusive sale on the Now-Again Bandcamp. WW street date - June 19th.

Link in bio. Dig in.

18 years ago, I helped my friend Jan put out the first long form project he did with his friend Zdenko as Karl Hector and the Malcouns – ‘Sahara Swing.’

16 years ago, I was in a Munich basement with Jan and the last remaining members of the classic Embryo rhythm section – the late Christian Burchard on drums and vibes, Roman Bunka on guitar, and Uve Mullrich on bass.

Jan said he was considering different directions for his music. I’ve put out some of it – including another two albums by Karl Hector, two by Rodinia and one by Johnny! - on Now-Again.

This is the fourth Karl Hector record and it’s the most kosmiche of their discography. It’s called ‘Yolek,’ and we’ve put it up on an exclusive sale on the Now-Again Bandcamp. WW street date - June 19th.

Link in bio. Dig in.

18 years ago, I helped my friend Jan put out the first long form project he did with his friend Zdenko as Karl Hector and the Malcouns – ‘Sahara Swing.’

16 years ago, I was in a Munich basement with Jan and the last remaining members of the classic Embryo rhythm section – the late Christian Burchard on drums and vibes, Roman Bunka on guitar, and Uve Mullrich on bass.

Jan said he was considering different directions for his music. I’ve put out some of it – including another two albums by Karl Hector, two by Rodinia and one by Johnny! - on Now-Again.

This is the fourth Karl Hector record and it’s the most kosmiche of their discography. It’s called ‘Yolek,’ and we’ve put it up on an exclusive sale on the Now-Again Bandcamp. WW street date - June 19th.

Link in bio. Dig in.

Here are some of Prince Be’s records we sold with his family and Georges Sulmers at Now-Again LA this past weekend. They ranged from current “grails” that were once simply exotic sample fodder, and old sample “grails” that are now less prized, but evocative of that time in the mid 1990s when record discovery was at – for me at least – its peak.

Some of these came with descriptive stickers from the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions.Some came with “if you were there you knew it” stickers that placed the record’s origin, like a copy of Titanic sold atNYC’s The Sound Library.

The most special records were those that Be annotated with his production thoughts, and of those, the one I liked the most was his VG- copy of David Axelrod’s ‘Song of Innocence.’ Of “Holy Thursday,” Be wrote “Vibe loop, and drum solo under a fat beat in a chorus…. Kool…..”. When I was resleeveing that record, I looked inside the tattered jacket and saw legendary Roosevelt dealer John Carraro’s stamp. I knew this was one I had to buy for myself.

Here are some of Prince Be’s records we sold with his family and Georges Sulmers at Now-Again LA this past weekend. They ranged from current “grails” that were once simply exotic sample fodder, and old sample “grails” that are now less prized, but evocative of that time in the mid 1990s when record discovery was at – for me at least – its peak.

Some of these came with descriptive stickers from the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions.Some came with “if you were there you knew it” stickers that placed the record’s origin, like a copy of Titanic sold atNYC’s The Sound Library.

The most special records were those that Be annotated with his production thoughts, and of those, the one I liked the most was his VG- copy of David Axelrod’s ‘Song of Innocence.’ Of “Holy Thursday,” Be wrote “Vibe loop, and drum solo under a fat beat in a chorus…. Kool…..”. When I was resleeveing that record, I looked inside the tattered jacket and saw legendary Roosevelt dealer John Carraro’s stamp. I knew this was one I had to buy for myself.

Here are some of Prince Be’s records we sold with his family and Georges Sulmers at Now-Again LA this past weekend. They ranged from current “grails” that were once simply exotic sample fodder, and old sample “grails” that are now less prized, but evocative of that time in the mid 1990s when record discovery was at – for me at least – its peak.

Some of these came with descriptive stickers from the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions.Some came with “if you were there you knew it” stickers that placed the record’s origin, like a copy of Titanic sold atNYC’s The Sound Library.

The most special records were those that Be annotated with his production thoughts, and of those, the one I liked the most was his VG- copy of David Axelrod’s ‘Song of Innocence.’ Of “Holy Thursday,” Be wrote “Vibe loop, and drum solo under a fat beat in a chorus…. Kool…..”. When I was resleeveing that record, I looked inside the tattered jacket and saw legendary Roosevelt dealer John Carraro’s stamp. I knew this was one I had to buy for myself.

Here are some of Prince Be’s records we sold with his family and Georges Sulmers at Now-Again LA this past weekend. They ranged from current “grails” that were once simply exotic sample fodder, and old sample “grails” that are now less prized, but evocative of that time in the mid 1990s when record discovery was at – for me at least – its peak.

Some of these came with descriptive stickers from the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions.Some came with “if you were there you knew it” stickers that placed the record’s origin, like a copy of Titanic sold atNYC’s The Sound Library.

The most special records were those that Be annotated with his production thoughts, and of those, the one I liked the most was his VG- copy of David Axelrod’s ‘Song of Innocence.’ Of “Holy Thursday,” Be wrote “Vibe loop, and drum solo under a fat beat in a chorus…. Kool…..”. When I was resleeveing that record, I looked inside the tattered jacket and saw legendary Roosevelt dealer John Carraro’s stamp. I knew this was one I had to buy for myself.

Here are some of Prince Be’s records we sold with his family and Georges Sulmers at Now-Again LA this past weekend. They ranged from current “grails” that were once simply exotic sample fodder, and old sample “grails” that are now less prized, but evocative of that time in the mid 1990s when record discovery was at – for me at least – its peak.

Some of these came with descriptive stickers from the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions.Some came with “if you were there you knew it” stickers that placed the record’s origin, like a copy of Titanic sold atNYC’s The Sound Library.

The most special records were those that Be annotated with his production thoughts, and of those, the one I liked the most was his VG- copy of David Axelrod’s ‘Song of Innocence.’ Of “Holy Thursday,” Be wrote “Vibe loop, and drum solo under a fat beat in a chorus…. Kool…..”. When I was resleeveing that record, I looked inside the tattered jacket and saw legendary Roosevelt dealer John Carraro’s stamp. I knew this was one I had to buy for myself.

Here are some of Prince Be’s records we sold with his family and Georges Sulmers at Now-Again LA this past weekend. They ranged from current “grails” that were once simply exotic sample fodder, and old sample “grails” that are now less prized, but evocative of that time in the mid 1990s when record discovery was at – for me at least – its peak.

Some of these came with descriptive stickers from the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions.Some came with “if you were there you knew it” stickers that placed the record’s origin, like a copy of Titanic sold atNYC’s The Sound Library.

The most special records were those that Be annotated with his production thoughts, and of those, the one I liked the most was his VG- copy of David Axelrod’s ‘Song of Innocence.’ Of “Holy Thursday,” Be wrote “Vibe loop, and drum solo under a fat beat in a chorus…. Kool…..”. When I was resleeveing that record, I looked inside the tattered jacket and saw legendary Roosevelt dealer John Carraro’s stamp. I knew this was one I had to buy for myself.

Here are some of the stellar records from Prince Be’re records that I had been inspecting, cleaning, sleeving and grading - they were previewed on what would have been Be’s 56th birthday, and they all sold at last Saturday’s event.

Here are some of the stellar records from Prince Be’re records that I had been inspecting, cleaning, sleeving and grading - they were previewed on what would have been Be’s 56th birthday, and they all sold at last Saturday’s event.

Here are some of the stellar records from Prince Be’re records that I had been inspecting, cleaning, sleeving and grading - they were previewed on what would have been Be’s 56th birthday, and they all sold at last Saturday’s event.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

Records from Prince Be’s collection that were mare available at Now-Again HQ in LA this past Saturday.

It was a bitingly cold Thursday, earlier this year, and I made my way from Philadelphia to a town on the waterfront in New Jersey, to meet my old record collecting mentor Georges Sulmers and Prince Be’s family. We spent the afternoon going through many of Be’s records, and I heard story after story about this great musician and prodigious collector. Be’s widow Mary and Georges have known each other for forty years – back when her brother was in a metal band and Georges was moonlighting from his gig at Def Jam and writing for Hit Parader. The things these folks have seen in their lives in music!

Satiated with what we assembled, Be’s son drove Georges and I to the ferry. We talked about Dilla and Kevin Smith as we drove by the store where ‘Clerks’ was filmed. Both of those geniuses were big P.M. Dawn fans.Georges told me more tales of the Roosevelt on the boatride. I then met Robert and Renee at Four Horsemen with a 1998 Griotte Chambertin I’d brought, vinted in the prime time of New York record collecting. And it was perfect.

In exactly one week, for one day in LA, we are selling rarities from the king – ahem, Prince – of NYC’s early ‘90s Roosevelt Record Conventions.

With Prince Be’s family and one of my record collecting mentors - and PM Dawn manager, and original Def Jam employee, and 80s Hit Parade columnist, and, and, and – Georges Sulmers, we curated what will be the last sale of the albums that Be collected that not only helped define his life in music, but helped shape the course of what you now think of as not just hip hop, but popular music.

When I first started thinking of what type of environment I wanted to have at the pop up record events I’ve been hosting in LA for the past 12 years, the vibe of the Roosevelt Record Conventions were what immediately came to mind. So it’s a real honor to make this one of the last record events we will host before end these in December.

So – for the moment, come drift with us. If you’re in town - we’ll have a preview on Friday evening, 6-8pm, and Muggs and I will be pouring some of the last of 2022 vintage of our Broc Cellars collaboration, Notes & Tones.And the sale kicks off Saturday at noon.

In exactly one week, for one day in LA, we are selling rarities from the king – ahem, Prince – of NYC’s early ‘90s Roosevelt Record Conventions.

With Prince Be’s family and one of my record collecting mentors - and PM Dawn manager, and original Def Jam employee, and 80s Hit Parade columnist, and, and, and – Georges Sulmers, we curated what will be the last sale of the albums that Be collected that not only helped define his life in music, but helped shape the course of what you now think of as not just hip hop, but popular music.

When I first started thinking of what type of environment I wanted to have at the pop up record events I’ve been hosting in LA for the past 12 years, the vibe of the Roosevelt Record Conventions were what immediately came to mind. So it’s a real honor to make this one of the last record events we will host before end these in December.

So – for the moment, come drift with us. If you’re in town - we’ll have a preview on Friday evening, 6-8pm, and Muggs and I will be pouring some of the last of 2022 vintage of our Broc Cellars collaboration, Notes & Tones.And the sale kicks off Saturday at noon.

In exactly one week, for one day in LA, we are selling rarities from the king – ahem, Prince – of NYC’s early ‘90s Roosevelt Record Conventions.

With Prince Be’s family and one of my record collecting mentors - and PM Dawn manager, and original Def Jam employee, and 80s Hit Parade columnist, and, and, and – Georges Sulmers, we curated what will be the last sale of the albums that Be collected that not only helped define his life in music, but helped shape the course of what you now think of as not just hip hop, but popular music.

When I first started thinking of what type of environment I wanted to have at the pop up record events I’ve been hosting in LA for the past 12 years, the vibe of the Roosevelt Record Conventions were what immediately came to mind. So it’s a real honor to make this one of the last record events we will host before end these in December.

So – for the moment, come drift with us. If you’re in town - we’ll have a preview on Friday evening, 6-8pm, and Muggs and I will be pouring some of the last of 2022 vintage of our Broc Cellars collaboration, Notes & Tones.And the sale kicks off Saturday at noon.

In exactly one week, for one day in LA, we are selling rarities from the king – ahem, Prince – of NYC’s early ‘90s Roosevelt Record Conventions.

With Prince Be’s family and one of my record collecting mentors - and PM Dawn manager, and original Def Jam employee, and 80s Hit Parade columnist, and, and, and – Georges Sulmers, we curated what will be the last sale of the albums that Be collected that not only helped define his life in music, but helped shape the course of what you now think of as not just hip hop, but popular music.

When I first started thinking of what type of environment I wanted to have at the pop up record events I’ve been hosting in LA for the past 12 years, the vibe of the Roosevelt Record Conventions were what immediately came to mind. So it’s a real honor to make this one of the last record events we will host before end these in December.

So – for the moment, come drift with us. If you’re in town - we’ll have a preview on Friday evening, 6-8pm, and Muggs and I will be pouring some of the last of 2022 vintage of our Broc Cellars collaboration, Notes & Tones.And the sale kicks off Saturday at noon.

Here’s a selection of what I purchased from Prince Be’s family when we offered the first set of records from his vast collection at Rappcats in 2022.

The copy of Power of Zeus came from John Carraro - if you want to know more about him, and the legendary Roosevelt Record Convention where this album was discovered, you can check my previous posts.

And if this selection doesn’t tempt you to come visit Now-Again HQ in LA one week from tomorrow as we offer out the last of what Be’s family will sell - in a sale I curated with my collecting mentor and P.M. Dawn’s manager Georges Sulmers… well, to paraphase Charles Schultz, you’re better than me, Charlie Brown.

Here’s a selection of what I purchased from Prince Be’s family when we offered the first set of records from his vast collection at Rappcats in 2022.

The copy of Power of Zeus came from John Carraro - if you want to know more about him, and the legendary Roosevelt Record Convention where this album was discovered, you can check my previous posts.

And if this selection doesn’t tempt you to come visit Now-Again HQ in LA one week from tomorrow as we offer out the last of what Be’s family will sell - in a sale I curated with my collecting mentor and P.M. Dawn’s manager Georges Sulmers… well, to paraphase Charles Schultz, you’re better than me, Charlie Brown.

Here’s a selection of what I purchased from Prince Be’s family when we offered the first set of records from his vast collection at Rappcats in 2022.

The copy of Power of Zeus came from John Carraro - if you want to know more about him, and the legendary Roosevelt Record Convention where this album was discovered, you can check my previous posts.

And if this selection doesn’t tempt you to come visit Now-Again HQ in LA one week from tomorrow as we offer out the last of what Be’s family will sell - in a sale I curated with my collecting mentor and P.M. Dawn’s manager Georges Sulmers… well, to paraphase Charles Schultz, you’re better than me, Charlie Brown.

Here’s a selection of what I purchased from Prince Be’s family when we offered the first set of records from his vast collection at Rappcats in 2022.

The copy of Power of Zeus came from John Carraro - if you want to know more about him, and the legendary Roosevelt Record Convention where this album was discovered, you can check my previous posts.

And if this selection doesn’t tempt you to come visit Now-Again HQ in LA one week from tomorrow as we offer out the last of what Be’s family will sell - in a sale I curated with my collecting mentor and P.M. Dawn’s manager Georges Sulmers… well, to paraphase Charles Schultz, you’re better than me, Charlie Brown.

Here’s a selection of what I purchased from Prince Be’s family when we offered the first set of records from his vast collection at Rappcats in 2022.

The copy of Power of Zeus came from John Carraro - if you want to know more about him, and the legendary Roosevelt Record Convention where this album was discovered, you can check my previous posts.

And if this selection doesn’t tempt you to come visit Now-Again HQ in LA one week from tomorrow as we offer out the last of what Be’s family will sell - in a sale I curated with my collecting mentor and P.M. Dawn’s manager Georges Sulmers… well, to paraphase Charles Schultz, you’re better than me, Charlie Brown.

The final part in series of reflections on the late Prince Be, John Carraro, and the sellers, collectors and denizens of the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions in 1990s Manhattan.If you want to read more, there are eight posts before this.

The first picture shows Be, John and John’s wife Jacqui, circa 1994; the second shows a rare Frankie Beverly 45 that John gave as a gift, and inscribed, to Be. That photo was taken last week by Be’s widow Mary.

John Carraro died in New York in 2009, aged 52. You won’t find an obituary online – you might find the article he penned for Waxpoetics about his experiences at the Roosevelt if you kept stock of the journal; all online links are now gone. You will find a video interview of him talking with DJ Soulero in 2004, looking more gaunt than he does in the pictures you’ve seen here, but brimming with enthusiasm as he talks about the records he discovered and shared with his pals, as he called them: the upper echelon of New York’s hip hop producers of that important era that changed the path of popular music.

Prince Be died in New Jersey in 2016, aged 46. You will find a lot of information about Be and PM Dawn online, and you will even find a passing reference to one of his great passions in his New York Times’ obituary: “He was also a well-regarded record collector.” You will probably agree, after reading these posts, how underwhelming an assessment that is.

Be, John, “Boston” Bob and others – and the spirit of the Roosevelt in general – were what I was thinking of when I envisioned what our series of LA record events we once hosted at Rappcats - and now wind down at Now-Again - would look and feel like. The legacy of those events, and the legacies of those that made them legend, still inspire me. And the loving touch of those personal moments that went beyond collecting and commerce, the note John wrote for Be on the gift of that Beverly 45, that Mary has kept and always will – that is, and always has been, what matters most.

The final part in series of reflections on the late Prince Be, John Carraro, and the sellers, collectors and denizens of the Roosevelt Hotel Record Conventions in 1990s Manhattan.If you want to read more, there are eight posts before this.

The first picture shows Be, John and John’s wife Jacqui, circa 1994; the second shows a rare Frankie Beverly 45 that John gave as a gift, and inscribed, to Be. That photo was taken last week by Be’s widow Mary.

John Carraro died in New York in 2009, aged 52. You won’t find an obituary online – you might find the article he penned for Waxpoetics about his experiences at the Roosevelt if you kept stock of the journal; all online links are now gone. You will find a video interview of him talking with DJ Soulero in 2004, looking more gaunt than he does in the pictures you’ve seen here, but brimming with enthusiasm as he talks about the records he discovered and shared with his pals, as he called them: the upper echelon of New York’s hip hop producers of that important era that changed the path of popular music.

Prince Be died in New Jersey in 2016, aged 46. You will find a lot of information about Be and PM Dawn online, and you will even find a passing reference to one of his great passions in his New York Times’ obituary: “He was also a well-regarded record collector.” You will probably agree, after reading these posts, how underwhelming an assessment that is.

Be, John, “Boston” Bob and others – and the spirit of the Roosevelt in general – were what I was thinking of when I envisioned what our series of LA record events we once hosted at Rappcats - and now wind down at Now-Again - would look and feel like. The legacy of those events, and the legacies of those that made them legend, still inspire me. And the loving touch of those personal moments that went beyond collecting and commerce, the note John wrote for Be on the gift of that Beverly 45, that Mary has kept and always will – that is, and always has been, what matters most.

In this photo, the two best dealers from NYC’s early 1990s Roosevelt Hotel Record Convention – “Boston” Bob Gibson, in the upper left, and John Carraro, with his wife Jacqui in the center and right. In the second picture, another one of John’s epic Roosevelt walls. This is part eight in a series of posts about this era of collecting and the late Prince Be.

Joe Mansfield:

“Me, Bob and this other guy Michael Smart would pitch in on the table at the Roosevelt and leave super early from Boston to get there at 5 am and set up. The only thing with Bob was that he kept a lot of records in his personal collection and for the ones he did want to sell, he would take phone calls and sell records to people before the show started.So – our table was good, but John’s was better than ours.

John would do this unveiling – and it was the craziest thing at the show. He would have his display wall covered with a sheet. Everyone who paid to get in early would be there for this. He would wait until he was ready and then unveil it - and it was always great. He could have Stark Reality, a library record no one knew about or the Surprize album ‘Keep On Truckin’’ That was rare then and its still rare. It was incredible!”

Joe, “Boston” Bob, John and other dealers from that era –“Jazzman” Gerald, Michael and Jodi McFadin, “Cool” Chris, Aki and so many more – were creating culture and developing a language still being explored and augmented today. They were intrepid musical explorers, cartographers, discographers -when few cared.

The collections amassed by those like “Boston” Bob and Prince Be will never be assembled again, because the way that they bought records was based on availability, instinct and utility. “Boston” Bob bought for education, enjoyment and, out of necessity, for sale;Be, for the former two things and for creating music. Now common drum breaks that Be paid hundreds for were evened out in his collection by records now classified as Spiritual Jazz that, back then, were called something else and sold for a fifteen bucks.

Concluded tomorrow.

In this photo, the two best dealers from NYC’s early 1990s Roosevelt Hotel Record Convention – “Boston” Bob Gibson, in the upper left, and John Carraro, with his wife Jacqui in the center and right. In the second picture, another one of John’s epic Roosevelt walls. This is part eight in a series of posts about this era of collecting and the late Prince Be.

Joe Mansfield:

“Me, Bob and this other guy Michael Smart would pitch in on the table at the Roosevelt and leave super early from Boston to get there at 5 am and set up. The only thing with Bob was that he kept a lot of records in his personal collection and for the ones he did want to sell, he would take phone calls and sell records to people before the show started.So – our table was good, but John’s was better than ours.

John would do this unveiling – and it was the craziest thing at the show. He would have his display wall covered with a sheet. Everyone who paid to get in early would be there for this. He would wait until he was ready and then unveil it - and it was always great. He could have Stark Reality, a library record no one knew about or the Surprize album ‘Keep On Truckin’’ That was rare then and its still rare. It was incredible!”

Joe, “Boston” Bob, John and other dealers from that era –“Jazzman” Gerald, Michael and Jodi McFadin, “Cool” Chris, Aki and so many more – were creating culture and developing a language still being explored and augmented today. They were intrepid musical explorers, cartographers, discographers -when few cared.

The collections amassed by those like “Boston” Bob and Prince Be will never be assembled again, because the way that they bought records was based on availability, instinct and utility. “Boston” Bob bought for education, enjoyment and, out of necessity, for sale;Be, for the former two things and for creating music. Now common drum breaks that Be paid hundreds for were evened out in his collection by records now classified as Spiritual Jazz that, back then, were called something else and sold for a fifteen bucks.

Concluded tomorrow.