Equipment Problems

I am not an autograph hound. I also don't collect test pressings. But if one comes around, I'm not likely to refuse. While this attitude may make my girlfriend uneasy, it is true that there is a strong correlation between my need for something and the unusualness of it. What I'm saying is that I, like any collector, will jump on a good opportunity even if it's not exactly what I'm into at the moment. I doubt this is helping the uneasiness.

Autograph hounds know what to do. They somehow get 8"x10" glossies and know where to wait to get them signed by the person in the picture. They have a Sharpie at all times. Those of us who are more casual about it don't have it down pat. If I think I'm going to be in a setting where I could pursue a particularly interesting autograph, I will come prepared. Record jacket (no record needed), cardboard mailer to carry and protect the record and a Sharpie. I can be just as prepared as the regular autograph people. There's just one thing I can't seem to master : How to remain unflustered when interfacing with the person. I have probably done this about 20 times total. Not counting signing events - these don't count as it's akin to fishing in a stocked pond - each time has gone about the same. I usually fumble around with my words, the record sleeve, and the Sharpie. It's a lot like how I would envision myself in a cash-for-sex situation : One party is not really interested and feeling a little invaded while the other is bumbling, ashamed and humiliated.

Example
A few years ago I was invited by a friend to an art opening in Peekskill, New York. The artist was Richard Butler. He had apparently been trained as a painter from a young age. He was having his first opening at the age of 50 or so. Why the gap between his schooling and his first opening? He spent most of his life as the singer for the Psychedelic Furs. Sure, I like the Psychedelic Furs, but they were never my favorite band by any stretch. Didn't matter - this was an easy opportunity. I prepared myself by digging out a 7" sleeve that's pretty rare (Martin Hannett produced the B-side of the UK single), a Sharpie and some cardboard to protect it. No problem.

I met up with my friend and we went to the gallery with a group. My friend knows some people who know some more people and he was lucky enough to be on a distant-acquaintance basis with Richard Butler. Although I had a track record of choking badly, I was confident that the introduction and Richard Butler's diminished status due to the lack of activity in his music career would make for a smooth interaction. My friend introduced me, we all shook hands and the three of us started talking like old friends about the opening. Sounds good right? He kept talking. That voice is familiar, I thought. Uh oh. He sounds like that guy in the Psychedelic Furs. Then it hit home. My mind raced. This man's voice had been part of the soundtrack of my life since I was in elementary school. This is the man who sang "Love My Way", which was integral to a key scene in Valley Girl. After my brother's wedding in 1987, I sat on the floor in the hotel with some other kids and watched videos all night. "Heaven" was one. This is the man who sang "Pretty In Pink". John Hughes named one of his films after a song this man sung. This man, standing in front of me in Peekskill, New York, was part of the fabric of my existence. As this realization came crashing down on me, my friend did me a favor and told him I had brought something for him to sign. I clammed up and started scrambling to find the Sharpie. I found it, opened it, and handed it to him with the sleeve. He happily went about signing it. Here's the results.



Not so good huh? That's because I opened the thin side of the Sharpie. I realized it as he was writing. Feeling like an idiot, I thanked him and shrank away. After all this planning I had blown it. I had completely underestimated his impact on my life. He and his band meant a lot to me and it had completely snuck up on me.

I struggled for several minutes with the idea of re-approaching him, solo this time since my friend was off talking to someone else, and getting him to re-do his John Hancock. How pathetic is this? Not pathetic enough, I guess, since I soon had enough Diet Coke in me to make my move. I got over to him and he had a very different look on his face. "You want me to do that again?" He looked more than a little uninterested and plenty invaded. I was holding up my end of this awful interaction by feeling completely ashamed. The incredible tension was broken by the gallery agent came up to him. My friend had bought a painting - the first one to sell. Turns out a little cash helps everyone get what they want.