The Sex Pistols: "God Save the Queen" hybrid 7" (Thai) – $1,376.11

A bit of a grab-bag today, since a few choice records I've all but covered before are back, and raking in the bucks.First up, a chance for the winning bidder of February's "Punk Rock for the Punk Rocker" 7" to own both Express Song Sex Pistols bootlegs from Thailand. "God Save the Queen" should go for a grand as well, boasting "Sheena is a Punk Rocker" and a more humorous stylistic mismatch on the A-side: Boz Scaggs' "Lido Shuffle." I'm partial to Thai hybrids as cultural Rubik's Cubes, but they also tie in nicely with the burgeoning punk rock/youth expression movement in Bangkok and Chiang Mai over the last few years. Our seller has the largest collection of Thai singles I've seen: the rarest, the most valuable, and some totally bizarre examples of one of Thailand's most successful independent (and illegal) industries in the 1970s.

Next, one of the 200 "red slash" "Love Buzz" singles recently went for $1000. The seller contacted me the day this auction went live to assure me it was a legit copy, but I had so recently written it up that I held off (and I knew he wasn't going to have any trouble convincing buyers it was the real deal). I didn't cover this aspect of the sale in my original writeup of "Love Buzz," because I think I went off on some tearjerker tangent about how Nirvana mattered (yup, just verified that), but the reason he emailed me is that "red slash" copies are the most likely to be fakes. Sub Pop numbered and released 1000 copies of "Love Buzz" for their Singles Club, but they had pressed something like 1192 all told. The near-200 extra copies were tagged with red laundry marker in the numbering box, and distributed by hand to friends, family, and those in the know.

Finally, did I ever pick the wrong Floyd auction to write up last month...a first-edition Odeon pressing of their debut LP The Piper at the Gates of Dawn went for an unheard-of $8600 (which was under the reserve asking price), and soon after, Malvern's finest used record store Vicious Sloth started auctioning a copy of the famous promo-only Odeon Cow LP of 1970, with a fair but probably unlikely reserve price of $2350 (more information about the LP is available from Pink Floyd Archives).

Rammellzee vs K-Rob: "Beat Bop" 12" (first pressing) – $1,180.56

Though Basquiat is by far the most famous artist involved with this single, Rammellzee is arguably more intriguing. Without question, he is more confounding.

Rammellzee's ever-shifting anti-objectivism and (some say put-on) grab bag of personalities preclude the same sort of biographical denouement Basquiat left in his wake (see Bug Me Not for easy access to the NYT piece). Like a confrontational, irreligious Bambaataa taken to the furthest extreme, Rammellzee has developed brain-spiraling, self-reinforced theorems like the Ionic Treatise, which is basically a stream-of-consciousness game of algebraic forms. It's no less stunning for its thin foundation, but can't hold a candle to the gorgeous costumes Rammellzee's most famous for these days (more images are available via Crown Point Press). At first it all seems pretty impenetrable, but Rammellzee's done plenty of interviews, and even his website Gothic Futurism houses some straightforward confessions.

After two decades of art-house infamy and legend status in the worlds of graffiti (the Ionic Treatise was originally a shorter graffiti manifesto) and old school hip-hop (thanks both to this 12" single and a superb performance during Wild Style), Ram released his mind-melting debut LP Bi-Conicals of the RamEllZee in 2004, which David Morris slam-dunked on Pop Matters. If anyone's an example of artistic potency past the halcyon days of youth, it's this guy, though I can take or leave his recent cuts.

"Beat Bop," on the other hand, is a classic, touching on post-punk—it could pass for a Bush Tetras dub mix—and dispatching the disco tempo still dominating rap in 1983. The track's enjoyed continued celebration since the turn of the century as an overlooked groundbreaker, appearing on compilations like New York Noise and Ego Trip's Big Playback, which just about as close to perfect as it gets for old-school hip-hop, even if Kool G Rap gets lost in the reputational middleground. [Too popular for the crate-diggers, too obscure for The History of Rap, Kool G almost always gets the short end. BBD never paid him a dime, though LL Cool J carries the torch (as he should; he learned a lot from Kool's work on "Raw" and "It's a Demo").]

Though you won't get the Basquiat drawings that add so much to this single's collector value, this promotional copy on Profile is actually a rarer gem, and going at only £100. Cory Robbins and Steve Plotnicki's Profile records was the biggest rap label prior to Def Jam; in late 1983 they re-released "Beat Bop" upon finding out copies were selling for two thousand dollars, but failed to realize the artwork was driving demand. Soon after, Rammellzee moved into the art world with Basquiat. Profile tried to do right by K-Rob, but his 1985 solo 12" proved to be titanically ironic.

Morrissey: "November the Second" 12" – $5000.00

Once a sensually anemic rail—the flummoxing renunciant who could've had anything he wanted—Morrissey made a crucial misstep following the gracefully-aging and spectral Vauxhall & I. He attempted to turn back the emotional clock, waxing strapping-young-lad despite the onset of gravity and a peppered crown.

Morrissey's abandonment of EMI in 1995 still bothers me. It shouldn't have happened. EMI was probably right to let him go—the miserable futures forecast by his flaccid RCA one-off Southpaw Grammar came correct for ten years—but to let so proven an artist walk after seven stable years is a shame. It was a foregone conclusion that Morrissey would grow to hate their control of his catalog, souring the relationship for all time, and that he'd enjoy at least two profitable resurgences to offset however many years of weak sales and grumbling. But of course the artist wants to be adored, and Morrissey wasn't exactly feeling cherished. So the RCA/Mercury doldrums, so seven years' bad luck (1997-2004).

Only Ian Curtis predicted his future better in song than S.P. Morrissey. You can throw a pebble and hit half a dozen lead-in pull-quotes for any gushing biographical writeup of his 2004-? resurrection. I'd have to choose "It could go on forever—in which case I'm doomed," from "Piccadilly Palare." Although it led off his untouchable 1990 solo compilation Bona Drag, this song is not listened to or mentioned nearly enough in daily life as far as I'm concerned. One of the best singles of the 1990s. Organ-drone, descending chorus, hooligan homoeroticism...it's even got Suggs for God's sake, and you were waiting for "Parklife"? (You can't beat 'em: even Morrissey's come around to London in recent years, his Man U pride apparently frittered. No Dad, no Dad, no Dad: throw the QPR jersey* in the bin).

In September 1997, after their contract was up, EMI released Suedehead: The Best of Morrissey, a 19-track, single-disc overview originally outfitted with a second CD EP of unreleased rarities to rook or boost value for existing fans (depending on your view). As you can see from the sticker hosted by fansite Five Seconds to Spare, "November the Second," a long-rumored dance mix of "November Spawned a Monster" Morrissey detested and had deleted, was supposed to be included. As it turns out Morrissey does bear more grudges than high-court judges, and had the two-disc set blocked.

Or did he? I received an email shortly after this post first ran asserting that the second disc of Suedehead was in fact scrubbed to shore up EMI's pressing capacity for Elton John's treacle Diana death dirge, "Goodbye England's Rose." If this is true—Suedehead was released September 8th, 1997, one week after her death—any devout Morrissey fan knows where I'm going next: the infamous Diana-Morrissey Phenomenon, one of the more inspired flights of internet fantasy. For the uninitiated, know that Morrissey publically referred to Princess Diana as "an incredibly boring woman" not long after her death, which makes this too hilarious—if unsubstantiated—a coincidence not to mention. (Not to spoil the party, but promotional copies of the 19-track Suedehead sans bonus disc were distributed to reviewers two weeks before Diana's death. This doesn't completely kill the fantasy, but I doubt it's true).

"November the Second" generates heated contention among Morrissey fans; some refused to believe it existed until the sticker from the EMI two-disc made its way online (and there are still doubters). Last year, a high-line Smiths collector posted an eBay auction of a one-sided 12" test-pressing of "November the Second," asking £3000, and while the seller was clearly a certifiable Smiths aficionado (Record Collector priced the Mayking "Meat is Murder" at £800 just last year), disbelief was audible online. A number of collectors bristled at our seller's high-priced poster sales, claiming they were reprints. The vague item description (which still accompanies the sale) didn't help. Eventually, a placeholder site with pictures of the 12" went up, but still, no takers.

A quick run through recent sales from our auctioneer turns up a complete Smiths singles collection and any number of signed Morrissey items. In the end I'm inclined to believe this is/was the real deal, if you can call it that. The sale is also mirrored perpetually at the online library of Smiths memorabilia auctions, Morrissey Madness, the contents of which I could write about for the rest of 2006 (see my previous Smiths entries here and here).

Recently, a high-quality MP3 reputed to be the actual remix turned up in the forums of Morrissey Solo. Given the musical environment at the time (read: techno), I would not expect a 1992 dance remix to sound this similar to the original, or as muted, especially since the drums are tailor-made for a booming breakdown that never comes. Still, as someone who's worked with digital audio for going on twelve years, I'd say with guarded confidence this is not a fake, though it is so appallingly bad I can understand why fans hold out hope. By today's definition of "remix" it seems easily constructed and laughably basic, but the right-panned keyboard, the digital tremolo tracks, as well as the post-effects on the vocals and increased acoustic guitar presence couldn't be duplicated this cleanly—even today—without the original tracking in isolation. The only dubious element that sticks out to me is a harsh digital clip at the start of the song, during the second looped outburst from Mary Margaret O'Hara. I'm comfortable chalking this offset up to the limitations of CD-quality sampling in 1992, but if you've got any rejoinders I'd love to hear them.

*This image comes from Tony Visconti's site, and I would be remiss in not plugging my appearance therein.

Shellac: The Futurist EP – $615.00

Whether Shellac's 1997 12" EP The Futurist was explicitly commissioned as a score for Québécois dance company La La La Human Dance, or is simply a collection of recordings made available to the troupe's founder Édouard Lock, is not easily confirmed online. Which is not to suggest it's an important distinction, but it's somewhat surprising given the plethora of Albini-related minutiae Andy Lester has on file at his long-running fansite, Action Park, where you can find one-line bios of most of the 779 names printed on The Futurist's sleeve. In retrospect it would seem clear that Albini wavered creatively after Shellac's 1994 debut At Action Park, consigning the 1995 sessions that become The Futurist to second-guessed, small-run oblivion. Of course Steve kept busy with his production work, but Shellac didn't release a sophomore full-length until 1998's Terraform, and four years is a long time to chalk up to scheduling conflicts.

The Futurist's short pieces are of two types: analog industrial drones (an interesting contrast in the electronica/glitch-crazed late-'90s), and somewhat prosaic time-signature exercises typical of the "math rock" trend so popular (especially in Chicago) at the time. I don't know if it's something aspiring teenage musicians will go through in the future, but from the late-'80s through the '90s, records like this were invaluable instruction manuals for listening past 4-4 time if you couldn't get into jazz. Wikipedia has a decent overview on polyrhythmic Math Rock if you're unfamiliar with the genre. I spent a long time teaching myself 5/4, 6/4 and 7/8 time when I was 18, but with a few notable exceptions (Drive Like Jehu and Don Caballero's discographies, "Flipbook Oscilloscope" by Turing Machine, some cute Heavy Vegetable songs), math rock is morbidly procedural, and does not age like fine wine. Ask S/FJ about it sometime. I can barely make it through a Breadwinner 7" these days.

Charley Patton: "Prayer of Death" 78 – $2,983.00

We may never know definitively if it's "Charlie" or "Charley," but this 1929 Patton 78 is a major surprise. Our seller is offering many comparably timeless 78s right now, so if you're a collector, don't pass him by.

Keen observers will note that "Prayer of Death" was actually released under the ambiguously religious pseudonym "Elder J.J. Hadley." Considerably overestimating Patton's "sinful" reputation as a Blues singer, Paramount pulled this stunt to ensure "Prayer" would make it past pastors to the God-fearing Gospel sales stalls. American marketing, circa 1930.

Though now ensconced in his rightful throne as the King of Delta Blues, Charley Patton was something of a secret handshake for true fans of the genre until the 1990s (in contrast with popular protégé/peers Howlin' Wolf and John Lee Hooker). Patton's resurgence peaked with the bittersweet 2001 release of Screamin' and Hollerin' the Blues, a lush 7-CD complete discography that had been the lifelong dream of his biggest fan, John Fahey. To the surprise of absolutely no one, Screamin' won the 2003 Grammy awards for Best Historical Album (for Revenant), Best Liner Notes (for Dr. David Evans) and Best Boxed or Special Limited Edition Package (for art director Susan Archie; Chunklet magazine's Henry Owings was also on the team, and if you're wondering, the set is still available from Revenant records for just $150).

Both John Fahey and R. Crumb were serious Charley Patton devotees, having followed the trail back from Harry Smith's unparalleled Anthology of American Folk Music (which has expanded from its original 1952 2-LP set into a massive 6-CD box over the last decade of additions). Fahey wrote his dissertation on Patton in the late '60s, following lauded missions through the south to rescue blues 78s from oblivion. During his travels, Fahey came across another Patton devotee, Bukka White, whose tuneful Depression-era recordings were mere rumor. White had played just a handful of shows since the mid-'40s and had all but given up on music when Fahey came across him in 1963, but at John's urging, Bukka moved to California, basking in a joyful twilight comeback fostered by Ed Denson and Fahey's Takoma records.

The Sex Pistols: "God Save the Queen" 7" (A&M) – $22,172.38

The final price of this auction won't be known for another week, but out of the gate, we've already topped £6000, which is roughly what the last copy to hit the open market went for. [This auction closed on March 2nd, 2006 with a final bid of £12,675 ($22,175). The money and the single have changed hands, and a Lisa Wheeler article about the sale will appear in the April issue of Goldmine].

Early in March of 1977—just days after the botched sacking of Glen Matlock for Sid Vicious—A&M records signed the white-hot Sex Pistols for the still-obscene sum of £150,000. Malcolm McLaren had been negotiating this contract for weeks: immediately after EMI dropped the Pistols in January 1977, unable to cope with unending bad press and boycotts surrounding the Today/Grundy "filthy lucre" fiasco and Heathrow "puking" incident, McLaren met with A&M's top brass, including London office director Derek Green, and the label's co-founder Jerry Moss. We may never know what possessed Green and/or Moss to offer a six-figure contract with half the money guaranteed to a band EMI had essentially lit £50,000 on fire for, with only one single^[1] to offset their considerable embarrassment. Jerry is unlikely to address it when he's inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame next month.

After an awkward drunken contract signing in A&M's Rondor offices on March 9th (charmingly animated in The Great Rock N' Roll Swindle), and Malcolm's fantastic restaging the next morning in front of Buckingham Palace, the band made a massive error in judgement. On March 12th, at London's Speakeasy club, Sid and Jah Wobble got into it with Bob Harris and his friends in Cliff Williams' appalling Bandit.

According to Dave Goodman (and few would know better), someone threatened to kill Harris during the macho verbal fracas. Harris was powerful enough as a BBC presenter, but he also happened to share management with A&M's golden goose: Peter Frampton, who recorded the Best Selling Album of All Time to that point, Frampton Comes Alive! (which has yet to crack 20 million in sales, but still ranks in the top 15, alongside Boston's debut). In deference to Harris and Frampton^[2], and fearing the band could take the whole company down in a PR scandal, A&M dropped the Sex Pistols on March 15th, shelling out £75,000 for a 25,000-copy run of "God Save the Queen"/"No Feelings" they ordered destroyed at the pressing plant two days later. Goodman's recollection of this event is high comedy:

03/17/1977 | A&M pulp the 25,000 "God Save the Queen"/"No Feelings" singles and destroy the metal masters. Boogie and Reid put on boiler suits and attempt to rescue copies from the vinyl recycling centre — they break down in giggles, however, and are ejected. Apart from two A&M "God Save the Queen" 45s sold by Phil Strongman to McLaren, only half a dozen others have ever been seen, and these were allegedly given to the longest-serving staffers after A&M closed down its UK operation in 1998.

I sent a very polite letter to MD Derek Green pleading for one, before they were all trashed, but I never even got a reply. Malcolm suggested that we drive down to the factory at night and break in and take what we could. He knew the exact whereabouts of the records and reckoned it would be a cinch, especially if we took Steve along. I should have gone for it but had cold feet.

How many copies survived is a source of continued debate. Goodman mentions a box of ten making its way to a stall on Berwick Street, but an unsurprising series of bootlegs have clouded things over the years. House history at A&M, on the other hand, is crystal clear: 12 copies of the single were ceremoniously distributed to a select class of employees eliminated during PolyGram's 1998 closure of A&M's London office. Most collectors infer from this that less than 20 copies were kept in the A&M vaults.

The most recent auction of an A&M "God Save the Queen" was also on eBay, in early 2004. trakMARX set it up, and maintains a page dedicated to its staggering £6300 sale. With the farewell letter and custom wallframe, it's a far stronger package than this lowly mailer-sheath and Record Collector haul, but this is a legitimate copy.

^[1]"Anarchy" is culturally more than "one single," obviously—to many people it is the single—but it only got to #38 before EMI dropped the Pistols. The label subsequently sold the rights to Virgin, barely recouping their investment.

^[2]I've been informed by Leslie Pfenninger, proprietor of the excellent On A&M retrospective site, that Captain & Tennille and the Carpenters also implored Alpert and Moss to drop the Pistols. According to Leslie, the A&M family generally does not care to discuss the Sex Pistols' incidental tenure with the label, which I can understand. People often forget that A&M was a pure indie, and a very close-knit company. From their side of the experience, I would probably have a hard time finding humor in the band's disrepectful treatment of my fellows.