Omar and I were enjoying breakfast at Skinner's Pub. Monica makes a great Bloody Mary. The storms hadn't arrived yet—in fact, the sun was still shining—but the Mets game had already been canceled. The forecast was bleak. We could have easily spent the entire day chatting with Monica, but decided to take a ride down to Princeton.
At Newark Penn Station, we bought two 24-ounce cans of Modelo Especial and a couple of one-way train tickets. By the time we reached the platform for track 4, the rain had begun to fall. The train was right on time. The rain grew heavier as the train headed south. At Princeton Junction, we hopped in a cab. We're going to the Princeton Record Exchange, I told the driver. The driver knew exactly where to go.
Fifteen dollars later, we were there. The rain was constant, but it was not heavy. Inside the store, music lovers buzzed with energy and zipped along the deep racks. A couple argued over the music that was playing. It's definitely Holst. Yes, this is Mercury. No, wait: It's Jupiter.
The place was packed. I took a quick walk around the perimeter of the store, and decided to begin my search at their new arrivals section. Omar went directly to the Latin section. I enjoy going through the new arrivals for two main reasons:
1. I feel as though I'm experiencing things that no one else has seen
2. Because the albums are not separated into genres, I am surprised more often.
As we searched, we'd interrupt one another to share a special find—some brightly colored Calypso album or an old blues classic or a rare first-pressing. Hey dude, look at this! Check this one out! Ha!
I'm not sure how much time passed. When searching for records, I become pretty much oblivious to all things around me. It's one of the few activities in which I can completely lose myself, and maybe that's why I enjoy it so much. Nothing else matters, but the records. However long it was, it wasn't too long before I had a large and heavy stack of albums tucked beneath my left arm. I flipped through the stacks with my right hand, while cradling my picks with my left. When my left arm became too tired, I'd set my records aside, keeping a close eye on them. Every now and then, I'd interrupt my search in order to inspect my selections. Carefully remove the album jacket from the outer sleeve; examine jacket, taking note of any stickers, random markings, holes or tears; cautiously remove vinyl from inner sleeve, checking for scratches; smile when you see there are no scratches; sigh when you see there are; return the vinyl to its sleeve.
I had finally gotten through all of the new arrivals. The great majority of these records appeared to be in very good condition. More and more people had entered the store. Shoppers were scattered about the floor, digging through the dollar bins. To walk from one aisle to the next required careful maneuvering. Omar and I decided it was time to go.
I handed my records to the man at the cash register and asked if the owner was available. I'd like to introduce myself, I said. No, he's not here on the weekends. Oh, that's right. Was he expecting you? No, but we've exchanged a few e-mails, and one of my articles is hanging in your window, so I just wanted to say hello. Which article is yours?
The piece for Stereophile. Oh, that's great. I'll let him know you stopped by. Thanks so much.
It was then that I noticed a familiar face. He was paying for his own very large stack of records at one of the other registers. Chris, I said. Stephen!
It was Chris Sommovigo from
The Signal Collection and
Big Black Disk. Chris was in the area, visiting with a few dealers and journalists and, of course, had to stop at the PREX.
As I chatted with Chris, another fellow got my attention. Are you Stephen Mejias? Yes. Nice to meet you! I'm Jon, the general manager here. Oh yeah—I recognize you from
the videos. Oh gosh, I hope you didn't watch them all. I think I did, actually. Well, we hoped they'd give people a reason to visit the store. I think you did a great job.
Omar and I had already paid for our albums, but Jon persuaded us to stay a bit longer. Let me take you into the backroom, he said. I've got some really great stuff that just came in, and I want you to see it before I put it out on the floor.
We could not pass up the opportunity.
The backroom was filled from floor to ceiling with boxes of vinyl LPs and compact discs. Workers were busy organizing. Jon hoisted a box of LPs onto a small desk and allowed me to go through them. He asked: Mind if I look at what you've bought while you go through those? Not at all, I said. Wow, he said, you're all over the place—Oscar Brown?! Nobody ever buys Oscar Brown! I don't know anything about that guy, I said. Neither do I, he said.
Then I saw it. It was like that moment in
Pulp Fiction when the briefcase opens. The entire world was illuminated with the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen: Mark Dimond's
Brujeria, in perfecto condition. Do you have any idea?!
Originally released in 1971 on the Vaya label and produced by salsa legends Larry Harlow and Johnny Pacheco, this was Markolino's debut as a bandleader, and features Angel Canales on lead vocals. If you're not a fan of Canales' over-the-top vocal theatrics, you'll be pleased by his work on
Brujeria. Omar and I joke that Markolino knew how to keep Canales in check. Here, Canales sounds excellent and the music is a slower, slinky, stretched-out brand of salsa. Markolino is playful on the keys, lets the songs rise and fall and wind about. The Fania record label would later acquire the rights to
Brujeria and re-release it as
Mas Sabor under Canales' name, making the original even more valuable. In 2006, Fania remastered the album and released it as a limited edition of 5000. I had cherished that reissue, and now I have the real thing.
Omar and I thanked Jon many times before leaving the store to find that the rain had finally delivered its promise. On our way to the Triumph Brewing Company, we were soaked from head to toe. We managed to keep our records dry, of course.
