The Royalettes - Close Call / Too Late

So every Saturday morning — every single one — I call my buddy to see if he’s found any garage‑sale treasures. And by “treasures,” I mean vinyl. Not priceless antiques, not rare coins… vinyl. I’m basically a truffle pig for 45s, and he’s my unpaid scout. A few weeks ago, I’m driving into town, feeling optimistic, like today is the day I find something that isn’t polka or Christmas music. I call him, and he goes, “Yeah, I hit a sale. Got some LPs.” Great! Then he says, “Oh… and I forgot to grab the 45s. The ones with weird labels. The ones you’d want.”

Now, I adore the guy, but his sense of direction is like a weathervane in a hurricane. But he tells me where the sale is — which is hilarious, because his directions are usually like, “You know that place with the thing? Turn by the other thing.” But somehow, by divine intervention or maybe just dumb luck, he’s right this time. I find the “long barn.” And when I say long, I mean this thing looks like it was built to store dinosaurs.

I walk in, and there they are: the 45s. Sitting on a table. Waiting for me. Calling to me. Whispering, “Take us home, you beautiful vinyl hoarder.” The first one on the stack practically winked at me. Naturally, I walked out with ten of them because self‑control is for people who don’t collect obscure vinyl and when you’re me, you don’t buy a record — you buy records. Plural. Many. All of them.  If there had been 200, I’d be writing this from bankruptcy court. Several of these beauties (like this one) will absolutely end up on this blog, because when the universe hands you weird records, you say thank you and take all of them.

Now, I’m expecting a soul track, right? Something smooth. Something classy. Nope. The A‑side is lo‑fi garage, featuring Joe — a man who spends the entire song bobbing and weaving to avoid commitment like he’s in a relationship dodgeball tournament. And then — THEN — he admits he doesn’t know “about the birds and the bees.” Sir. Joe. Buddy. My guy. I can already picture the enormous, goofy grin he’ll have when he finally gets the memo.