Back when I lived in Denver, I worked nights at a group home and met my friend Craig, another employee whose musical rabbit holes seemed to have no bottom. If there was an obscure label worth knowing, chances are Craig already owned everything they'd ever released. Sub Pop, Drag City, Scat Records, Estrus... he was my unofficial graduate school in underground music.
Craig didn't just collect records, he lived them. He even started his own label, Honeyman, released a Bassholes 45, and at one point owned one of only two known copies of an unreleased Jim Sheppard (V3) 45. A few years ago he sold it for serious collector money, proving once again that sometimes the weirdest records become the most valuable.
I'd spend entire days at his house listening to records, borrowing stacks to take home, and having my musical horizons stretched far beyond where they ever would have gone on their own. One day he put on this Palace Brothers LP he had just picked up. By the time it was over, I was heading straight to Wax Trax with my wallet already surrendering. My record collection is infinitely deeper, stranger, and better because of Craig.
These days I'm in North Carolina and Craig's in Maryland, but we still talk at least once a week. The last time we met up was in Norfolk about four years ago. That feels less like "recently" and more like a warning label that says: Road Trip Required.
As for Idle Hands Are the Devil's Playthings, the title still holds up. These days it's hard enough keeping your mind on the straight and narrow without the nonstop circus of news, social media, and general world chaos doing its best to drag your attention in twelve directions at once. Sometimes the best antidote is simple: put on a good record, drop the needle, and let the rest of the world wait its turn.
