My grandparents introduced me to vinyl. When I was small, I was fascinated by their turntable. I would push the glass door gently so it would pop open. My grandmother, the matriarch of the Greco family, would come over and help me pick out a record. Their collection was filled with the classics, especially the beloved Frank Sinatra. Probably around three or four years old, I would always pick out Sesame Street Fever which she would then drop the needle on so I could dance around in the living room. The hilarious child-inspired rendition of Saturday Night Fever, SSF is a concept album made by Sesame Street in 1978. The album artwork is ridiculously and hilariously on point. Bert, Ernie and the Cookie Monster pose in disco fashion; Grover strikes a “stayin’ alive” pose on a lighted dancefloor as Travolta does on the original. The tracks are all heavily inspired by the disco era.

“Me feel like eating cookies and dancing at the same time, get down, get down,” the Cookie Monster grunts on the track “C is for Cookie.” I re-listen to it now as a 23-year-old woman, and all I can think is how things have stayed surprisingly the same in the past 20 years. My complete passion for dancing as well as music has prevailed and only grown stronger, just as my love for cookies. “Disco cookie … All kinds of cookies,” the blue monster yells. All I can imagine is a side-by-side video of my three-year-old self and my current self getting way too groovy.

As each year passed, my music taste changed as I explored more genres and was introduced to new realms. I started my record collection maybe three years ago and was unfortunately limited due to a college budget and a relatively strong (emphasis on relatively) means of self-control when it comes to buying records.

I have filled a crate with an assortment of vinyl, and it continues to grow. Syracuse’s shop, Sound Garden, brought me to most of my wax: Jamie xx edits, two Biggie albums, Sleigh Bells’ latest two records, Purity Ring, Sufjan Stevens’ Greetings from Michigan, a compilation record from Ninja Tune & If Music, a used copy of Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town, the Fugees’ The Score, which was a constant for me when I was maybe 11 years old, and also somehow discovered a vinyl copy of lullaby renditions of Jay Z.

I scored a few records at yard sales and thrift stores, as well as a random collection of classic rock that was given to me. I explored the unknown by buying a couple mystery records, without knowing who the artist was or what it would sound like. What Greco collection wouldn’t be complete without Volare & the Golden Hits of Italy, the soundtrack from the Godfather, Jerry Vale, as well as multiple Sinatra albums?

Completing my Led Zeppelin collection is still a work-in-progress; what I find most beautiful about it is that even though their records are coming slowly into my life, each one has it’s own story to tell. My first New York City record store purchases were Danny Brown’s first ever Hot Soup, along with Champagne Sounds by Obey City and a hot pink-colored vinyl from UK producer Joker, which I found at Turntable Lab.

Most importantly, I have now added Sesame Street Fever to my own collection. Last year my grandmother passed away exactly around this time. In addition to some other things that were passed down to me, my Papa also gave me that record. This year, that’s what the reflection on vinyl for Record Store Day means to me. To be able to physically hold such a pivotal memory, is an immeasurable beauty. To feel that innocent dancing joy reverberate through the air waves means everything to me.

Still diggin’, always dancing, a world without music would be nothing.

The post Still Diggin’: Always Dancing first appeared on buffaBLOG.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he coyly said with his signature crooked smile, eyes hiding behind his Ray Ban sunglasses. “Oh, what are you doing tonight?” he said, mimicking what may have been an actual conversation. “Oh, my band is playing at this shitty bar, and you should definitely not come.” Roberts smiled and shook his head from the backseat of the moving van.

Vaeth jumps onto the 190 North to make the thirty minute trek to Lockport, New York, where Nobody now rehearses.

“You ever been to Lockport?” he asked. I shake my head no. “That’s probably a good thing,” he said with another smile.

The Harvestsum alumnus Johnny Nobody has been exiled. Well, exiled may be a bit too dramatic of a word, but they have found refuge in Lockport for rehearsal purposes, ever since their home away from home, Mohawk Place, closed down over a year ago.

“When that place closed… it’s like… it’s like a part of us died,” Roberts said of Mohawk.

“Well, I think that’s a bit of a dramatic statement,” Vaeth retorted.

“No seriously,” Roberts argued, “it was the perfect place for a band.”

Vaeth nods and shrugs in agreement. “Especially for a band at an impressionable age,” he concurred. “Now that we’re all in our early thirties, we can’t walk into these joints anymore, and be like ‘I’m going to become part of this gang.’ No, you’re not! Everybody there was pretty much cut from the same cloth, the same gross,” he laughed. Roberts smiled too.

If Buffalo is an “All America City,” then Johnny Nobody is an “All America Band.” They are rooted deeply into the blues, as well as rock and roll.

“When we first started out, it wasn’t cool to be a rock band,” Vaeth remembered. “It was like, ‘Hey guys, you want to come check out our rock n’ roll band?’” Insert a sarcastic thumbs up. “No, of course they didn’t, but we didn’t care, we just wanted to play.”

They played their first show on March 29th, 2001 at the now-defunct Cloud 9 on Main Street in North Buffalo.

“We really enjoyed it there because they were generous about serving alcohol to kids,” Vaeth reminisced.

Shortly after playing shows at Cloud 9, and a few Artvoice festivals, Johnny Nobody found their real home, a home to a lot of bands, Mohawk Place.

“As soon as we started playing Mohawk, we started feeling more legit,” Roberts remembered.

White concurred, “That place, and especially Pete [Perrone], welcomed us in, immediately.”

In 2003, Nobody put out their first record through the Harvestsum collective, a label that is still kicking its legs these days.

“The whole idea,” Vaeth said of Harvestsum, “was that every band on the label was there to help out the other bands. If you recorded a record, and made a little money, we’d give it to the next band so they could put a record out. A band would break up and a new band would form, usually with the same people. That’s it really, just a collective of people who play together.”

Nobody likes to remember their glory days as a touring band.

“We were lucky enough to have jobs where we could leave,” Roberts recalled. “You’d go to your boss and be like ‘Yeah, so can I have like six weeks off in the middle of the summer?’”

“Yeah, that was our thing,” Vaeth said, as White interjected, “’Hey, at least you don’t have to work today.’”

The trio has no illusions that they didn’t know what they were doing when it came to touring.

“You’d just get told no, a lot,” Roberts remembered. “We never booked a tour. We were calling places. We were like 20, not even of age yet, playing bars and shit, and this was when Myspace was still a thing.”

They even played, SXSW, unofficially.

“We weren’t officially accepted by SXSW, but we played it!” Vaeth said.

On their last tour, Nobody even made money, $150 to be exact.

“It was really taxing. We were really gung-ho about doing everything ourselves. We needed help and we didn’t know where to find it,” Roberts said. “I just remember sitting in the hot van, in somewhere like Alabama, and just being like ‘FUCK this sucks,’ and that’s the thing, if we had air conditioning that would have made the world of difference,” he added as White and Vaeth smirked to themselves.

The glory days for the trio of thirty-somethings may have passed, just like their tenure at Mohawk Place, but don’t count the boys out—especially with a new record on the horizon. In true Johnny Nobody fashion, the yet-untitled third record was recorded over a year ago, with Matthew Smith at his Hi-Lo Studios.

“At the time, we had the idea of let’s get this out real quick, which obviously didn’t happen,” Vaeth said, adding, “Back when we used to tour, we had this mentality that you have to constantly put stuff out, to get some form relevance. For us, it wasn’t ‘we have to stay relevant,’ it was more ‘we have to be relevant.’ Now I think we can take our time with it. It’s more of a hobby at this point, not to say it won’t become something more serious at some point. I’m sure all of us have had some feelings of wishing we were doing that again. I certainly do.”

The new album is set for a spring 2015 release, and will be released on vinyl.

“We definitely want to do vinyl, because we’ve never done it before.” Vaeth said. “Cassettes are making a comeback too, but I don’t know if we’re going to do a cassette. I love cassettes, but I don’t pop in a cassette and say, ‘Hey man, listen to that cassette sound!’”

The post Johnny Nobody first appeared on buffaBLOG.

Initially, digging for records was a solo mission of mine; occasionally my little brother and I would go on an excursion to Sound Garden in Syracuse, my hometown. But just recently I experienced that camaraderie that can grow from a visit to the record store.

A couple friends invited me to go to Record Theatre. Surprisingly, this was my first time there. I am shocked (and others as well) that it was my first, mostly because it’s located smack dab in my old neighborhood, when I went to Canisius College.

I went seeking the newest Tycho album, but, to my dismay it was on backorder. So we wandered. Another group joined us at the store, and we all meandered the aisles, picking up vinyl, asking that ever inspiring question: “Have you heard this yet?”

My eyes are still set on Bright Eyes’ I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning, but instead I left with Wooden Shjips. A band with a sound that I like to categorize as progressive retrograde; the psychedelic sounds bring spot on ’60s feelings. I love the cover of the album Back to Land, even though it is a bit derivative of Zeppelin’s III.

Speaking of which, in the past year, my Zeppelin collection is nearly complete. Biggie has made himself at home on my shelf when I impulse bought Ready to Die. During a Christmas communication breakdown between my brother and mother, I now own two copies of Lana Del Rey’s Born to Die; one is the original vinyl, the other is a Record Store Day special promotion with the album art printed directly onto the wax. Additionally, my little brother picked me up a 45 record of Touché Amoré live on BBC Radio 1. I’m still drooling over the teal-colored vinyl that Purity Ring used for Shrines. For my birthday last year, I was pleasantly surprised to unwrap and find The Godfather Soundtrack and another collection of hits from my man Frank Sinatra. Both of my Sleigh Bells’ records are tucked among the rest: Bitter Rivals and Reign of Terror. A golden score that I came across, thanks to Sound Garden, is a record of Jamie xx edits. Also, when I saw Tycho was re-pressing Dive I immediately bought it, because even after incessantly listening, I still cannot get enough of the oceanic dreamscape sounds.

That’s just to name a few of my acquisitions.

What I love most about a record store is the exploration and discovery. It is an inspiring venture that should be cherished. Vinyl, in certain ways, is a means of connection from person to person. To share your vinyl is a simple, meaningful act. You’re letting someone in on a little secret, as they peak into a concave of your world.

Tom Wolfe once wrote in probably my all-time favorite book The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, “Let’s find out where we are. Let’s move it around. Let’s dance on it.”

Music, in any physical form, is just that. A means of exploration. Discover worlds of music and keep the human connection alive. Find out where you are. Move it around, and dance on it.

The post Still Diggin’: Discover, Explore, Dance On It first appeared on buffaBLOG.