Moving is one of those times in life when you get to rediscover the stuff you haven’t looked at since the last time you moved, or the time before that, or the time before that. Amongst the boxes of things that are assigned to the trash or Goodwill, there are treasures you’ve forgotten about, perhaps even things you didn’t know you had.

One of the tasks I’ve been undertaking the last couple of days has been transferring my record albums (yes, I still have vinyl, lots of it) from the deteriorating cartons they’ve been in since at least 1989 to new heavy-duty boxes. When last these were packed, records came off the shelves helter-skelter so that jazz, classical and rock ‘n roll were all mixed up. This seemed the perfect opportunity to sort things out.

So, I found some gems that I thought I’d share with you, my unsuspecting readers.

Yes, I’ve got one of those highly-offensive Beatles albums. It’s not in great shape, but I’ll part with it for the right price. This was one of the albums that had the re-shot cover pasted over the one that causes such a stir. In today’s environment, it wouldn’t cause a blink of an eye.

The first American Beatles issue. They (and we) were so young and innocent. Well, we were; they were pretty salty after having played Hamburg and all those Liverpool pubs. Brian Epstein cleaned them up and the rest is…. well, you know.

I divided my albums into boxes of classical, jazz and rock. There were four classical and three each of jazz and rock. Here’s one of the gems of the classical collection. Absolutely wonderful music.

Gershwin is one of my favorites. I have at least two dozen vinyl albums and perhaps that many CDs. This is one of the first ones I ever bought. No one has ever played George better than Oscar Levant. This is a great, great recording.

Here’s an early super-group-type album with Al Kooper, Tommy Flanders, Steve Katz, and Danny Kalb. Not necessarily “blues” as we have come to understand that term. “Violets of Dawn” is an especially interesting piece. Lots of improvisation, which was unusual among rock groups at the time.

Al Kooper went on, with Steve Katz, to form Blood, Sweat and Tears. This is the only BST album I have, or like. Never got into the David Clayton Thomas conglomeration. Al Kooper left after this album and formed a new super-group with Mike Bloomfield and Harvey Brooks. Their album, Super Session, is a marvel.

The first Byrds album, purported to have only had Jim (later Roger) McGuinn playing on the recording; session musicians played most of the other parts. Not even Snopes knows for sure.

“Henceforth, you shall be known as The Cyrkle,” so spake Brian Epstein. And thus it was that three squares from Pennsylvania got to hang around with the Beatles. Their first single, “Red Rubber Ball,” was written by Paul Simon. As an old bass player, I marvel at the bass line on their second song, “Turn Down Day.” It is beastly hard to play. Tom Dawes never shows up on a list of the best rock bassists, but he definitely rank right up there as far as I’m concerned.

This was the companion to “Bubble Gum” music: ice cream music. OK, what do “Louie, Louie,” Iggy Pop and Don and the Goodtimes have in common? Don Gallucci was the keyboardist for The Kingsmen, who recorded “Louie, Louie,” and was later the record producer for Iggy Pop and the Stooges. Small world.

Another super-group with Mike Bloomfield, Harvey Brooks, Nick Gravenites, and Buddy Miles. Their first recording was the soundtrack for “The Trip,” an account of a psychedelic experience of Peter Fonda. The movie was written by Jack Nicholson and directed by Roger Corman,

The Incredible String Band was a folk/rock/avant garde trio/duo/quartet from Wales. They played at Woodstock, performing between Canned Heat and Creedance Clearwater Revival. The sophisticated, but mostly stoned, audience didn’t know what to make of them and their set was not included in the film. ISB’s music is strange and wonderful and worth a listen.

Jefferson Airplane. What else needs to be said (but why was Grace Slick smiling?)

Jimi!

Joni!

Libby Titus was a wonderful singer who never got the due she deserved. What do Paul Simon, Carly Simon, Phil Ramone, and Robby Robertson have in common? All wrote songs for Libby Titus. What do Linda Ronstadt, Bonnie Raitt and Donald Fagen have in common? All recorded songs by Libby Titus (and Fagen married her). Throw in Burt Bachrach and Dr. John and you’ve got lots more to recommend her work.

A little-known collaboration between Woody Allen and John Sebastian and the Spoonful. Pretty much what you’d expect.

No monkeying around on this album!

If you want to hear some straight-head rock and roll, take a listen to this album, especially  “Hey, Grandma,” “Omaha,” “8:05,” and “Naked, If I Want To.”

As an old trombone player, this is the ultimate musical!

OK, are you playing music for your plants?

Well, be careful what you play!

Maybe some classic rock would be OK. Remember the Prunes?

Ricky became Rick, but when he did, no one knew his name or his music, except Mr. Hughes hid in Dylan’s shoes. Or something like that. Saw him at the Uptown Theater in Kansas City 1985 shortly before his death that December. He was a great performer and an under-rated musician.

Sort of a tribute band, only way, way better. Monty Python meets the Beatles.

When the Beatles said to listen to Ravi Shankar, we listened to Ravi Shankar. I still do.

Somehow, I ended up with my pal, Dennis’ album. Someday, I’ll get a chance to return it.

Linda! Nothing else needs to be said. Except: “Different Drum” ranks in the top five of my favorite songs. No monkeying around with that list, either.

No better fireworks than the canons on “1812 Overture.” One of the earliest albums I purchased. Bought it at Moss Supermarket in Monett, MO, scene of later watermelon massacres.

Can you say psychedelic? Can you spell psychedelic?

If you can spell psychedelic, you probably have this album.

But I’ll be you don’t have this one.

Finally, saw these guys, less Paul Samwell-Smith, plus Jimmy Page in Springfield, MO in 1966. The Buckinghams opened for them. Never liked Led Zepplin, but Jimmy Page playing his guitar with a cello bow was a trip.

I had a couple of interesting on-line chats with my credit card company this morning (I won’t reveal their name, but their initials are Amex). Earlier in the month, I added a new bank account from which my monthly payments should be drawn and I tried to pay my bill. A few days later, I got an email saying that the request to the bank for payment had been rejected. I called to clear up the issue and discovered that two things had happened: (1) the account number I gave them did not include all 12 digits, only the seven that I regularly use anytime I make a deposit or a withdrawal or pay a bill from another company; the unnamed credit card company needed all 12 to complete the transaction; and, (b) I foolishly tried to pay the entire bill rather than just the outstanding amount. Apparently, I somehow tried to violate a money-laundering provision of some obscure banking act.

So, after a couple of chats with Jayson (who sounded exactly like Nicolas Cage), I thought I had gotten everything cleared up. I went back and entered all 12 digits of my account number and authorized a payment of only the outstanding balance, not the charges pending.

I got an email back saying that my payment had been accepted and all was right with the world. Until yesterday, when I got a letter from the company saying that my original payment had been rejected and to immediately send them a check. Then today, I got another letter saying that the subsequent payment, which I know was deducted from my account, was rejected by the bank and that I should immediately send them a check.

I went to my account and had an on-line chat first with Scarlett and then with Michael, who both assured me that my account was in good standing, I had a zero balance owed and that the letters were just routine notifications to “assist me” in the management of my account (they certainly didn’t sound like “assistance”; cue Don Carleone’s voice: “Let me help you make a decision about an offer you can’t refuse.”)

The curious thing about all this is that for some reason, the credit card company has stopped accepting my payments for purchases that have not been billed. Occasionally, I make a big-ticket purchase (say $50 or so; that’s big-ticket for me) so I can get the extended warranty the company offers, but I like to pay that off right away. I used to be able to go on-line any time of the month and make a payment, but now I can’t do that. For some reason, they don’t want my money except when they say so. What an odd way to do business.

My billing cycle ends tomorrow, so I can make a payment then, but chances are I’ll be talking to Nick Cage or the Don once again in a few days. I hope I don’t have to go to the mattresses over this.

As some of you know, we are moving to Manhattan, KS, where Suzanne has taken a job as Senior Development Director for the College of Human Ecology at K-State University, her alma mater. Our house is on the market and we’ve begun to get lookers. Oddly enough, the thing that most of them mention as their reason for not being interested in the house is that they hear a lot of noise from I-435, which is about a block away. Now, I’d be willing to bet that most of these folks don’t even notice the noise when they are sitting at some swanky restaurant patio over in Mission Farms or downtown near the Crossroads Art District. But, yes, I’ll admit that it can get loud on occasion. To try to allay their fears, I wrote piece about the noise that we are leaving on the table with other information about the house. Here it is:

OK, if the road noise is turning you off, don’t worry… our neighbor’s stereo will drown it out. No, just kidding; you can’t possibly play Lawrence Welk that loud.

When we first moved in, we thought we’d hear I-435 ALL the time. Inside, outside, it would be all the same.

So, just take a minute and listen. Hear anything? Not much inside, but yes, you do outside. Trust me, after a week or so, you won’t notice it a bit, even when you are sitting on the deck, enjoying that glass of wine or iced tea (especially if you’ve had more than one glass of tea, wink, wink). Really. The stupid cardinals and blue jays fighting will be all you hear. Oh, and the squirrels. And kids playing in their yards. And moms and dads walking their babies (man, those strollers can get loud). And yes, our neighbor’s dog gets excited sometimes, but we haven’t had a door-to-door salesman since they moved in.

Bottom line, the neighborhood more than makes up for whatever you think you might hear. We’ve got great neighbors who look after each other (a couple of weeks ago, I went over to Westlake’s to get something for the house and while I was there I got a call from my neighbor across the street who had noticed my garage door was up but there was no car in the driveway; apparently, I had forgotten to put it down and she was concerned so she called me while I was there just to make sure everything was OK; she works for the NSA, by the way; see, that’s more important than any so-called road noise; you can ignore the noise, but you can’t ignore the neighbors; well, now, I don’t want you get the idea they are nosey….). We have neighborhood get-togethers a couple of times a year and even shovel each other’s driveways when one of us has a broken leg, or at least a fake cast.

Don’t pass up a chance to live here just because you think you’ll be disturbed by the eighteen wheelers and motorcycles racing at midnight ;-). We don’t even hear them any more. We do hear Johnny Rowlands’ helicopter reporting on the 5:30 traffic backups on the Interstate, though. But you get used to that, too.

Peace (and quiet)