It started innocently enough; in fact, I think a friend
gave me my first taste when I was still in high school.
Then I started looking for ways to quench my desires
on my own. I would reel from the high I would get from
some new Columbian treat. I found myself going to out
of the way places on the chance that I might be able
to get a fix. Before I knew it, I was hooked. I couldn’t
help it. Even though my addiction was costing me money,
putting stress on my marriage and bringing ridicule
from my peers, I was never able to get enough. I always
wanted more. I still do. I’m always looking for
my next score.
You might be asking yourself what it is that I’m
addicted to. Alcohol? Cocaine? I wish! At least there’s
a twelve step program for those. No, my problem is
even more depraved. I’m addicted to cast albums.
Broadway, Off-Broadway, London, Australian, studio,
concert, some reading that was done in some basement:
if it’s a cast album, I want to possess it.
I know it sounds like I’m joking, but I can assure
you that I’m not. The “Columbian treats” – any
of the classic cast albums produced on the Columbia
label. The “out of the way places” – too
many yard sales, flea markets and store closings where
I would dig through dusty, dirty boxes looking for
some treasure left by an unwitting purger. The “money” – enough
for a down payment on a house. The “marriage” – my
wife has forbidden me to play show tunes in the house
while she is there. The “ridiculing peers” – countless
blank stares and unchecked laughter directed at my
glee over the re-release on CD of some long forgotten
show. It’s true. It’s all true.
They have a name for what I am – it’s called
a collector. But I never intended to be one, I simply
wanted to know more. I’d learn about a show and
I’d wonder what it sounded like. The songs, the
orchestrations, the assemblage of voices – it
all interested and fascinated me.
I used to say of cast albums, that they were a lot
like pizza – there are some that are better than
others… but there are no bad ones. My quest has
since proved my theory wrong. There are bad cast albums;
there are some very, very bad cast albums. But I don’t
love them any less. They just prove how magical and
remarkable the truly great ones are. I have the utmost
respect for anyone who has the courage to put pen to
paper (or fingers to keyboard) in an attempt to create
something out of nothing, but I am in awe of those
people who do it well… and make it look easy.
My first recordings were copies of shows that a friend
had made for me on cassette tapes. They were great
but they weren’t enough. I wanted to see the
pictures and artwork. I wanted to soak up the information
in the liner notes. I started buying every cassette
and LP that I could afford. Then I purchased my first
boom box with a compact disc player and from there
on out I focused on CDs, filling in the gaps with the
LPs of those shows that didn’t look likely for
a CD release.
Now digital media has stepped up. I decided to get
on board and convert my collection to a digital format.
It took nearly two months to get all of my recordings
onto the computer. It has many advantages. I love having
the ability to find a song from the thousands that
I have with a simple search. I also love being able
to walk around with 40 or 50 “albums” in
my pocket on my mp3 player. Being able to listen to
Closer Than Ever or Shenandoah at a moments notice
makes me giddy with power. I have not yet become a
purchaser of digital cast albums. I still like to have
the actual CD and the liner notes in my hand. Sure
it takes a little extra time to upload it to my computer,
but that’s a small price to pay to have something
to peruse while I listen.
I don’t know if there is a cure for what ails
me. I don’t even know if I would take it if they
found one. In the meantime if you hear that your best
friend’s mother’s brother-in-law’s
dentist has a secret stash of some rare show tunes
doobage that he’s looking to unload, point him
in my direction. I’m his junkie because I’m
always looking to score just one more score.
