Don't Carry It All
On Wildfires, Record Collections, And Resignations
This afternoon is the first time I’ve had to sit and collect my thoughts since the initial reports of wildfires appeared Tuesday evening. At the time, strong winds were expecting and our house was prepared for such. What played out over the course of this week has been a spectrum of emotions, from elation to sadness, fear to relief, and moments of joy and peace within periods of depression and heartache.
I’ve experienced strong Santa Ana winds before in this house. And everyone in Los Angeles has experienced fires pretty much annually in varying degrees. Shortly after I moved here in 2007 the Canyon Fire made national headlines. The Station Fire in 2009 was the first one that ever directly affected an area I was familiar with, as I liked going into Angeles National Forest to watch the Perseids. And in 2018 the massive Woolsey fire also made headlines for destroying more than a thousand structures and resulting in some fatalities. This is all to say news of fires, or the sight and smell of smoke from fires is not unusual here.
Tuesday morning before leaving for work I took down our umbrellas, moved the patio furniture around and filled the narrow alleyway on the side of the house with lighter items that could fly away due to strong winds. After work — as the winds were picking up — I did a little more to weigh down lighter items and positioned bulkier ones in order to create barriers against the wind.
It had been gusty all day, but the strength of those gusts steadily increase in the evening. As I was preparing dinner, the house lost power twice. Thankfully, it was never for more than five or ten minutes. The large glass doors at the back of the house were literally vibrating in the wind. It felt like they might explode at any moment. At around 8:30pm I went to take the dog for a walk and notice the neighbor’s bottle brush tree had fallen across our shared fence onto our roof.
About a half hour later, the first glimpse of fire appeared in the distance. At the time the news was reporting on the existing fire in the Palisades and this newer fire in Eaton Canyon. Evacuation orders and warnings began. It was time to seriously consider grabbing some bags and preparing for an order to leave the house.
I rifled through drawers and cabinets and closets across the house looking for valuables, mementos and documents that are irreplaceable. Hard drives with wedding photos, chargers for various devices, a few days worth of clothes…as news was unfolding I rapidly crossed items off my mental checklist. My boss sent a text asking if I had set aside any of my most valuable records.
I hadn’t even thought about my record collection. I walked to the back room of the house and studied the shelves for about thirty seconds before thinking, “Ah fuck it” and returning to the bedroom to take stock of what I was still missing.
The last photo of the night I took — before smoke covered everything I could see — showed the progression of the fire across the nearby hills.
So much has happened since Tuesday night it’s hard to even keep track of what day it is. At some point I grabbed a box from work and decided to go through the shelves and try to pack a box of only what could not be replaced.
The box turned into two boxes.
And then three boxes.
Shit. It really is a disease.
I gave up after pulling 250 albums, somewhere between three and four boxes. And then I remembered I should look for all the autographed records, especially the horror movie soundtracks.
Life is unlikely to return to “normal” for a while. But when it does, I have vowed to re-file all those records I packed up and try — honestly — to assess whether I need these things or not.
As we’ve all heard over and over again this week, “things” can be replaced.
Is it true, though? Is my record collector brain getting the best of me? Each time I pass through that room I look at the records leaning on their shelves and run through the rolodex in my head to make sure they are just things. That I can’t take it all with me, and that these are replaceable.
Even that signed Townes Van Zandt record I got as a wedding gift. Or the signed Leonard Cohen album and Walter Wegmuller Tarot box I got from Ron Kane. Or the Smashing Pumpkins albums I made my dad buy at Bleeker Street Records — years before I even owned a record player — “because the artwork is bigger!” The original pressing of Magical Mystery Tour that was the only LP saved from my mom’s record collection. The Dandelions album. The records and singles Jerry Solomon gifted to me. The signed record William C. Beeley sent me. The Hammer Party album Steve Albini inscribed “Eat Some Poop!” inside. The Todd record I used to make the reissue! All the original Songs: Ohia pressings, Oasis records, Low, Jellyfish, Battiato, Spiritualized/Spacemen 3, Nirvana, Mojave 3, Cosmic Jokers…these are just off the top of my head and— oh, I’m spiraling again!
It is a luxury to worry about this. As I stated at the outset, friends and acquaintances — and scores of Angelenos I will never even know — have lost everything. Food and clothing donations, GoFundMes, volunteering, these are what matter. Breaking out in a cold sweat because you called your Silver Apples records replaceable and then had second thoughts about it? Not important. It all just underscores the insignificance of collecting anything.
So yeah. I think I’m going to cull the majority of my record collection this year. I don’t like how it makes me feel in light of the events of this past week.
Anyone else out there have a similar experience?
It goes without saying, but if anyone reading this happens to be in this city and isn’t ok, reach out. We’re here to help.