Not too far away from the flea markets, dusty attics, cluttered used record stores and Ebay is the world of the vinyl junkies. Brett Milano dives deep into the piles of old vinyl to uncover the subculture of record collecting. A vinyl junkie is not the person who has a few old 45s shoved in the cuboard from their days in high school. Vinyl Junkies are the people who will travel over 3,000 miles to hear a rare b-side by a German band that has only recorded two songs since 1962, vinyl junkies are the people who own every copy of every record produced by the favorite artist from every pressing and printing in existance, vinyl junkies are the people who may just love that black plastic more than anything else in their lives. Brett Milano traveled the U.S. seeking out the most die-hard and fanatical collectors to capture all that it means to be a vinyl junkie. Includes interviews with Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth, Peter Buck from R.E.M and Robert Crumb, creator of Fritz the cat and many more underground comics. Vinyl junkies are special. They hunt down Brazilian pressings of favorite artists, know the difference between vinyl and styrene, and call a 3,000-LP collection "modest." Milano's interviews aim to nail down what vinyl addiction means. Thurston Moore thrives on the renegade, archival nature of collecting. As a teenager, Peter Buck hitchhiked 15 miles to get an LP the night of its release. R. Crumb speaks fondly of rare, flexible 78s. Most of Milano's subjects believe the thrill is in the chase: seeking personal Holy Grails is often more rewarding than playing them, and comfort is knowing a certain record is finally in one's collection. The book works best when Milano lets his subjects do the obsessing, and if what being a collector means remains as elusive as Their Satanic Majesties Request with the original 3-D cover, at least we learn that, as former Cramps drummer Miriam Linna says, "You play someone a great record and they don't react to it, you know it's time to get them out of your house." Carlos Orellana Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Brett Milano is a longtime Boston-based music journalist who once interviewed Joey Ramone and Barry Manilow on the same day. He compiled and annotated the Boston punk history CD Mass. Ave: The Boston Scene (on Rhino); and has written liner notes for albums by Todd Rundgren, The Cars, and The Smithereens. He has written for Billboard , Pulse and the College Media Journal ; and can now be read weekly in the Boston Herald and the Boston Phoenix . He is the author of the book Vinyl Junkies . Vinyl Junkies Adventures in Record Collecting By Brett Milano St. Martin's Griffin Copyright © 2003 Brett Milano All right reserved. ISBN: 9780312304270 Vinyl Junkies CHAPTER ONE THE SCYTHIAN " G ive him the Scythian!" shouts Monoman from across the room. Pat waves his hand with a proper flourish: Nope, I'm not ready for the Scythian yet. We'll just have to build up to it.I'm sitting in a record-crowded apartment in the Boston suburbs, staring directly at a few hundred thousand dollars' worth of stereo equipment. Pat's stereo is nearly as eclectic as his record collection, which includes--just taking in the ones within eyesight--the Who, Doris Day, Tammy Wynette, Motorhead, Tom Jones, and Henry Mancini; this is a sensibility well beyond any standard notions of what's hip. The stereo is evidence of one man's quest for the perfect sound. The turntable is Pat's pick of the three dozen he's got in his house: suspendedon air and perfectly calibrated to be vibration-free, it's designed to make sure that no small disturbances--like, say, an earthquake or a nuclear detonation--interfere with the listening experience. The turntable was made by a stereo buff in New Hampshire, the tone arm came from Germany and cost another few grand. There are pillowcases stuffed into the corners of the ceiling to keep those precious soundwaves inside. Then there's the piece of wood."Don't forget that piece of wood," his assistant Jeff, a.k.a. Monoman, points out. Sure enough, it's a piece of wood: cut in the shape of a beehive with a hole in the middle, it screws on top of the center hole to make sure those dreaded vibrations don't get through--according to Jeff, "The only good vibrations come from the Beach Boys." The piece of wood cost a grand on its own, but as Pat assures us, "It's a really good piece of wood."    I'd already had some of my best record-listening experiences on the crummiest stereos ever made. Stereo isn't even quite the right term--that thing I owned as a kid was more accurately a record player, a phonograph, maybe even a Victrola, but I believe the technical term we're looking for is "piece of crap": there was exactly one speaker, approximately the size of that little "O" you'd make if you closed your thumb and forefinger; and the needle tracked at something like two pounds, enough to cause instant damage to every re