Yesterday, I went to the local St. Vincent's thrift store in search of more odd goodness, and succeeded in my quest. Oh, the temptation was high to purchase all of these old albums. I whipped out the iPhone instead.

If you are a parent and you bought any of these for your children, I question your parenting skills. If you bought them for yourself, I question your sanity.

I like to think of this as some kind of evil demand: "DANCE TO SWING ORGAN!!!" NOW!!!! MUAH HA HA HA HA!!!!"

"Beyond the Sea: The Haunting Melodies of Far Away Places" for "dynamic organ?" I'm trying to imagine what the hell this sounds like, but cannot.

This is not worth a quarter.

Male? Female? Kid? Adult? I DON'T KNOW!!! AAAAAAHHH! HEINTJE!

Sorry, Mr. Groper, "Twilight Time" looks more like "Back off, Jerk!" Time.

And "Reverie" looks more like "I Am A Heroin Addict Nodding Out On The Beach."

I try hard to imagine the original purchaser for this, thrilled to be gifted by the talents of Merlin's magic fingers on the pipe organ in hi-fi. Again, I get nowhere.

The Disembodied Stein Heads of Burl Ives. Cheers.

"Floyd, tell ya what. Let's grab some of that teeny-bopper money and cash in on this long-haired Beatle freak music. Work up some covers of those Monkees boys! It'll sell a million for sure!"

These must have been owned by someone who grew up sitting and listening to people in church and on the radio telling them important lessons of life and stuff. Would you ever listen to these more than once?

I generally do not think of world percussion as romantic. Perhaps I should.

"Ultraphonic high fidelity?" I doubt that, but the cover is cool.


Oh boy! Lucky! (An indicator of my age is that I know who Mr. C. is here.) (No, I'm not going to tell you if you don't know.) (Ha!)

And we end up, Wisconsin-style, with the polka.