Uh, Thanks, Sport
You're a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride
Queen - "Death on Two Legs" - A Night at the Opera - 1975
A critical moment in my transition from listening to top 40 radio pablum to devouring entire albums of fine art came to pass one day when Dad brought home a bunch of stuff an evicted tenant left behind in one of our apartments. Among that stuff was a cheap stereo system with a turntable and 8-track tape player. The turntable didn't work, so I was stuck with the latter.
Also included were several tapes, among them the iconic British rock group Queen's Sheer Heart Attack. Queen, eh? But they're all guys in the cover art! What gives?
I got the system set up and popped in the tape, which was at the middle of "Brighton Rock," a fast-paced number sporting a wildly ahead-of-its-time guitar solo interlude using layered, harmonizing echoes. I was immediately captivated.
Later that year, John showed up a few days after my 8th birthday with a gift: A copy of Queen's A Night at the Opera album. And by "copy," I quite literally mean "copy."
A Realistic Chance that Someone's a Dick
He opened the door and burst into my room, without knocking, like some sort of hot shot. It was par for the course. Without warning, he flung a spinning something to me in an arc that almost touched the ceiling. "Happy Birthday," he snappily uttered.
Surprised, I fumbled the catch, causing him to derisively scoff.
Cool! A tape! But, of what? And, what's this?
I squinted at the handwritten label with no cover art. Huh? It was recorded on a Radio Shack Realistic brand blank tape. I'd never seen such a thing. Far out.
"Cool. Thanks."
"Aren't ya gonna play it?"
"Not yet. ABBA is at bat at the moment."
I considered it bad form to interrupt albums. That position remains unchanged.
A few days later, I listened to it while distracted by other pursuits. It was OK, but I was not wowed. The sound quality seemed off, with low levels and a muffled sound. At the time, I knew not of the downside of dubbing magnetic tape. Onto the pile of tapes it went and life rolled on.
Soon after, I was browsing at our neighborhood music store and noticed a copy of A Night at the Opera on the 8-track format to which I'd been manacled. The first thing that struck was the cover art, which was an elegant design on white quite befitting the title. Nice work! Cover art has always fascinated me.
Busted!
Then, I saw that it was discounted and marked "used." It was the only used tape in the store. What an odd co-winky-dink! I told the glaringly obvious stoner, who I knew and was cool with, about my birthday (well, days after, actually) experience with my brother (well, half brother, actually).
Stoner dude then described John, his demeanor, and his car to a tee. It would seem that John bought the new tape, copied it on his home system, then returned the original for a refund, insisting it was defective. He caused a bit of a stink doing so. Dude finally just refunded the dough to shut him the fuck up and get him the fuck outta there.
Dang!
I went to Radio Shack, which was two doors down in the Lakewood Shopping Center, and checked out the blank tapes. John saved just under two bucks with that scam.
After shafting Mom, his cosigner, on his car loan, he spent his spare money on tech toys, then pulled another scam on a close family member's birthday present. It's not a good look.
What a hoser. Sadly, I don't recall confronting him about it.
John was big on copying stuff and making mix tapes. Later, when the VCR revolution hit, he was especially proud of his habit of renting videos, copying them, then returning them. He built up a large collection of inferior video and sound quality movies. Interestingly and unsurprisingly, scamming made him happy and proud.
The Cool Parts
1) John knew I was a Queen fan. That tape was the only gift he ever gave me that reflected my interests, not his.
2) That substandard tape actually proved hugely significant on the nightmarish day on which my childhood died. John played a role in both the initiation and culmination of that premature and unfortunate process.
3) About 35 years later, Sir Brian May would captivate the world with the Brighton Rock solo at the London Olympics.