“King’s Corner Road, Union Springs, New York, I was an acutely aware 4-year-old. My mother, recently divorced, danced with a vacuum cleaner in a singlewide trailer and sang to the stereo, my brother, and me. Rumors. Fandango. Let it Bleed. Sgt. Pepper’s. Frampton Comes Alive, all enjoying heavy rotation on the turntable, which was probably the most expensive thing in the damn place. That’s what I remember. I remember those records. I loved it. I loved seeing my mom lose herself in those songs. Those records saved her and by proxy my brother and me.”
“There has never been a time that I haven’t been surrounded by music and records. My personal collection has both thrived and suffered. Let’s start with thrived: the first records that were actually mine were the 45s my dad gave me. To this day, I consider his lack of discretion in giving a couple of kids under 10 first editions of Beatles, Stones, and Beach Boys singles to be borderline criminal.
We destroyed those things. Not only did we play the grooves off of them, they also served as nasty flying toys capable of significant injury. But mostly we played them. We had “Revolution”/”Hey Jude.” I thought Jude was a girl. I couldn’t, for the life of me, make sense of it. Didn’t care. Played it on my Fisher Price record player over and over and over. The distorted guitar on “Revolution” made the hair on my neck stand up. I didn’t understand, but I knew I loved it. Needed it.
My musical taste, on the surface, was fairly questionable at times in the early music fan years. My first LP that I desperately wanted was a Barry Manilow record. I was obsessed with those syrupy pop songs. Now, as an adult, I firmly defend that obsession. Those hooks were insanely popular for a reason. They were pure pop gold, and my kid ears lapped it up. At the same time, my brother who is two years older than me, jumped headlong into KISS. Wanting to be as much like him as possible, I forced myself to like KISS too. Eventually I came around and KISS supplanted Mr. Manilow, which led to my affection for all things metal. I loved Mötley Crüe, Black Sabbath (even the 3 Dio albums), Celtic Frost, Motorhead, etc. I couldn’t get enough Metallica, Slayer, Bathory, all on vinyl. I think for kids our age we had more records than most adults.
Metallica was constantly being photographed with Misfits t-shirts. Enter punk. I can’t tell you how many people have told me they got into punk because of Metallica wearing Misfits t-shirts. I then bought every punk record I could find. When you’re from a small town in upstate New York, pre internet, finding punk records proved difficult. One had to be persistent and voracious in his desire to find and consume the records I wanted. I met some older kids and they introduced me to Minor Threat and Black Flag. I caught wind of Dischord records. My music world exploded! Embrace. Soul Side. Shudder to Think. Rites of Spring. Of course Fugazi. I lost my mind! Those bands showed me that I didn’t have to just listen anymore. I could make music. I could play guitar. I could make records. I could tour. I could make my life whatever I wanted it to be and I wanted it to be loud with a Gibson SG on my shoulder. That’s exactly what I did.
I toured with my first band. We did a few short trips on the east coast, but eventually we booked a full, four-week national tour. We had three days off out of 35. We had a 7” record we were extremely proud of. I remember putting that record on for the first time when we got the test pressings. Music I made was being transferred from grooves in vinyl through a stylus to my speakers. My music, just like the Stones. The Beatles. The Beach Boys.
On that big tour we played what I considered punk rock Mecca, 924 Gilman St. in Berkeley, CA. We got home from tour and promptly broke up. A year later I would move to Oakland. I got in my Celebrity Wagon with a garbage bag of clothes, two guitars, an amplifier, and of course my records. That’s all I had room for. I quickly joined a band in Oakland with former members of bands that I owned records from. These were guys who were in bands on Lookout Records! I was over the moon. I got to make records and be on a record label.
My collection grew. CDs were vogue, but I still preferred records. I would allot a certain amount of money from each paycheck to fund my record habit. I had rare pieces from small labels. I had European imports. The folks at Amoeba knew me by name. It was around this time that my records and I suffered a tragedy. In the spirit of propriety, events leading up to said tragedy will be spared. Suffice to say, I entered a relationship that ended badly. As a result of the ending of this relationship, my entire record collection, with a very small exception of a few inconsequential pieces, found itself as a permanent member of the Oakland Municipal Dump. She took my records to the dump.
It’s taken me years to rebuild. I’ll never replace most of those. Even in their absence, all of those records from the beginning through now have shaped me as a musician and a person. I now collect many genres. My girlfriend, Arrica Rose, who is also in Dear County have completely overlapping taste in music and records. We have a huge assortment of country from Glenn Campbell, to George Jones. From Tammy Wynette to The Flying Burrito Brothers. We have tons of punk/indie items from Girls Against Boys, to Slint and Neurosis. We have metal. Lot’s of metal. They all influence us and shape our music. We’re very proud of that.”
—Mark Lynn
Dear County’s debut LP, Low Country arrives in stores on August 26th via pOprOck records.
