You Kind of Have to Have Haffa's...To Find Bob Dylan's Newest Album

By Brittany Picklesimer, Staff Writer

Fifteen jugglers

Five believers

All dressed like men

Tell yo’ mama not to worry because

They’re just my friends.

Side Three. Track Five. Three minutes and thirty-five seconds. “Obviously 5 Believers.” Recorded March 10, 1966. Drums: Kenneth Buttrey. Piano: Hargus “Pig” Robinson. Bass: Henry Strzelecki. Harmonica: Charlie McCoy. Guitar: Jack Kennedy, Wayne Moss, and Robbie Robertson. Bob Dylan: vocals, guitar, harmonica. Blonde on Blonde: Released May 16, 1966.These are all facts that, if probed, the owners of Athens' Haffa’s Records, Eric Gunn and Andrew Lampela, could tell you about the seminal Dylan track blaring through the store’s sound system.

The facts could be unearthed by sifting through pages of results on Google, of course, but there is an irreplaceable charm in hearing it from two middle-aged, spectacled music lovers instead of from a lifeless, blinking computer screen.

It’s a charm that keeps a string of steady regulars and newcomers coming back to the small, independent record store one might miss just walking down Union Street speedily. Or, as Bob Dylan might say, it’s a charm that could “charm the whistle off the evening train.”

“Where am I?” Eric wonders as mid-day approaches, the store vacant except for the sound of Tom Waits’ raspy voice.

“You’re at work,” Andrew answers brightly.

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” shouts Eric, throwing his head back and flailing his arms in feigned agony.

Eric and Andrew have been working a Haffa’s Records so long that both only have vague memories of previous jobs. Eric, who is the principal owner, claims that Haffa’s has been his only “real” job. He endured the typical menial jobs to work through high school and college, of course -- working at libraries and as a score keeper for Athens’ High School -- but he maintains that Haffa’s is his first and only real job. Similarly, Andrew remembers filling out a resume -- once.

Working at Haffa’s -- listening to music, talking about music -- is the epitome of a cool job, they confirm. No domineering boss. No censorship (songs littered with curse words play liberally). No dress code (Eric and Andrew both dress like college kids on their way to class -- jeans, t-shirt and athletic shoes constitute the unofficial dress code.) Neither has given much serious thought to an alternative, were the economic climate and nature of the music business to force them to close their doors.

The day generally starts slowly at Haffa’s, with a single customer -- maybe two, a maximum of three -- browsing the store within the first couple of hours. A band that sounds like Joy Division (no, not New Order) -- but not quite -- fills the time.

Then the record suddenly switches from the guitar-driven alternative rock to a female singing a capella.

“Boy, that’s a switch,” says one of the two customers in the store.

“Give it a second,” Andrew answers, with a hint of scathe behind his thin wire frames. “We’ll show you.”

“OK,” the customer replies skeptically. “I’m waiting.”

Then the bass, guitars and drums kick in. The song explodes and the cynicism begins to dissipate.

“Who is this, anyway?”

“It’s a band called Dark Meat -- released their first album last year.”

Discovering new music -- music that could change your life -- by mustering the courage to ask the seemingly intimidating clerk, with tattoos decorating his legs, what’s playing is an experience unique to small independent record stores like Haffa’s.

First founded in the mid-1970s (1974 or 1975 -- Eric isn’t quite sure), the mission of Haffa’s has remained the same: quality merchandise, with an emphasis on the alternative, not mainstream, at reasonable prices. The name itself is wordplay off of “half-price.”

Boxes and boxes of used CDs marked “cheap stuff” are piled on top of each other. They contain everything from forgotten artists such as James and Mansun to discarded middle school pleasures such as NSYNC, Smash Mouth and Jewel’s Pieces of You (there must be at least a dozen copies of the singer/songwriter’s debut album in there). Haffa’s buys anything and everything; music elitism does not exist. The artist does play a role in how much money is given to the seller and its final price, however.

More importantly, though, is the quality of the CD -- “junky” and “scratchy” stuff is dumped into the boxes labeled “cheap stuff.” (Prices range from one to five dollars.) CDs in superior shape line the opposing wall, organized by genre -- rap, soul, funk, rhythm and blues, soundtracks, metal, jazz, world, country and rock (the largest section by far). More esteemed artists -- The Beatles, Bowie, The Smiths -- are found here, although still at reasonable prices. One-fifth of David Bowie’s studio discography could be purchased for fewer than forty dollars. Not bad considering I paid $70 for the same five albums.

Even the factory-sealed CDs -- divided by genre and then organized alphabetically -- are quite reasonable. The Essential Frank Sinatra: The Columbia Years: $10.95. The Smiths, The World Won’t Listen: $14.95.Joy Division, Closer (Deluxe Edition): $24.95.

Especially expensive editions -- such as Sigur Ros’ In a Frozen Sea seven-LP limited edition box set, priced at more than $200 -- or CDs with special packaging -- such as Thom Yorke’s The Eraser -- are kept in an enclosed glass case next to the checkout counter. All the prices are within a few dollars of the listed price on Amazon, but without shipment costs.

The experience of Haffa’s compensates for any additional cost. The entire store bursts with charm. Posters decorate the walls -- ranging from advertisements of local bands to The Rolling Stones to The Supremes to Stereolab to Britney Spears to a framed cover of Sesame Street’s seminalBorn to Add LP -- that “have been here forever.

”Boxes and boxes of vinyl -- the infamous $1 bin (double LP for $2), with albums from Phil Collins to Spoken Russian, 7” singles, used, new -- also line the walls of the store. Despite the resurgence in vinyl, most of the sales at Haffa’s still come from CDs and DVDs. The oft-cited reason for buying vinyl -- it sounds better -- is true, especially for artists such as Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, whose catalogues have never been digitally remastered.

A trip to Haffa’s comes with not only the possibility of discovering new music that the owners choose to play, but also the joy of leisurely browsing rows and rows of CDs and vinyl. I’ve never listened to Sparklehorse -- never even really heard of them, actually -- but its album sleeve is fascinating. I think I’ll buy it, and who knows? This album, this band, could change my life. Had I been shopping online, I would have had to have an idea of what I wanted to buy, compulsively compared prices, finally ordered it, and waited a week or more for it to arrive in the post. At Haffa’s, I stumble across it, become fixated with it, and purchase it.

Eric and Andrew do not interfere with shoppers’ browsing or force music upon them, unlike Jack Black’s character in the 2000 film “High Fidelity,” who shoves a Jesus and the Mary Chain album into the hands of an unsure Echo and the Bunnymen fan. They won’t even mock your taste or simplistic questions -- to your face.

“Hey, you got the new Dylan album yet?” a lank customer in cowboy boots asks, meandering into the store.

“Yep.”

“Where is it?”

“The Dylan section,” Andrew responds, suppressing a smirk.

“How much is it?”

“$15.95 for the single disc version and $24.95 for the special version with a bunch of extra shit.”

“What’s the extra shit?”

“A second disc with his Theme Time radio show, a few extra tracks, and a poster.”

“Is it any good?”

“I don’t know, haven’t heard it yet.

”A few minutes after browsing the Dylan section, the customer leaves -- without the new Dylan album.

“What a fucking stupid question,” muses Andrew, shaking his head. “‘Where’s the Dylan album?’ Where else would it be?”

The question is still bothering Andrew half an hour later. “Where’s the fucking Dylan album?!?!?!?!”

Eric, who could pass for a young Elvis Costello, complete with the thick, black spectacles, albeit slightly plumper than 55 year-old Costello, just laughs.

And for better or for worse, Haffa’s has several regulars, such as David, greeted by name, who waltzes in, ecstatic about the new Dylan album.

“I can’t stop listening to it!”

“Really? All the press has been good, but I’ve had a lot of people come in who are big Dylan fans and say they hate it.”

“I can’t believe it -- it’s so good. You want me to make you a copy?”

“Sure, that’d be cool.”

“How about the new Booker T. album? You heard it?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, man, it’s amazing! You want me to make you a copy?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

Once the store is empty, music again fills the time. Andrew taps his pen to the beat; Eric unabashedly plays air guitar. He lacks the patience to learn an instrument, however, but Andrew will play anything -- mostly bass -- “very loudly and very poorly.”

The song ends and it’s time to get back to work.

“What do you think about $3 for this 12-inch Pet Shop Boys?” asks Eric, holding up the album sleeve for Andrew to see.

“Good luck with that.”

“Someone paid $6 for it at one time.”

“Yeah, and people used to actually like them as well,” quips Andrew.

Due to the size of the store, Eric and Andrew cannot stock as much as they would like to -- and what they do stock, they do haphazardly. It is a pure “stab in the dark”; they have no idea what people will want to buy. They simply stock what they think “people still give a shit about” and often place special orders for customers.

The only customer in the store shyly approaches Andrew at the counter and places a special request for a recently released album not stocked.

“Have it here for you in a few days -- probably Friday.”

“Cool -- I can just come and pick it up?”

“Yep.”

“Cool -- thanks.”

“Yep.”

The customer begins to leave, but then stops, having forgotten something.

“Do you need my name?”

“Nope,” Andrew shakes his head. “I’m in here every day. I’m that dedicated to my job.”

It is the only record store within 50 miles -- has been for four years. It is not very big. It only has two employees. It might not have the latest musical adventure of Miley Cyrus, but an intense love for music that is contagious operates the store.

Box after box, row after row, vinyl and CDs. After a few hours of browsing, I’m finally ready to purchase that Sparklehorse album -- and a few other gems found hidden in the “cheap stuff” boxes.

Five CDs: $11.74.

“Have a good weekend,” Andrew tells me, without a hint of sarcasm or cynicism.

“Thanks -- you, too.”

“Where’s the fucking Dylan album?” he mutters, shaking his head, as I leave.

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