Garage Sale Vinyl • December 13, 2023December 13, 2023

Garage Sale Vinyl: Graham Parker

Squeezing Out Sparks / Arista / March 1979

by Christopher Long

As a rock-crazed American kid coming of age during the late ’70s, I gravitated more toward the exciting newer artists emerging from the UK music scene. Honestly, London Calling, This Year’s Model, and Look Sharp! just spoke to me louder than Pieces of Eight, Point of Know Return, and Double Live Gonzo.

It was the fall of 1979 when I came home one Saturday night following the high school Homecoming dance. Based on my personal teen-driven perspectives, Debbie was THE hottest chick on campus, bar none. So, I was thrilled to have had her on my arm at the big gala that night. But, truth be told, I was a total goober — a teenage tragedy, some might say. Coming to grips with this suddenly certain reality, by mid-evening, Debbie had become less-than-jazzed about being with me. As a result, we left the dance and I brought her back to her parents’ house (much) earlier than I had expected.

My folks already were in bed when I returned home around midnight. Frustrated and defeated, I plopped onto the living room floor, loosened my cummerbund, and began perusing the limited late-night options on the big-knob ‘68 Zenith. With only a couple of channels of shit on the TV to choose from in those days, I quickly came across an indie-type program that played those music videos that were starting to become popular at the time. And there it was, the clip that bitch-slapped me just like ol’ Ike after an all-night binger.

The band members were average-looking blokes, playing in a cramped living room that looked like my living room. It was sorta surreal, as if we were watching each other from opposite sides of the Zenith, in the same floral wallpapered room. Resembling the dude from down the street who always let me bum smokes, the singer guy was unassuming, but really cool. This cat wasn’t some glossy poster boy. His voice sounded honest, like a regular guy. And whatever he was selling, I was buying — hook, line, and sinker. The video also boasted a bevy of babes who looked like they probably were plucked from my neighborhood roller disco. And the super-catchy lyrics reminded me of my experience with Debbie earlier that evening, especially the repeated chorus line — “Don’t bother with the local girls!” Then, I caught the closing artist’s credit: Graham Parker.

photo by Christopher Long

Squeezing Out Sparks, Arista Recordings, March 1979

“Local Girls” — the song and the video both — stuck with me all weekend. As a result, the first thing I did after school on Monday when I clocked in at the record store where I worked was buy a copy of Parker’s full-length album, Squeezing Out Sparks, on vinyl, of course.

Embedded Media

The fourth studio set from the then-rising English singer-songwriter, Squeezing Out Sparks was packed with songs equally as quick, catchy, and street-smart as “Local Girls,” including such lil’ rib-crackers as “Discovering Japan” and “Saturday Nite Is Dead.” Parker dropped one of my favorite lines in one of my favorite tracks, “Protection” — “So all of you be damned. We can’t have heaven crammed. So Winston Churchill said, ‘I could have smacked his head.’” SMACK!

Embedded Media

Even after nearly 45 years, what I love most about Parker is that he’s an Everyman. He’s also a gifted storyteller and skilled poet. When going through life’s “big stuff,” I don’t go to Dark Side of the Freaking Moon for solace. I still go to Squeezing Out Sparks, as Parker himself shares his own “big stuff” with tremendous transparency. And it doesn’t get much “bigger” than “You Can’t Be Too Strong.”

My original Squeezing Out Sparks LP vanished into the abyss over the years, along with my CD. However, I bought a digital version from iTunes a decade or so ago. But, I’d been keeping a watchful eye out for a replacement vinyl copy. Then, just last week, while visiting my go-to local dealer, my quirky connection uncovered an extremely clean vinyl copy that had been “hiding” in a random bin in the back of her shop. She charged me a whopping $8. Not a bad price for a VG copy of a record that’s regarded by MANY of the smart writers as one of the greatest of all time. BTW, Debbie still doesn’t return my calls.

(5/5) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐