By Liz Tracy
By David Rolland
By Alex Rendon
By Terrence McCoy
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By County Grind
By Liz Tracy
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"People need me more than I need them," he continues. "It's like a sickness, and they have to continue to buy. I'm going to get records they're going to want."
The final score: After two hours of barely scratching the outer layers of Kelly's concretion of stock, I've found a few goodies to satisfy a nostalgic craving: a cutout Captain Sensible collection and an import version of the Stranglers' Aural Sculpture. An obscure, out-of-print mid-'80s Latin jazz/new wave outing from Quando Quango called Pigs + Battleships. A tattered first pressing of Jaco Pastorius, the famed 1976 debut from the long-lost native son. Everyone in Fort Lauderdale seems to have a story about Jaco. Kelly is no different -- in fact, he met Jaco the night he died. Just a few yards north of the store on Wilton Drive, the bass player tried to push his way into the Midnight Bottle and was beaten to death by the bouncer.
"I didn't recognize him," says Kelly, remembering the night (September 11, 1987) Jaco paid a visit. "He sure didn't look like that," nodding toward the sober, clear-eyed musician on the LP sleeve. "He was inebriated, falling all over himself." As he was leaving, Jaco noticed a Weather Report album by the door. "I'm taking this," he told Kelly, snatching it up. "I'm on this record." He grabbed another album and started stumbling out. Catching him at the threshold, Kelly told him, "They're $4 each!" Pastorius grabbed a pen and a Post-It note, scrawled something on it, threw it at Massing, and bolted.
"He'd written his name there," explains Massing, who later framed it. "And I know good and well that had to be his last autograph."