--- product_id: 16880912 title: "Do Not Sell At Any Price: The Wild, Obsessive Hunt for the World's Rarest 78rpm Records" price: "110.61 DT" currency: TND in_stock: true reviews_count: 13 url: https://www.desertcart.tn/products/16880912-do-not-sell-at-any-price-the-wild-obsessive-hunt store_origin: TN region: Tunisia --- # Do Not Sell At Any Price: The Wild, Obsessive Hunt for the World's Rarest 78rpm Records **Price:** 110.61 DT **Availability:** ✅ In Stock ## Quick Answers - **What is this?** Do Not Sell At Any Price: The Wild, Obsessive Hunt for the World's Rarest 78rpm Records - **How much does it cost?** 110.61 DT with free shipping - **Is it available?** Yes, in stock and ready to ship - **Where can I buy it?** [www.desertcart.tn](https://www.desertcart.tn/products/16880912-do-not-sell-at-any-price-the-wild-obsessive-hunt) ## Best For - Customers looking for quality international products ## Why This Product - Free international shipping included - Worldwide delivery with tracking - 15-day hassle-free returns ## Description “A thoughtful, entertaining history of obsessed music collectors and their quest for rare early 78 rpm records” ( Los Angeles Times ), Do Not Sell at Any Price is a fascinating, complex story of preservation, loss, obsession, and art. Before MP3s, CDs, and cassette tapes, even before LPs or 45s, the world listened to music on fragile, 10-inch shellac discs that spun at 78 revolutions per minute. While vinyl has enjoyed a renaissance in recent years, rare and noteworthy 78rpm records are exponentially harder to come by. The most sought-after sides now command tens of thousands of dollars, when they’re found at all. Do Not Sell at Any Price is the untold story of a fixated coterie of record collectors working to ensure those songs aren’t lost forever. Music critic and author Amanda Petrusich considers the particular world of the 78—from its heyday to its near extinction—and examines how a cabal of competitive, quirky individuals have been frantically lining their shelves with some of the rarest records in the world. Besides the mania of collecting, Petrusich also explores the history of the lost backwoods blues artists from the 1920s and 30s whose work has barely survived and introduces the oddball fraternity of men—including Joe Bussard, Chris King, John Tefteller, and others—who are helping to save and digitize the blues, country, jazz, and gospel records that ultimately gave seed to the rock, pop, and hip-hop we hear today. From Thomas Edison to Jack White, Do Not Sell at Any Price is an untold, intriguing story of the evolution of the recording formats that have changed the ways we listen to (and create) music. “Whether you’re already a 78 aficionado, a casual record collector, a crate-digger, or just someone…who enjoys listening to music, you’re going to love this book” ( Slate ). Review: It's About Longing - The best way to read Amanda Petrusich's wonderful book Do not Sell at Any Price is with a computer or smart device at your side, open to YouTube. Without this, the experience may not be as deep or rich and most likely you might not fully understand the emotional layers involved in the arcane activity of collecting 78 rpms, those dark shellacked discs, preceding LPs and 45s, which changed forever the way that people listened to music. When I was kid, we had a wind-up Victrola and I guess more than one 78, but all I remember was "Italian Spring Song" on the first side and "Tales from Hoffman" on the flip. Even then, the recording was old and the voices scratchy but haunting, weirdly high and flat, like musical ghosts circling the room, urging attention from the living. My sister and I must have played this record a hundred times. So I was already willing to accompany Petrusich while she explored this medium, its history, its eccentric community of collectors, and above all the jazz and blues artists of the late 20s and early 30s who sang and strummed into microphones for exploitive businessmen in crude early recording studios and for earnest folklorists on their own porches. I started listening to the songs she noted in the book when she was interviewing Chris King, a 78 collector and one of her best sources of knowledge on this subject. He played Geeshie Wiley's "Last Kind Words Blues" and Blind Uncle Gaspard's "Sur le Borde de l'Eau", which the author described as "arguably two of the saddest, strangest songs ever recorded." I knew I had to listen to these songs, and although the YouTube experience is not that of a 78, I bought into Petrusich's response (and also bought both on ITunes). It took me four days to finish this rather short book, stopping to hear, among many other songs, Skip James' "Devil Got my Woman", Kid Bailey (or Willie Brown) singing "Mississippi Bottom Blue", Charley Patton's "High Water Everywhere" and "Some of These Days I'll Be Gone," and even the mournful Albanian "Lament from Epirus", the popular African song "Skotiaan", and the strange Asian sound of the cowboy throat singer. The reader follows Petrusich, a reporter and music critic, as her subjective involvement in the subject takes on an equal role with the objective. In fact, the essential pleasure of this book is her ability to balance both sides of her involvement, resulting in a self-deprecating but highly observant and often very funny narrative of the eccentric collector subculture and the important body of work they preserved and saved. In the process of meeting the collectors themselves, Petrusich tries to find some common psychological ground for their obsession with these round heavy shellacked objects, sometimes regardless of the music on them and often at the expense of their own personal relationships and physical well being. She is never judgmental, however, particularly as she increasingly shares their passion. Petrusich's peripatetic search for collectors and collections took her to the South, the Midwest, Germany, a terrifying winter ride through the mountains of Virginia, and, best of all, a course in scuba diving so she could rummage in the silt of the Milwaukee River in hopes of finding 78s dumped after the close of Paramount Records. Originally a chair company, Paramount began making wooden phonograph cabinets and subsequently produced LPs that might attract buyers to the machine. The company executive discovered that "race records" were an untapped market, so he built a ramshackle recording studio and filled it with unknown jazz and blues musicians who didn't charge much. At the end of the book, she recounts the recent resurgence in interest of LPs, including a popular DJ who performed at a New York party using 78s borrowed from the New York Library, while "young people milled about, drinking artisanal cocktails, scratching their beards, readjusting their skirts.' Petrusich finds herself "fiercely protective of a subculture I had no real claim to...I wanted 78s to continue offering me-- and all the people I'd met -- a private antidote to an accelerated, carnivorous world." However, I am glad that these 78s and the music they make are back in whatever manifestation they make take. The songs on those scratchy records, played and sung by musicians who died without recognition, inspired the folk and rock musicians of the 60s to use their words and chords as background for the movements that revolutionized American political and cultural thought. As an old woman, a child of the sixties, listening to those blues once again reasserting themselves back into the present, I am hopeful that this deep and essential music will resonate once again with the young, and remind them that the expression of suffering is worth listening to for its fundamental joy, and that it can be transformative. This book is a palimpsest of layers defined by longing: the longing of collectors for objects; the longing to revive the sustaining music of raw artistry, and the terrible longing of the musicians themselves, open to the universe, without filter in their expression of pain and pleasure. I am so grateful for this book. Thanks Amanda. Review: 78 collectors obsessive? - apparently very much! - A very interesting book about the cabal-like world of 78rpm collectors, the records they collect, and the music that obsesses them. The author, Amanda Petrusich, is an engaging and capable writer. Had I not been interested in the subject, her enthusiasm would likely have sparked my interest. As an inveterate collector and listener of 78s, I was particularly intrigued by this book. I also love reading about collectors - so it's the perfect book, right? Well, almost (more below). Although I was largely familiar with the cast of characters and a fair number of the stories, I still found her retellings interesting. I discovered many little nuggets of information I was heretofore unaware, and a few clarifications that were very helpful. However, I do have a couple small gripes. There were a few personal digressions that added little to the narrative and sometimes got in the way. In particular, the section about her journey to troll the Milwaukee River to find long discarded 78s from the Paramount Records pressing plant in Grafton, Wisconsin. The idea was clever - sort of George Plimptonesque - but there was too much of a narrative detour, especially considering she came up empty. I found myself skimming/skipping several pages until the story got back on track. There's a trend I've noticed among some younger writers, to occasionally insert too much of themselves in the story. A little adds context and a personal touch to the story, but too much is a distraction. Also - I was hoping to hear more biographical detail from members of the so-called blues mafia, particularly Bernard Klatzko and Pete Whelan (whose 78 Quarterly was a wonderful publication). She did a fantastic job with James McKune, however. So, should you buy this book? If you have any interest in prewar music, then YES. If you are 78 collector, another big YES. If you are a record collector - YES again. If any of this seems even a little intriguing - a final YES. Especially if you are under 40 (or 30) and don't know what a Victrola is. Do yourself a favor and get acquainted with the music of the early 20th century! ## Technical Specifications | Specification | Value | |---------------|-------| | Best Sellers Rank | #265,085 in Books ( See Top 100 in Books ) #8 in Antique & Collectible Records (Books) #54 in Blues Music (Books) #442 in Music History & Criticism (Books) | | Customer Reviews | 4.4 out of 5 stars 323 Reviews | ## Images ![Do Not Sell At Any Price: The Wild, Obsessive Hunt for the World's Rarest 78rpm Records - Image 1](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/81FPo9IrP3L.jpg) ## Customer Reviews ### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ It's About Longing *by C***M on August 5, 2014* The best way to read Amanda Petrusich's wonderful book Do not Sell at Any Price is with a computer or smart device at your side, open to YouTube. Without this, the experience may not be as deep or rich and most likely you might not fully understand the emotional layers involved in the arcane activity of collecting 78 rpms, those dark shellacked discs, preceding LPs and 45s, which changed forever the way that people listened to music. When I was kid, we had a wind-up Victrola and I guess more than one 78, but all I remember was "Italian Spring Song" on the first side and "Tales from Hoffman" on the flip. Even then, the recording was old and the voices scratchy but haunting, weirdly high and flat, like musical ghosts circling the room, urging attention from the living. My sister and I must have played this record a hundred times. So I was already willing to accompany Petrusich while she explored this medium, its history, its eccentric community of collectors, and above all the jazz and blues artists of the late 20s and early 30s who sang and strummed into microphones for exploitive businessmen in crude early recording studios and for earnest folklorists on their own porches. I started listening to the songs she noted in the book when she was interviewing Chris King, a 78 collector and one of her best sources of knowledge on this subject. He played Geeshie Wiley's "Last Kind Words Blues" and Blind Uncle Gaspard's "Sur le Borde de l'Eau", which the author described as "arguably two of the saddest, strangest songs ever recorded." I knew I had to listen to these songs, and although the YouTube experience is not that of a 78, I bought into Petrusich's response (and also bought both on ITunes). It took me four days to finish this rather short book, stopping to hear, among many other songs, Skip James' "Devil Got my Woman", Kid Bailey (or Willie Brown) singing "Mississippi Bottom Blue", Charley Patton's "High Water Everywhere" and "Some of These Days I'll Be Gone," and even the mournful Albanian "Lament from Epirus", the popular African song "Skotiaan", and the strange Asian sound of the cowboy throat singer. The reader follows Petrusich, a reporter and music critic, as her subjective involvement in the subject takes on an equal role with the objective. In fact, the essential pleasure of this book is her ability to balance both sides of her involvement, resulting in a self-deprecating but highly observant and often very funny narrative of the eccentric collector subculture and the important body of work they preserved and saved. In the process of meeting the collectors themselves, Petrusich tries to find some common psychological ground for their obsession with these round heavy shellacked objects, sometimes regardless of the music on them and often at the expense of their own personal relationships and physical well being. She is never judgmental, however, particularly as she increasingly shares their passion. Petrusich's peripatetic search for collectors and collections took her to the South, the Midwest, Germany, a terrifying winter ride through the mountains of Virginia, and, best of all, a course in scuba diving so she could rummage in the silt of the Milwaukee River in hopes of finding 78s dumped after the close of Paramount Records. Originally a chair company, Paramount began making wooden phonograph cabinets and subsequently produced LPs that might attract buyers to the machine. The company executive discovered that "race records" were an untapped market, so he built a ramshackle recording studio and filled it with unknown jazz and blues musicians who didn't charge much. At the end of the book, she recounts the recent resurgence in interest of LPs, including a popular DJ who performed at a New York party using 78s borrowed from the New York Library, while "young people milled about, drinking artisanal cocktails, scratching their beards, readjusting their skirts.' Petrusich finds herself "fiercely protective of a subculture I had no real claim to...I wanted 78s to continue offering me-- and all the people I'd met -- a private antidote to an accelerated, carnivorous world." However, I am glad that these 78s and the music they make are back in whatever manifestation they make take. The songs on those scratchy records, played and sung by musicians who died without recognition, inspired the folk and rock musicians of the 60s to use their words and chords as background for the movements that revolutionized American political and cultural thought. As an old woman, a child of the sixties, listening to those blues once again reasserting themselves back into the present, I am hopeful that this deep and essential music will resonate once again with the young, and remind them that the expression of suffering is worth listening to for its fundamental joy, and that it can be transformative. This book is a palimpsest of layers defined by longing: the longing of collectors for objects; the longing to revive the sustaining music of raw artistry, and the terrible longing of the musicians themselves, open to the universe, without filter in their expression of pain and pleasure. I am so grateful for this book. Thanks Amanda. ### ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 78 collectors obsessive? - apparently very much! *by B***E on July 12, 2014* A very interesting book about the cabal-like world of 78rpm collectors, the records they collect, and the music that obsesses them. The author, Amanda Petrusich, is an engaging and capable writer. Had I not been interested in the subject, her enthusiasm would likely have sparked my interest. As an inveterate collector and listener of 78s, I was particularly intrigued by this book. I also love reading about collectors - so it's the perfect book, right? Well, almost (more below). Although I was largely familiar with the cast of characters and a fair number of the stories, I still found her retellings interesting. I discovered many little nuggets of information I was heretofore unaware, and a few clarifications that were very helpful. However, I do have a couple small gripes. There were a few personal digressions that added little to the narrative and sometimes got in the way. In particular, the section about her journey to troll the Milwaukee River to find long discarded 78s from the Paramount Records pressing plant in Grafton, Wisconsin. The idea was clever - sort of George Plimptonesque - but there was too much of a narrative detour, especially considering she came up empty. I found myself skimming/skipping several pages until the story got back on track. There's a trend I've noticed among some younger writers, to occasionally insert too much of themselves in the story. A little adds context and a personal touch to the story, but too much is a distraction. Also - I was hoping to hear more biographical detail from members of the so-called blues mafia, particularly Bernard Klatzko and Pete Whelan (whose 78 Quarterly was a wonderful publication). She did a fantastic job with James McKune, however. So, should you buy this book? If you have any interest in prewar music, then YES. If you are 78 collector, another big YES. If you are a record collector - YES again. If any of this seems even a little intriguing - a final YES. Especially if you are under 40 (or 30) and don't know what a Victrola is. Do yourself a favor and get acquainted with the music of the early 20th century! ### ⭐⭐⭐⭐ "78 COLLECTING DEMANDS AN ALMOST-INHUMAN LEVEL OF CONCENTRATION." *by S***N on July 31, 2014* If you like the "old, weird" music from an America now long gone--like Harry Smith's "The Anthology of American Folk Music", "The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of" (plus the sequel "The Return Of..."), and all the various box sets collecting early country blues and other then contemporary music--you will find this book of interest. It's simply one person's attempt to search out and begin to understand why (and who are) these people who collect old 78 RPM records with a detective's zeal and sometimes deep pockets. You'll come across collectors who are pure collectors--never paying much for a dirty, dusty, easily breakable shellac covered piece of history. Or others who buy low and sell high. But they all have one thing in common, to find these records before they disappear forever. What information the author gleans from her subjects is told in a witty, easy to read style. The book isn't perfect. The portion where the author, Amanda Petrusich, learns to scuba dive in order to search a river for old metal stampers or records themselves takes up too much space. But it's when she talks about going on a hunt with a longtime collector to a dirty, greasy swap meet in search of 78 RPM treasures where the book becomes interesting. Or her descriptions of some of the more (relatively) notable collectors (a difficult feat), the artists, the record labels, and her descriptions of hearing some of these long lost recordings for the first time that makes this book eminently readable. Some of these collectors are very private, "quirky", and sometimes suspicious of other collectors or anyone interested in what they collect. But Petrusich goes behind the surface and gives the reader at least some idea of why these people do what they do with such a fervent passion. Another interesting chapter is when Petrusich goes in search of original 78 RPM records from Harry Smith's collection. Smith put together "The Anthology of American Folk Music" set (now reissued by the Smithsonian) and if you've never heard this collection of music from the years 1927-1932 you need to. If you like "American music", this is it. It's revered by many well known musicians for giving them insight into different musical forms. Smith's choice of, and the recordings themselves, have a strange kind of wild magic about them. It's haphazard in contents--certainly not all-encompassing--but what's there you need to hear. And it's a sometimes strange listening experience, because I too had this happen to me, as related in the book--"...it's the weirdest thing, every time you listen to it...you think, 'Wait, was that song there before?'". It has that kind of an effect. But if you don't own this collection you're music library has a hole in it. Check it out. I found myself liking this book the more I got into it. If you're a music collector or a deep music lover (like me) you'll recognize the feelings generated by the collectors in the book. The thrill of finding a long lost 78 RPM treasure, and the agony of your hopes dashed when your search is in vain and you come away empty handed. So if you find something special in hearing some old scratchy Paramount recordings (now issued on CD) or anything else that (usually) sounds like it was dragged over rocks and through the dirt, this book will give you a pretty good look into what it's all about. --- ## Why Shop on Desertcart? - 🛒 **Trusted by 1.3+ Million Shoppers** — Serving international shoppers since 2016 - 🌍 **Shop Globally** — Access 737+ million products across 21 categories - 💰 **No Hidden Fees** — All customs, duties, and taxes included in the price - 🔄 **15-Day Free Returns** — Hassle-free returns (30 days for PRO members) - 🔒 **Secure Payments** — Trusted payment options with buyer protection - ⭐ **TrustPilot Rated 4.5/5** — Based on 8,000+ happy customer reviews **Shop now:** [https://www.desertcart.tn/products/16880912-do-not-sell-at-any-price-the-wild-obsessive-hunt](https://www.desertcart.tn/products/16880912-do-not-sell-at-any-price-the-wild-obsessive-hunt) --- *Product available on Desertcart Tunisia* *Store origin: TN* *Last updated: 2026-08-03*