Virgin Megastore.
Zavvi.
Along with all your favourite local record shops,
they’re gone. With the obvious and Biblically huge exception of Adele, sales of
recorded music are dwindling. And it’s not only CDs, downloads are plummeting
too. It’s now all about the streaming. It’s in
the cloud. It’s freemium, man!
But wait! Vinyl’s back. The kids want something they
can hold. OK, so it’s not exactly keeping the music business afloat (that’s
Adele’s job) but it is at least giving Taylor Swift fans a reason to get
excited about artwork and inner sleeves and the magical tactile experience of
music on shiny 12” discs.
But while it’s nice to be able to find pristine new
copies of Pet Sounds and Nevermind, some of us still like going
into dusty shops and experiencing the serendipitous thrill of finding an
unexpected treat.
So where can I find these new record shops, I hear
you cry? Relax they’re everywhere and they’re called charity shops.
No wait! Come back! It’s true. The charity shop is
the new record shop for many reasons good – and bad. The good? Well, any real
music fan will tell you that the well practiced thumb and finger rack-flick is
a finely-honed skill up there with the deft pancake flip from Side 1 to Side 2.
And charity shops, never short of well-thumbed copies of Mantovani, Mrs Mills,
and Max Bygraves provide ample stock to practice our technique.
I challenge myself to find multiple copies of these
unloved gems with a game I call Charity Shop Fruit Machine. The goal is of
course a 3 cherry row. Top scores include a hat-trick of Sound of Musics, a brace of Carpenters and a clean row Green Doors. Once the sleeves are in
position, I take a picture and put it online. Perhaps I should get out more.
Unlike every other product, albums never change their
packaging so these sleeves are landmarks that record shops of old used to have;
there’s a reassurance in seeing them there even if you’d never dream of taking
them home. And the king of these unloved albums? No competition: Paul Young’s No Parlez. Phil Collins’ work comes a
close second. Top score: No Parlez, No Parlez, No Jacket Required.
But here’s the key: only in a charity shop you can experience
the sudden heart leap you get from discovering a Tom Waits nestling between a
pair of Leo Sayers, a Public Enemy peaking out behind Hooked On Classics.
This feeling is the same one Nick Hornby was
searching for when he confessed that despite having every single release by The
Clash, he would still always check the C rack, just in case…
Of course, those of you already aware of the joys of
these new record stores will hate me for publicizing our secret on national
radio. But the rot has already set in.
The vinyl boom is encouraging record companies to repress
their old catalogue like it’s going out of style. And while he pleasures of
hearing The Queen is Dead or Dusty in Memphis on vinyl are
undeniable, who gave the go-ahead to re-press charity shop staples like Herb
Alpert’s Whipped Cream and Other Delights
or Rod Stewart’s Every Picture Tells A
Story on 180 gram vinyl?
It seems that record companies are in agreement that charity
shops are the new record shops and are now busy manufacturing fresh stock
accordingly.
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