Record Store (Tues) Day
I am of the generation that hung out in record shops, in my case Ken's
of Castle Street in Derry. It didn't have the cultural significance of
Good Vibrations, of course. It didn't provide a focus for a musical
movement. Ken (still don't know his surname) just sold records, but in
1977 Derry that was good enough. The fact that musicians didn't hang
around the shop, exchanging opinions about the latest releases, was of
no great loss to me. My small circle of friends (five people) provided
me with all the opinion that I needed about music. The New Musical
Express filled in the gaps. Ken's was great because it was all up to
you. You could spend hours flipping the LPs towards you and
occasionally lifting one out to read the back of it. Sometimes the
hours I spent there were supposed to be spent in the classrooms of the
Strand Tech in Derry but by 1977 I had realised the regime in third
level education was less strict when it came to time keeping than
secondary school had been. Record Store Day has had a lot of coverage
this weekend, but my own memories say more about the logistics of music
selling in the 1970s than it does about music itself. One abiding
memory is walking into Ken's and getting 'White Riot' , the first Clash
single, in a plain non-picture sleeve.
I think it may have been the
only one in the shop. Another is ordering a reissue of the New York
Dolls two LPs, which were out of print by 1977 (only three years after
the band broke up.) Downloads were still thirty years away, likewise
online shopping and next day delivery. Unless you ordered from a mail
order company advertised in the back pages of the NME, you relied on
Ken's. Which we did. For a good couple of weeks. Every second day, one
of my musical circle would go into Ken's to see if the New York Dolls
double LP was in yet. 'Not yet' said Ken, in his American accent. It
was OK, he was actually American. After a week, the message was "It'll
be in on Tuesday". Eventually, one Tuesday it did arrive and we were
introduced to the joys of actually hearing 'Personality Crisis' , 'Jet
Boy' and 'Trash' instead of just reading about them.
Since that day, the phrase 'It'll be Tooosday' still brings back to me the waiting and hoping that record buying sometimes brought to you in 1977. Would I have the patience today ?
I think it may have been the
only one in the shop. Another is ordering a reissue of the New York
Dolls two LPs, which were out of print by 1977 (only three years after
the band broke up.) Downloads were still thirty years away, likewise
online shopping and next day delivery. Unless you ordered from a mail
order company advertised in the back pages of the NME, you relied on
Ken's. Which we did. For a good couple of weeks. Every second day, one
of my musical circle would go into Ken's to see if the New York Dolls
double LP was in yet. 'Not yet' said Ken, in his American accent. It
was OK, he was actually American. After a week, the message was "It'll
be in on Tuesday". Eventually, one Tuesday it did arrive and we were
introduced to the joys of actually hearing 'Personality Crisis' , 'Jet
Boy' and 'Trash' instead of just reading about them. Since that day, the phrase 'It'll be Tooosday' still brings back to me the waiting and hoping that record buying sometimes brought to you in 1977. Would I have the patience today ?
Comment number 1.
At 22nd Apr 2010, Harry May wrote:With vinyl records there was always a sense that you actually owned the recording which simply isn’t there with digital downloads. There is something very impersonal about clicking a mouse to play a bands back catalogue. Vinyl had a personality and its own unique history which developed with age.
Looking back ordering records and a few disappointed visits to the record shop until such times as the record in question actually arrived was half the fun and only added to the respect you would feel for that coveted piece of vinyl.
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