Wednesday 21 April 2010

Is that the acetate test pressing?

Last Saturday was Independent Record Shop day, on which we were meant to give our money to small capitalists rather than big ones.

Actually, the independent record shop is my natural habitat. Weeks of my life have been spent leafing through racks of dusty records by bands who reached No. 78 on the Indie charts with a split single on Fierce Panda or some such label. It's difficult to point to the indiest record in my collection, though Spare Snare's acoustic, Scottish cover of 'Say My Name', Teen Anthems' 'Welsh Bands Suck' and The Period Pains' 'We Hate The Spice Girls' all spring to mind.









Going to an indie store is a special experience though - far better than the fake mateyness of HMV and the like. The checkout monkey recently addressed me thus 'Find everything you needed, buddy?' and added 'buddy' to every subsequent sentence. I didn't 'need' anything I'd bought, I couldn't find what I actually wanted, and we'd never met previously. Buddy, indeed.

No, go to a proper record shop and there's no false bonhomie. It's like an assault course - difficult, often humiliating, but ultimately good for you. I spent a good chunk of my life at Cob Records in Bangor: seeing one of their yellow plastic bags is my madeleine.






Cob was especially difficult for non-locals because as well as convincing the staff you were worthy to buy one of their records, you had to either speak Welsh or look apologetic for not being able to do so - learning a few phrases was essential (and a pleasure, I should add). Similarly, occasionally purchasing 7" singles by the staff's bands helped (this was the high point of Welsh indie - most of them produced, played on or supported Gorky's/Super Furries/David Wrench/Ectogram (with whom I'm still friends)/Melys/Serpents etc) and learning their children's names made it more likely that you'd leave the shop with only a few mocking comments about your taste in music. Buying music on the 'wrong' label was enough to attract opprobrium. OK, they would imply, you're feeding our kids, but don't expect gratitude if you think that Creation is socially acceptable. I got away with it, I think: my first two purchases (made blindly) were Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's Patio on 10" and Tindersticks' Kathleen, also on 10" - credible enough to serve as an entrĂ©e.









I ran this gauntlet several times a week. I'd go in on Friday and go through the list of next week's releases, having perused NME on Wednesday. Then I'd return on Monday to pick up the loot. Usually, this would be a couple of plastic bags full of vinyl (I didn't have a CD player until 1998), sometimes more. Added to my order, the men (yes, all men) would have added 'stuff we thought you'd like/should listen to', which usually consisted of their own releases, or any old crap ordered in error and lingering in dark corners. I would, intimidated and pleased by their kindness, gratefully take whatever they recommended. The bags would be hauled over the counter (which was festooned by stickers and posters for bands which lasted, on average, for one gig or a single mention by sainted John Peel) and the pattern would repeat itself every week. I'd also call in at random times just in case interesting second-hand stuff had come in - leading to my large collection of Ankst's back catalogue and a big pile of Datblygu records.

Leaving North Wales was a huge wrench for many reasons, but Cob was a part of this. My current location had an OK shop which closed within weeks of my arrival. Birmingham had a couple of good shops, but they're closing. Trips to Manchester are always fruitful, but I'm no longer so tribal. After having to sell 400 7" singles one summer to stay in my house and eat, something was lost. Internet shopping isn't the same. The very best indie outlets on the web are Action Records and Norman's Records (huge range, friendly people, authentic indie snobbiness) but the social aspects are lost: the smells, the cameraderie of slipping a record out of its sleeve to spin it under the light or work out which pressing it was before loudly declaring it inauthentic, the quiet nods of recognition when fellow victims are spotted, the shameful pleasure of purchasing a records despite the shop owner loudly announcing that 'this is shit, mate' and pressing a load of other things on you  - you can't get this on the web.

Go to your local shop. If you don't, their employees will roam the streets. Record shops are Care in the Community for nerds. Download anything on a major label - buy the rest in your local shop.

9 comments:

Graham Quirk said...

Great piece Vole. I used to make regular pilgrimages to 'Cob' in Porthmadog whenever i was in Wales on holiday or visiting a friend. It really was like walking into an Aladdin's cave for me. I can still feel the thrill i used to get from going there. My usual haunts were Birmingham's 'The plastic factory' and the old 'Swordfish records' before it moved. I would take would ever money i could scrape together on a Saturday and look for something suitably obscure with which to impress my mates. I really miss those days, and i really miss record shops.

The Plashing Vole said...

I loved Plastic Factory - really eclectic. Tempest and Swordfish were both good when I first appeared in the West Mids, but seem to have declined. Are there any other record shops in Brum?

Porthmadog's Cob was stunning - just so huge. I remember seeing a poster for Welsh Big Beat there. Dated 1959.

Graham Quirk said...

The diskery is still there, i think but Reddingtons went a few years ago. I actually really like the Blur single too, it's reminiscent of the modern life is rubbish era. How long were you in Wales for altogether?

The Plashing Vole said...

Where's The Diskery? Reddington's went years ago.
I did a BA and part-time MA in Bangor, so 5 or so years. Wonderful.

Graham Quirk said...

The Diskery is kind of opposite the dome, or the carling academy as it is now. I'm not sure it could be described as an indie record shop though, it caters more for rare record hunters and vintage stuff. Worth checking out if you are in the area. There is also the shop next to richer sounds on Smallbrook Queensway, you can get some great bargains in there if you're lucky.

Anonymous said...

That Welsh Bands Suck thing. Wow! You really done it this time. Genuinely the worst thing I have ever heard.

Nice bit about record shops though. (obviously I disagree with some of your arguments, but very nicely written)

The Plashing Vole said...

The 'Welsh Bands Suck' track is, I think, better as an idea than as a piece of music (the same goes for their 'I Hate Oasis)': it's deliberate throwaway commentary on contemporary events, an attempt to debunk a bandwagon. I won't say I've played it more than once or twice, but it was fun to play when I DJed Indie Night in Bangor!

Is it worse than Paul Weller's solo work, or anything by the Kaiser Chiefs and their landfill colleagues?

Zoot Horn said...

A marvellous piece of writtenism Vole. In Leicester there used to be a slew of small record shops, but the best was hidden at the back and later the basement of a 'Head' shop called Very Bazaar - run by some old friends of mine and still there although the record dept is long gone. It was essentially a 2nd hand basement that clandestinely sold bootlegs when bootlegs were first invented, and anything you bought there smelled of incense (even if it was a punk record).

Anonymous said...

I guess the main difference is that if I hear the Kaiser Chiefs it does, I admit, make me quite angry but if I met them I could be reasonably civil to them. They are just a band, a band people like, it is just a matter of taste, a matter of musical taste.

That Welsh Bands Suck thing on the other hand. Why not just record strangers on the bus and sell that for £2 on yellow vinyl? It is so lacking in anything approaching an idea musically. It is as if someone thought "I have something not particularly interesting to say, I can make things rhyme to a standard almost as good as people who write into Countdown, I have a bontempi keyboard, daddy will lend/ give me a thousand pounds, I know, lets be a band, that will be a jape! A jolly, jolly jape!