So it has come to my attention that this Saturday is ‘Record Store (SHOP, goddamnit, SHOP) Day’.

A theoretically fine and noble occasion - one that is closer to my heart than most self-imposed ‘Days’, but that has in recent years begun to attract more in the way of scorn and cynicism than enthusiasm from its presumed adherents. This has resulted mainly from the growing tendency for established record labels to flood the market with pointless Special Limitied Edition Record Store Day Items (generally of suspiciously slim cultural and aesthetic value), thus fuelling the widespread perception that this Saturday will see all remaining record emporiums flooded from dawn ‘til dusk with hordes of nefarious, tone deaf ebay speculators, blocking the doors and exuding the fetid stench of the grave as they clamber over each other in search of these much-vaunted ‘Special Items’, ruining the calm, rarefied atmosphere of near-bankruptcy that us TRVE music fans seek of an afternoon.

Whether this be truth or fabrication (and it’s more the latter than the former I suspect), the larger independent record shops seem happy to play up to this idea, orchestrating unwarranted events and PR-sanctioned ‘appearances’ to further distract us from our shopping, and generally doing obscene things like hiring Paul Weller to balefully oversee the carnage in the racks, like the drummer on a particularly listless slave galley.

Well friends, I have a simple solution to this – one which I hope will allow us to quietly celebrate and support the fading idyll of the record shop universe without making a fuss about it or succumbing to any of this general palaver.

Firstly, completely ignore the existence of these Special Items. Even on the off chance there is one you simply must own (in which case god help you, but I’m in no position to judge), you’ll probably find it sitting like an unwanted step-child in the 7” bin in Music & Video Exchange within two months tops.

Secondly, do not go to Rough Trade or your local equivalent thereof. Instead, head to some part of town you don’t normally go to, and look for some real down at heel, staffed-by-a-single-creepy-guy second hand record shop - I mean, the kind of ass-backward place where they probably don't even know it's “Record Store Day” and wouldn’t care a hoot if they did. I realise such places are few and far between these days, but that’s precisely the reason we should go out of our way to support the ones that remain. If you live in an urban area there’s probably still one *somewhere* within easy travelling distance of you. Have a think.

So you go to this place, and you do your record-shopping thing. Anyone who began liking music at some point prior to about 2004 will not require any further instruction. And as you do your rounds, and encounter the inevitable ‘maybes’… well today is the day when you’re just going to get them all.

‘Oh, a mid-‘80s Hawkwind LP, but hmm, I dunno, £8…’ = GET IT.

‘I think somebody once told me I should listen to this forgotten early ‘90s band, but hmm, I dunno if it looks like my kinda thing to be honest..’ = GET IT.

‘Wow, I have no idea what this is, but that cover art is unbelievable..’ = GET IT.

And so on.

As a result of your weird, self-serving quasi-philanthropy, the creepy bloke behind the counter will have a good day, temporarily convinced that his struggling boutique still has a role in people’s lives. And you too will have a good day, going to a new(?) place, breaking your usual routine, and heading home to put the kettle on and explore the strange and damp-damaged new world of sound you’ve just bought yourself a slice of. Everyone’s a winner, and the happy tradition of crummy, old fashioned record shopping limps on a little longer. Halleluiah.

Labels: blather, ranting, record shops

Unshopping.

So I gather that last Saturday was Record Shop (yes, SHOP, goddamnit) Day.

It's a shame they decided to hold it this year during a period in which I gots no moneys, limiting my participation somewhat.

My last visit to a record shop was actually Disc Union in Shinjuku, Tokyo earlier this month, during which a scenario that I probably have actually had anxiety dreams about over the years became a reality – gazing at racks and racks of impossibly cool looking old Japanese pop records at bargain prices, knowing the whole time that, due to a credit card mishap, I scarcely have two Yen to rub together.








None of these are mine.

When I saw this early ‘70s Meiko Kaji LP though, there was no going back. Eternal thanks are due to my friend Satori for putting up the necessary dough to allow it to make eventual contact with my turntable back in London.



This is the opening track;

According to no less an authority than some guys in the Youtube comments, the song’s title refers to a particularly poverty-stricken or demeaning way of life, often adopted by people who are undercover or on the run from gangsters. Lyrical translation possibly goes something like:

“Summertime, long rains begin
My helpless feelings grow
The beast inside me
Gazing at the ceiling, smoking tobacco

After all, it’s a hermit crab’s life
It feels good in strong & gentle arms
Autumn comes, all my lovers died

Wearing black, walking the road of fallen leaves”

I hear ya.

Enka music rules, doesn’t it?

Labels: Enka, Japan, Meiko Kaji, record shops