I love shopping for records, something about actually holding something in your hands sure beats clicking away on a computer in iTunes, YouTube, Napster or some other torrent.
I spent many of a day in my local HMV (Maidstone), browsing for some bargains – measured to my taste, occassionally nudged by a member of staff towards something to keep my tastes progressing.
Now though, obviously, I’ve since discovered vinyl. So everytime I’m in London I’ll try to tootle along to Rough Trade East (I was introduced to this by the Ifor Evans music geeks – they know who they are – Tash, Cat, Ollie, Kris with a K) and some other record stores in Soho.
It’s the feel of the plastic wrapping in your hands, the longing to get home and burn it your mp3 player or hear it crackle in the speakers. To hear the needle scratch. Hear it hiss on the edge of the pressing as it finds the right groove. Or even rip it from the jewel case waiting for to load, deciphering the lyrics from the booklet. Nothing beats it. Sure you leave the store poor, but you leave happy and soon to be educated.
I’ve a lot to thank to my local HMV, but also to Sean B-Mc, Caylee, but more recently Anna and some of my other new and old friends.