My Recordstore Day 2014 Release

Happy Recordstore Day!

May I take the opportunity for my own special release? Something about music, rather than the r-stuff – given that, after all, it’s not just about the running?

Back in February, having spent Sunday-Thursday morning in Nice for work I headed East of the Alps to pay my parents a visit. Whilst meeting a High School friend, I seized the opportunity to pay a record store a visit, too. I rarely get the chance these days: I find out what I like and buy it online. And I don’t buy as much anyway, purely because family life has its many pluses (or so Mrs S tells me) but time to enjoy some music in peace ain’t one of them. I do most of my listening whilst working, one of the benefits of working from home. But, for all my love of technology, when I do buy music I still buy CDs: I like to hold music, to read through the liner notes and the credits… old skool.

I’d walked into the store looking specifically for any new Ligabue releases. He’s the one guy who’s been able to make the combination of the Italian language and the sound of rock&roll work; I’ve enjoyed his music for some twenty-five years now and always keep a look-out for his new stuff when over there. Gives me summat to do, if nowt else.

Now, the store I walked into wasn’t the one I… well, “grew up” in. That closed some six years or so ago. And this one, in Rapallo, the next town along (one store was more than enough for Santa Margherita) threatens to go the same way – as the “Shop for Sale” sign on the counter suggests.

I actually found what I was looking for. Yet I walked out empty-handed. I couldn’t figure out why, till it struck me…

…the CD was locked in a plastic container. I couldn’t pick it up, hold it, feel it. I’d have had to ask for permission in a pseudo-purchase offer and I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to browse friends old and new, not visit prisoners. Otherwise I might as well do my purchasing online – as per usual. And let me tell you, the desolate look of the (presumed) owners as I walked in and out was more akin to those of prison guards than of people passionate about music. Because I remember those faces: Dino and Donatella, who ran “Disco Club” in Santa, had that. Their CDs were also locked away: but I’d often spend an hour or so in their store listening to stuff, be it at my request or their suggestion. They’d just throw me the keys and, like a teenager with his father’s car keys in hand, I’d go on a journey. A gentle cruise along the boardwalk more than a race round The Circuit. No headphones required: what I listened to, everyone listened to. Just like I often enjoyed music others were trying out. And yes, that often meant recordings of Springsteen music that you wouldn’t expect to find out on the street, courtesy of a very Italian law… That store can’t have been any more than 20ft x 7ft, yet for me it was a true Aladdin’s Cave: I’d carefully save up, ponder my options… and buy not just a disc but a true experience. As I still listen today to most of the artists whose music I bought in there, I truly did grow up in that little corner of Santa Margherita Ligure (GE), Italy.

Anyway, back to Ligabue…

…when I looked on Amazon, I saw I’ve more catching up than I thought. Then again, with no record store in Santa Margherita anymore it’s been years since I walked into one over there. Amazon’s prices look lower than the ones in the store. Not that I could tell you which album I picked up, mind. Because I couldn’t pick it up: it was lying there, all shackled up, and I couldn’t even be bothered to decipher its name from the spine.

I’m often told I should support local stores more. But sometimes they do make it hard… whereas online stores are genuinely friendly… you can listen to stuff beforehand, have it within seconds of purchasing (even if you order a CD, Amazon’s AutoRip means you don’t have to wait for the post)…

…now don’t get me wrong, I don’t envy record stores. “Disco Club”, in Santa (aMediterranean seaside resort), made most of its sales in the summer, selling chart compilations the owners duly and understandably despised to the tourists. Their loves were prog-rock and modern jazz, with Peter Gabriel and Pat Metheny top of the pile. I’ve often wondered whether they could have survived by focusing on those niches, for which they did have loyal customer travel miles. And I’ve routinely come to the conclusion that no, that wouldn’t have sufficed to pay the bills: Italian dance compilations may be bad for your health, but they paid those bills alright… So no, I’m not surprised that my nurturing record store closed. Not when in the early noughties I walked in with an iPod and Dino greeted me with “I’ve heard about these things, how do they work?”. I’d had mine for a year or so by then, he was hardly keeping a close eye on his environment!

That said, there is still scope for stores to prosper – especially those with a clear focus. Kudos, on that note, to Cheltenham’s own “Badlands”. I dread to think how much I’ve spent with them since 1989… and yet even now that I live in Bristol I have still to set foot in it! From days of cheques written out by my Mum whom I’d compensate in lire to today’s nifty online store, I’ve bought many a Springsteen 7”, limited edition CD, book, box set, picture disc… and even concert tour package from them! And therein lies the music: I’ve never just had music from them, I’ve always had memories, spiritual growth, intellectual challenges, friendships, kinships… although just how much of that is down to them and how much is thanks to Springsteen is a different matter!

Badlands: Taking care of their own. Read here about their t-shirt project to support HelpDan.com.
(Well, I say 'their'... credit where credit's due, Pauline started it and Kev was behind it all!
Proud to own one of those shirts, delighted the project helped Dan.)

But well done, Badlands. To the late Steven and his brother and partner Phil, who foresaw the demise of the traditional record store in light of the availability of music online and the ease of sharing it, even when it entailed burning a disc, and branched out into organising concert packages. I had a conversation on the topic with Steven on our first trip to the US in 1999, and to this day I maintain I gave him something to ponder on the matter. I couldn’t tell you whether he was agreeing with me, ignoring me or humouring me: his expression didn’t really change much… What is a self-evident truth is that many music acts and lovers owe at least a part of their ability to perform and enjoy music, be that in the comfort of a living room, in some sweaty bar or at a major stadium, to the Jumps’ love for genuine rock and roll, as defined by its values rather than its rhythm, melodies or notes. ‘If Music Could Talk’? Well, out of St. George’s place, an address I recall from the many envelopes sent that way even without having ever visited it, it truly did.

On a different note, when flying back from Pisa last February I spotted, of all shops…

a Brooks Running Store!

It was hard to miss: adverts were plastered behind all check-in counters. PSA is small, plus it takes forever to drop off bags… although I wouldn’t have found it but for the ads, as it was on the first floor and this side of the ground floor security check. So not sure how many see it – although maybe locals go to the airport for their shoes? Begs the question as to how you get your goods on the plane, too…

Pisa's latest landmark.
Here's hoping it's still standing in years to come!

…I went in to try on some shoes. Not with any intention to buy, you understand: as did the owner, for I spelt it out. “I’ve bought five pairs of Brooks in the past twelve months – I just want to try on a few for size”. Whilst there, I couldn’t resist asking him how many miles one should expect to get out of a pair of the now discontinued Green Silence. I obviously expected a lower figure than I’ve achieved: I’d be disappointed in any other outcome in a Yorkshireman-Salesman exchange. But, having suggested 300km (they’re minimalist shoes, dontchaknow), he certainly wasn’t ready for my “Oh – I managed 2,000” response!

Given that was February, his chin should just about be off the floor by now. Oh, and note to self: get to PSA with ample time to spare next time. Just in case, like. But, for the time being… I’ll keep buying my shoes online, safe in the knowledge that the likes of SweatShop provide an excellent returns policy. And, given I’ve ordered six pairs of Brooks Green Silence from them (I’m on my third and fourth, with numbers five and six waiting in the loft), I don’t really need to try a new pair before knowing they’ll do.

p.s.: my Dad never did give me the keys to his car – that was pure Springsteen imagery I used earlier. I only learnt to drive after leaving Italy. Given that on one rare occasion when I was allowed to confine him to the passenger seat (of an Italian car in Sheffield – let me get that in!) I reversed into a parked car, you can understand his reluctance. And the rollicking I got thereafter. In fact, sod it – it wasn’t a rollicking, it was a proper bollocking. No point toning it down!