Goon, But Not Forgotten

I haven't been to see for myself, but I hear that Langley Records in East Molesey has gone tits up. We can't blame this one on ebay, Spotify, lazy-arsed punters, or even Simon Cowell - which is a bit of a shame - nope, the Royal Mail is the culprit. From what I hear, they owned the building that housed Langley Records, and decided that the property should be used for something more post officey.

Langley's stock was pretty decent (with the odd treasure), prices were okay, and the condition of the records was superb. This was down to the fact that the owner bought up record shop stock at the start of the Nineties when vinyl was considered an embarrassing relic fit only for landfill. Clever chap!

I'd like to say how gutted I am by the loss of another vinyl haunt, especially as I picked up a number of juicy items here, but I really didn't enjoy my visits. There were two reasons for this, and they were both the owner. I probably only went to Langley Records on three or four occasions, but each time, despite having a shop filled with great music, the owner would play the same crappy Goons tape. If it didn't happen to be playing when I arrived, he would make damn sure it was once he spotted he had a customer. For those who don't know, The Goons were the Monty Python of their day. You know, fleetingly amusing sketches that a certain breed of twat likes to memorise and regurgitate to like-minded twats in the mistaken belief that this constitutes having a sense of humour. The other problem I had with the owner, was his insistence on inflicting his dubious political opinions on me while I flicked through the racks. Keep your opinions to yourself - I go to a record store to buy music. Still, it's always a shame when another store closes down.

A selection of my vinyl purchases from Langley Records (average price £9.00)

Record Stores: OCD or OMG?

I'm deeply suspicious of any place selling used vinyl that might be mistaken for an operating theatre. Pristine and organised is for record collections, not for the places where you acquire those records. What are the chances of stumbling upon an overlooked vinyl gem in a place where the proprietor has fastidiously cross-referenced every record with Discogs, graded it under halogen light and priced it 30% above market value to help pay for the solid oak parquet floor, custom-built racking, Farrow & Ball paint job and customer cappuccino machine? Shopping in one of these emporia is the record collecting equivalent of buying pre-grated cheese from the supermarket: lazy, expensive and unfulfilling. If cheese means so little to you, stick to Spotify. Passion doesn't come vacuum-wrapped.

At the other extreme are the record shops run by hoarders. The places where mummified vermin, pressed flat between stacks of vinyl, act as dividers to organise the stock. The places where the owners swear they know where everything is, but, thank God, they don't. The places where you need a hard hat. A Davy lamp. A tetanus shot. A free day. Places like Archive Records in Addlestone.

Archive Records in Addlestone

The crates of easy listening dross in front of the shop, all of their sleeves sapped of colour by years of exposure to drizzle and sunlight, seem designed to deter, rather than encourage trade. When I first visited, the owner was out front, setting out his customer deterrents. He explained his carefully constructed filing system, at length, before he would let me into the shop. It was very important that I put all items back exactly where I had found them. Exactly where I had found them. Always do, but erm, okay. Record shop owners are a quirky bunch, best just to nod in all the right places and get digging.

A casual observer might think Archive Records' filing system needs fine-tuning.

The Blues and R'n'B section

A rare glimpse of floor

Vinyl canyon

If you're prepared to risk triggering an avalanche, there are some great records to be discovered here. As it turns out, the owner is friendly, saner than his filing system might suggest, and the vinyl prices are fair. Next time though, I'm taking a forklift truck.

Some haul highlights

Blackcat Records - Taunton

I love visiting a record shop for the first time; flicking through virgin stock, not knowing what might leap into my hands. It's particularly thrilling to dig in an area far from home. On these occasions, records that the locals have become blind to, that they've grown tired of seeing cluttering up the racks, can benefit from a fresh pair of eyes. LPs that might be considered common or overpriced in one area can look cheap and desirable to an out-of-towner. And so it was when Wurzel, my West Country connection, introduced me to Blackcat Records in Taunton on a recent visit to Somerset.

The first thing I noticed about Blackcat is that it doesn't look like a complete shit-hole. I've spent enough time in record stores that have the appearance and smell of the final resting place of a soap-dodging hoarder to be quite taken aback at the sight of a well-lit shop that looks to have been hoovered occasionally. That's not to say that I'm averse to crate digging in squalor, but it's always a bonus to leave a record store without flea bitten ankles and the stench of mildew in my clothes.

So, where are the piles of vinyl littering the floor? Not at Blackcat: every record has a place in the racks. Even the lowly £1 bargains are neatly contained in crates tucked under the main stock. Records are organised alphabetically within genre, but your idea of what genre certain artists fall under may well differ from Blackcat's, so best to look through everything if you have the time. Brand spanking new records share rack space with pre-loved vinyl, particularly in the 60s Psych section which, unsurprisingly (given the rarity of many of the original titles), leans heavily on reissues to justify its existence. Records seem, on the whole, to be in great condition and priced to sell: not give-away prices, but temptingly reasonable. I picked up Kraan's Let It Out and Klaatu's Sir Army Suit LPs for £8 and £7 respectively.

I can't believe how many of the record shops I visit don't have a 'New Arrivals' section. Much as I love one of my local stores (Collectors' Records in Kingston-Upon-Thames), the lack of a 'New Arrivals' section means that I have to trawl through thousands of records that have been clogging the racks for months, years in some cases, to find any fresh stock. Fortunately, Blackcat doesn't commit this crime, having a prominent 'New Arrivals' rack next to the counter for regular customers with limited digging time.

The head honcho at Blackcat is a friendly, outgoing bloke despite feigning coyness when I suggested I might blog about his shop. Pay him a visit if you're in the West Country. Nice little shop!  

http://blackcat-records.co.uk/