New & Improved: Because You're Worth It

Two posts in three days: don't say I don't spoil you! The reason for today's missive is just to let you know that I'm taking steps to make visiting my blog a more rewarding experience. To this end I recently acquired a bit of kit to enable me to convert my vinyl to digital. "What a bloody hypocrite," I hear you cry. But not so hasty, I have no plans to cart my records to the knacker's yard and go all 21st Century on you. I'm still the same piss-taking old Luddite that you know and love / have never met and despise. Whatever!

If you look back at my Rio Takes It To The Max post you'll see that there's now a divShare player nestled within the text which will let you listen to the standout track from the Max Demian LP. Enjoy it! Or hate it, just so long as you can hear it! This is all a steep learning curve for me, so let me know if the player isn't working and I'll try to sort it out. If it is working okay, let me know that too. As far as I know, I'm not stepping on anyone's toes in terms of copyright as you can't download the mp3 file and I only plan to post obscure, unusual and out-of-print stuff anyway. If you like what you hear and want more, you're going to have to trawl the second-hand shops and auction sites to buy the vinyl.

I'm hoping that giving you a bit more to get your teeth into will prompt more feedback on what I post here. I would love to hear your comments, suggestions, requests, stories and experiences. Vinyl-related of course: I'm not the bloody Samaritans.

Music Search in Valhalla

It's been a while! Apologies to anyone waiting with baited breath for a new blog post. I like to imagine that there might be a few of you out there who enjoy what you see here. It's been a busy couple of weeks! Things got off to a bad start when the Valhalla power supply in my Linn Sondek gave up the ghost. But, that particular cloud's silver lining came in the form of a new Hercules power supply which enables me to play 45s now as well as LPs. Thanks to Carl at Infidelity in Hampton Wick for working his usual magic on my beloved LP12.

I've not been idle while my turntable's been throwing a sickie though. Oh no, I've been stocking up on loads of lovely vinyl to put it through its surgically enhanced paces. You might recall my mentioning the impending closure of Music Search in Chertsey, Surrey in an earlier post. Well, sadly its demise is now assured and, in fact, has been brought forward. After twelve years' trading, Saturday 2nd July will be your last chance to visit this fantastic little shop. As an incentive, all LPs, CDs and DVDs are just £1.00 each.

Obviously I grabbed everything that took my fancy before imparting this particular nugget of information, but hey, what have you done for me lately? Don't worry, there are still thousands of quality LPs to dig through. I didn't get a chance to so much as glance at the singles, so who knows what gems are lurking there. Incidentally, the 7" singles are just 25 pence a shot.

L-R: Clive (owner), Andy (co-worker) and a man in surgical gloves

I'm assuming that the gentleman on the far right of the above picture is wearing gloves in order to avoid the kind of greasy, filth-encrusted, cracked and bleeding hands that I suffered after a few hours' crate digging. I'm almost certain that he's not a Michael Jackson impersonator.

Get filthy with Madonna on the carpet

If Jazz is your thing, then you should discover a few treats in the depths of those boxes. I added some Stan Getz, Charlie Parker, Ella Fitzgerald and Dave Brubeck releases to my collection. I wish I knew as much about Jazz as I do about Rock because in my ignorance I'm sure I must have passed over some absolute treasures. Similarly, if it's Movie Soundtracks that you collect, you'll find a ton of them here.

So, in a little over a week, when Music Search has shut its doors for the last time, what will be the point of a blog posting entreating you to pay the shop a visit? Well, perhaps these words and pictures will ensure that, in cyberspace at least, Music Search will never die.

Rio Takes It To The Max

I've owned this LP for centuries but still can't quite get a handle on what I'm hearing.

 

Critical evaluation is not aided by the drab-as-putty production that sucks all the energy and dynamism from songs that may otherwise offer up moments of inspiration. We have to wait until the second side, track 2, for the one undeniable diamond in the dirt that is Paradise, a ditty that starts unpromisingly with a Smokie-alike voice and dry-as-toast acoustic guitar combination but quickly morphs into a heavenly chorus with delicious phased guitars and epic, dreamy harmony vocals which create the illusion of listening to a long-lost ELO track.



How I've failed to mention my love of ELO thus far I don't know, but with the paucity of unreleased material and Jeff Lynne's stubborn refusal to give the fans what they want and put the orchestration back into a full-on Electric Light Orchestra reformation, we ELO fans get our jollies where we can, feeding on scraps here and there which remind us of our heroes, whether that means playing Grandaddy's He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot to satisfy our hunger, or gorging on the full-on pastiche of LEO's Alpacas Orgling. 

There are many albums that I prize despite containing just one indispensable track, and Take It To The Max is one of them. To be fair to this LP, the next track, The Lizard Song comes close to maintaining the high standard with the overblown pomp of its squelchy analogue keyboards, but things fizzle out with album closer Hear My Song. However, even if The Max Demian Band hadn't furnished me with the one-and-a-half gems on this LP, there would still be a couple of compelling reasons for me to provide them with permanent residence in my collection. Firstly, as you can see, they possess some impressive and, on the whole, neatly maintained facial topiary. The slide-rule precision of the pudding bowl fringe on the gentleman at top right suggests that he holds down a proper job during the week, but there's no shame in being a weekend warrior. It's only sensible to have a fallback plan.

And secondly, how could I ever part with an LP which, unless I'm much mistaken, features Manchester United and England defender Rio Ferdinand (above, bottom left)? Prior to turning up to give Barcelona some target practice in Saturday's Champions League Final, Rio Ferdinand appears to have had a hitherto hush-hush career in music. If the football doesn't work out, perhaps a Max Demian reunion could be on the cards. It's only sensible to have a fallback plan! The wispy beard and Justin Hayward hair-do are clearly the results of a tentative youthful experiment, a stepping stone to his subsequent chin-muff and cornrow look.

 It strikes me that an appearance of the Face Fungus-Ometer is way overdue, so let's wheel it out, feed in the data and see how The Max Demian Band stands up to scrutiny.

A solid and workmanlike seven

Leotards, Bikini Lines and Stixx Galore

The final item on the lunchtime news today revealed that the Forbes Celebrity 100 List (whatever that might be) is topped this year by Lady Gaga, Oprah Winfrey having been dumped off pole position. This basically means that Lady G. is the most powerful celebrity on the planet. I'm not sure if that means she could beat Hulk Hogan in an arm wrestling competition, but it certainly suggests that if she wants dwarf Cornish-speaking eunuchs to wax her bikini line backstage, then she'll get them in a choice of colours. What is difficult to fathom though is quite how she got herself into this position. Yes, 35 million sheep follow her on Facebook, whilst 10 million more lap up her tweets, but to be honest, with a public persona like hers, if she spends her time doing anything less interesting than white water rafting in the hollowed-out carcass of Susan Boyle, then there is the potential for disappointment on an epic scale. Do you really want to know what the Lady has for breakfast?

If making mediocre music and dressing in ridiculous clothes is all it takes to achieve world domination, then how come Kingpin have to wax their own sacks and cracks?

Hairy Twats (possibly)

I think it's fair to say that Sweden's Kingpin picked up the prevailing Hollywood Glam Metal look and ran with it...and didn't stop running until they got to their sisters' wardrobes. I always thought that Superman looked decidedly NOT super, largely due to the whole pants over the trousers look. I'm not sure it works any better for Kingpin. The rear sleeve doesn't do anything to alter my opinion.

Definitely

I remember a copy of this album being spun regularly back in the death throes of the 1980s by one of my then flatmates. I distinctly recall conversations about how the band had a Ratt-if-they-had-Steve-Vai-on-guitar sort of a sound, but not once did any of us comment on the fact that 'Stixx Galore' (possibly not his real name) is wearing a pink dayglo leotard over a chain mail-effect pair of tights. God forbid we thought he looked cool! "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there." (L.P.Hartley). 

I suspect that the likelihood of world domination for Kingpin is pretty slim in 2011. Perhaps their best chance of entering Lady Gaga's universe would be to embrace their apparent economy of stature, brush up on their waxing skills and trade the contents of those leotards for a Cornish phrase book.

Gerald's Wardrobe Meltdown

With echoes of my earlier post on the unfortunate sartorial differences that guaranteed the untimely demise of Jensen Interceptor, may I present Elton John soundalikes, Flashman.

Hi-De-Hi-Am-Not-An-Animal

With that suit, cane and spectacles, group leader Gerald Watkiss shows what would have happened if Jeff Goldblum and the Bluebottle had been unavailable and The Fly had instead starred Sue Pollard and a Disco-suited John Merrick. With an ill-concealed smirk Nick Walpole (drums) points out to a clearly despairing Chris Hudman (bass) that perhaps it's time to put an ad in Melody Maker. Thank God for their fallback careers as stunt doubles for Tony Iommi and Geezer Butler.

Pre-Loved Bush and 'Head

I recently picked up a copy of Transition by Kenny Rogers & The First Edition. It largely consists of saccharine Sunshine Pop with an occasional mild psychedelic touch. This may come as a surprise to anyone who thinks Kenny Rogers is only responsible for middle-of-the-road country tunes such as Lucille and Coward Of The County. No, he can also lay claim to an earlier career churning out middle-of-the-road psych-pop exploitation LPs. In fact, if Kenny was any more middle-of-the-road he'd have cat's eyes and a white stripe painted down the middle of his face. To be fair, some of the tunes on offer are quite listenable period pieces, especially the slide-guitar infused interpretation of Tulsa Turnaround, but I could do without the execrable cover of Two Little Boys. It's even more maudlin than the Rolf Harris version.

White Stripes

However, critical evaluation aside, what intrigued me when I picked up this LP was its history. Not the stuff which an interview with the band members could illuminate, but the history of this actual copy of the LP. Why was I able to find a well-played US-pressing (a white label promotional copy at that), in a charity shop in Teddington, West London? What was its journey prior to finding its way to me? Apart from the grating cover of Two Little Boys, what prompted the previous owner to part with the LP? Presumably it had meant something to them at some point. What had changed in their life to make this LP suddenly out of favour? Whoever had brought it over from the States obviously valued it enough to stick it in their hand luggage. Of course, where charity shops are concerned, an abrupt curtailment of being alive explains many of the items to be found lining their shelves and hanging on their rails. I often look at the amassed James Last and Perry Como LPs and think "dead man's record collection" and wonder which of the forlorn suits cluttering the store belonged to the deceased Easy Listening enthusiast. How many of my LPs have been accrued through an unwitting spot of grave robbery?

All of this got me to thinking about LPs in my collection that offer up tantalising glimpses of their former owners' lives and psychological make-up. However annoying it is to find writing on the sleeve of a record I want to buy, once I have it in my collection, I learn to love the graffiti as part of what makes that record uniquely mine. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't have bought my copy of Kate Bush's Lionheart if I had noticed the way in which the sleeve was defaced prior to handing over the cash, but now that it's mine, well, it's as much a part of my record collection's history as the previous owner's.

Clearly not a Brazilian pressing

It may be as unimaginative as drawing a cock and balls in the dirt on a white van, but it raises a smile every time I stick Lionheart on the turntable. Other inked additions include a baffling one on the rear sleeve of Breeze's If The Wind... LP.

 

 

In case you're struggling to make out the inscription, it reads:

"If you paint my doorstep you could at least paint the bleeder black. Geoff."

What happened here? Was the recipient of the LP, despite doing a poor decorating job, rewarded with a favourite album, or perhaps Geoff withheld payment and opted instead for the tried and trusted give-the-bungling-decorator-a-shit-LP-with-an-unsettling-cryptic-message-in-lieu-of-payment ploy? If Geoff or his doorstep decorator are reading this, please get in touch and put me out of my misery. Similarly, what's the story behind the inscription on the lyric sheet  accompanying this Partner album and why was the LP subsequently offloaded?

What happened that first night in Maastricht? Did they ratify the Maastricht treaty? Have mind-blowing sex (unlikely as that first night is described as merely "lovely")? Or perhaps what we have here is one of those unrequited love scenarios. Has Jos read too much into their night in the Netherlands and started to stalk Charlotte? Is it just me, or is there a hint of menace in song titles such as I'll Be Waiting For You and Look Over Your Shoulder? How about the lyrics to Your Smile:

"Now you sleep beside me and I pray please let it be everlasting"

And what about that rear sleeve?

Happy memories of Maastricht

If you are Charlotte, or you share a high security prison with Jos, drop me a line and let me know the real story. And, if you could please resist the urge to sue me for defamation you can have your LP back.

And finally...

Picture the scene: a Motorhead-obsessed teenager stands in the rain at the backstage door of some crumbling Odeon waiting for his heroes to leave the building after a gig that has probably caused band and crowd-alike permanent hearing damage. Tucked under his arm is a brand new copy of No Sleep 'Til Hammersmith which he has had to shield from flailing bullet belts and drunken bikers for the duration of the gig. After almost an hour of waiting, his patience is rewarded when Lemmy lurches through the exit doors into the streetlight-illuminated drizzle, a busty filly glued to his arm. The be-warted one grunts an incomprehensible greeting and signs the euphoric teen's LP not once, but twice, taking the time to locate his likeness among the plethora of photographs on the inner sleeve to leave his biro mark. The teenager, oblivious to the cold and damp soaking through his denim jacket, heads for home, walking on air.

So why was I able to pick up that exact same copy of Motorhead's 1981 classic at a junk shop in Archway just five years later? I would like to say a big "thank you" to the original owner for standing in the rain for me. Much appreciated. Give me 'head 'til I'm dead!

Joe Jackson Ruined My Life

I'm running out of room. The custom-built shelving erected to house my vinyl was supposed to be sufficient to accommodate decades' worth of new additions to the collection. I think subconsciously I saw those empty shelves as a challenge. They were taunting me: "Call that a record collection you wimp? Man-up and fill me with your twelve inchers!" So I did, and now that those shelves are groaning with the weight of my frequent deposits, I need to find other receptacles for my Long Players. My wife refuses even to consider my suggestion that we downsize the family. Giving up one of the kids for adoption would free up a whole room for vinyl storage in one fell stroke, but will she listen to reason?  Er, that would be a no! Neatly shelved vinyl can look imposing, impressive and, dare I say, aesthetically pleasing, but with piles of records having found their way onto the dining room furniture, it might be time for a more wife-friendly storage solution. I don't want to be one of those collectors who appears to have lost the plot. I refuse to be that guy who has to lift a mountain of LPs off the toilet seat every time he wants to answer the call of nature. I don't relish the thought of sleeping standing up, wedged between precariously balanced pillars of vinyl.

Cat taking up valuable space

To compound the problem, and at the risk of sounding scarily 'Nick Hornby's High Fidelity' about all this, my LPs are currently stored alphabetically by artist and I'm loathe to have for example, A to T in one room and U to Z elsewhere. There's just something not right about that. What would be acceptable would be to introduce a completely new filing system. If I gave every album marks out of ten and relegated the 3s and below to storage in the nether regions of the house, that might make sense. The problem with that is that I'd have to listen to every album at least once to determine its grade, and I doubt I'll live long enough to have time for such a project and my wife would probably kick me out long before I really got my teeth into it anyway. Also, the success of that particular system would depend on my remembering the rating that I'd given every LP. A filing system which virtually guarantees that I'll never find anything? Not ideal. The obvious solution is to split the collection up by genre. I've long considered this, but can't help but see pitfalls. I would love to have all my Progressive Rock LPs in one easily accessible section to drool over, but what happens when a band like Soft Machine goes and introduces Jazz into the mix, where the hell do you file them then? There's all these fantastic Progressive Jazz-Rock Fusion artists that blur musical boundaries, the bastards! Don't they have any consideration for the anally-retentive vinyl nerd? And Kansas, what about them? Sometimes they're Prog, other times they're more straight AOR. Am I supposed to split their catalogue up into different sections? Sacrilege! Can't these Progressive bands try a little harder to avoid any musical progression and just churn out a stream of easily classifiable product? Is that too much to ask?

One artist leaps out at me as single-handedly encapsulating the whole file-by-genre minefield, and that is Joe Jackson. He unleashed some supreme Powerpop on his Look Sharp! and I'm The Man albums, but went and clouded the issue with every subsequent release, most notably the Swing/Jazz of Jumpin' Jive. So where do you want me to file you then Joe, you genius eclectic bugger? Oh, and look, you've even dabbled in film soundtracks with Mike's Murder. I give up, carry on like this and you'll find yourself filed in the charity shop pile.

No, you're an eclectic pain in the arse

Maybe that's the answer: a spot of rationalisation. Weed out the under-performers to free up some space. Does anyone really need eleven REO Speedwagon albums?