Saturday, November 28, 2009


A lady with three of her front teeth missing just tried to sell me some CDs.

Shortly afterwards another customer appears, a polite browser, no discerning features. I pretend I am German and nod as he talks. Eventually he leaves and I am alone with Sergio Mendes and his Brasil '77. Good album this. A million light years away from the mid to late 60's fodder more readily associated with lift muzak. This is something of a tribal/world/spooky free jazz sound clash. Well, less of a clash, more of a blend, it's probably a lot like coffee or something.

Yes, safe to say, this record will be coming home with me, even if I did make it sound like something that might grace the inside of Starbucks, a soundtrack to a moca-choca-chino or some similarly twattish coffee based idiot drink.

'Oh I just can't start my day without a coffee'

That's cos your a fucking idiot. Not really, but it is because coffee is a drug, like heroin is a drug and you are, despite the mainstream acceptance of coffee, addicted. I had a lecturer at college who couldn't even face the day before cup number 6. Even then he was a moody fucker prone to snapping for no reason.
And yet again I am alone. I am beginning to wonder if this is normal, if I and another select few are the only people keeping this shop, no, the entire record shop world of Nuremberg alive. I spoke to the owner on the phone explaining it was quiet and he assured me this was normal for the end of the month. I hope he is as understanding if the takings stay at their current nothing.

Back to the record, it is moody, broody, Brasilian and brilliant. The sleeve however is shit, looks like I did it aged 12, but I will pretend it looks sufficiently like a revolutionary film poster to get past it, to move on to the music, that is or so people keep telling me the important part. My obsession is I suppose akin to somebody who reviews films but gets upset by shoddy DVD artwork.

I think about how else I might be spending my day. Given my location there really is very little else to do, I could I suppose hang out with friends, have a coffee, make art, exercise or something similar, in fact reading that back it goes without saying that I should. Luckily today I have a real excuse for being the black sheep... I am working, kind of.

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