RECORD COLLECTOR - SHEFFIELD (RETURN MATCH)

The down-side to living in a world of convenience that when the wheels fall off every minutes delay or unnecessary wait in line feels like a punch in the face.

My train home to see the folks was delayed by 90 minutes. Not only was it delayed by 90 minutes but it failed to get to it's destination being cancelled about thirty miles outside of my home-town.

It would have been a minor pain in the face if I was traveling alone, I'd have got lost in my ipod and read some ridiculous graphic novel. As it was I was traveling with family: Small child and wife, dead-body heavy suitcase and 'collapsible' stroller.

So what can you do? Well there's nobody to complain to, the staff (what there are left of them in 2011) know well enough to lock themselves in the guard car. That only really leaves one path of recourse.

There is something quite satisfying about punching the living shit out of a train. Yes my knuckles hurt and it was juvenile but that coupled with every swearword I knew and a couple I made up for the occasion seemed to do the trick. I waited until the carriage was empty after the impromptu alighting and steam was vented.

So what have I learned? Next time I need to get a train in the UK, it is more sensible to hijack a helicopter.

What does this have to do with records? Well I thought that I'd take time out to visit Sheffield's ever lovely 'Record Collector' shop in Broom Hill.

Was it worth it? Was a good time had by all? Did I come home sacks a bulging with all sorts of vinyl based wonders.

No.

Oh.

Record Collector has gone a bit shit and here's why:

It's not necessarily the inclusion of a handful of new vinyl (presumably to get them bumped up to 'Record Store Day' status, meaning access to loads of guaranteed to sell and be seen on ebay within days stock) but this does not help. The lines are now blurred, where is the NEW section?

It is that they haven't done a decent used record buy in what feels like a year. The walls are plastered with over-priced or over familiar stock. The racks? More of the same with the same few records that I take up to the counter on every visit in the hope that they are either somehow in better condition than last time I saw them or that my standards have slipped.

Despite the gripe I'm not bitter. It's still a shining beacon in an otherwise barren city. I got my hands dirty (literally) and bought a Father Yod album so I shouldn't moan too much, it's just that the shop has now well and truly fallen from my list of 'Record Shops You absolutely have to visit if you are in a 30 mile Radius', which is a shame as by now I can pretty much fit them all onto the back of a postage stamp.

ZOLA JESUS - STRIDULUM II

I am reviewing this because it's been on my work desk and staring at me for the best part of 5 months. Also because I am not entirely sure that the fawning and in-depth write up I want to give Deftones 'White Pony' would be appreciated by anybody apart from me (Just to say it's in my top 50 albums and if you don't own a copy get over that Nu-metal labeling and treat yourself).

I've had this in and out of the CD player (also on my desk) since around Christmas and it's really grown on me. To be honest I hadn't been sure what to expect. The personnel listing wasn't exactly inspiring: One person (Nika Rosa Danilova) with a keyboard. It could quite easily have fallen flat like a Jamie Lidell gig with a broken sequencer. But it doesn't. Given the lack of other instrumentation it's a surprisingly dense piece. It's brooding, dark, haunting, it's all of those other words that appeared in reviews of the record when it came out in the middle of last year.

The whole album is like an elongated study of This Mortal Coil's version of 'Song to a Siren', and if you ever saw that track used in the trailer for the remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre then those visuals add even more credence to that line of thinking. It comes from a very black and pained place, somewhere close to death.

Another thing that undoubtedly every review of this so far will have pointed out is how close her Nika's vocal range is to that of Siouxsie Sioux. At first her delivery was massively grating but like the music that accompanies it, in time you find yourself immersed.

Despite all of this and my repeat listening at work, I am trying to think of circumstances where I might choose this as a soundtrack and I am coming up short. You can't really have sex to it unless that sex involves ropes and potentially knives. I wouldn't want to drive to it, unless my driving culminated with a high-speed and slow motion chase resulting in my untimely and messy crash based death. It's not ironing music unless I am contemplating ironing my hand and or face. You get the picture - It's very emotional, borderline wallowing music or like I said, maybe something you play when you are having knife sex.

So given I don't intend for copious amounts of blood to feature in any love making in which I might partake I will leave this on my desk, safe in the knowledge that it's a suitable accompaniment to putting together elongated and over-styled Power Point presentations.

ACADEMY RECORDS - WILLIAMSBURG, NEW YORK

It was a sunglasses day. One of those days where the sun jumps out at you every time you turn a corner blinding you as it defies the time of year and makes you wonder 'coat or no coat?'. I opted for 'no coat' and regretted this decision right up until buying an old M65 field jacket from a used store. Anyway after nearly freezing to death and a couple of minutes of temporary sun based blindness I found her.

I've not been here for a few years and the last time was pretty brief due to the fact that my wife was in tow.

Despite what the carrier bag says the other branches of Academy Records have closed down and this one stands lone it's finger raised as a 'fuck you' to all of the downloaders, the CD buyers and the people who casually pass by the store front assuming it's a laundromat or something, oblivious to the potential for pure magic that lies within.

I say 'potential' because so much of the 'Academy' experience hangs on what's in the used racks. This is more unpredictable territory than usual because New York gets hit by vinyl hunters, record collectors and idiot 'beat minerz' more than any other city I can think of.

Sadly I was in Williamsburg with work so I could only afford a quick 'in and out' as it were but in the 20 minutes or so I stayed I got a good feel for the place. The racks were patchy, the dance music section was unnecessary and not particularly well sectioned, the 'just in' bins were stripped bare and stuffed with filler and the Rock A to Z section was predictable. 'So where's the magic?' I hear you cry Rice Krispies and milk spluttering from your mouth as you do so.

Well I'm glad you asked. The magic is on the walls, behind the counter and in the 'new' records section. The Indie/Alternative racks were brim full of dead impressive stuff. The walls had a couple of highlights, amongst them a Harry Partch ballet album from 1973 that I bought and the second Animal Collective album complete with poster, which I didn't.

The staff swayed between massively helpful and too kool for skool but then this is a record shop, you'd feel cheated if there wasn't at least a little bit of attitude. You need to get cold shouldered by the guy with the beard every now and again. (NB The guy with the beard was actually very helpful I am generalizing here)

So, no whilst Academy isn't a contender for the hallowed 'Possibly Best Record Shops in the World' list (who is nowadays?) it's not far off, it's way better than the one that used to be downtown on 17th and whatever and I'd work there tomorrow if I could.

JOHN BARRY RIP

Oh fucking hell.

First Peter Christopherson, then Trish Keenan and now John Barry. Jesus Christ.

What to say apart from 'thank you'. I'm sure the papers will concentrate on the boring stuff, the tiresome Bondy themes and the soundtrack to 'Dances With Wolves' and if it had been anybody else, yes they would be the details of a fair and glowing epitaph. As it is John Barry was responsible for some of the all time greatest musical pieces in the history of the galaxy: The music from 'The Persuaders', 'Midnight Cowboy', 'The Black Hole'. Hugely influential, beautifully listenable and one of the people instrumental in opening my ears and dragging me away from the often all too predictable world of punk rock.

Heart attack at 77. Shit.

As slight as it may be there is an upside: At least John wont have the hideous misfortune of having his death trumped by that of Norfolkian man-mountain Bernard 'Turkey-ham' Matthews.

MY NEWBORN BABY Vs FAUST IV

Less than a year ago I was leaning out my apartment window despite of the snow drinking red wine and playing Faust IV really, really loud. Did I honestly think than only a few months later my world would have changed so much? That's a negatory.

Let me start by dispelling a few myths about the birth process. Yes, I know this 'blog' is about vinyl records and that shiny new Dutch invention, the saviour of the music industry the CD but if you ever go there or already have the inside track this might be worth your time.

When a baby comes out it is purple, it has a point head (just like Jefferson Airplane said) and it's covered in goo. It looks at you silent and exhausted with black eyes with an expression that can only say 'what the fuck?'. This is a far cry from any Hollywood or soap based pregnancy, no smiling pink and healthy little man, instead you are faced with something that could well be an extra from a bad Sci-fi horror.

The bonding, the serotonin rush of unadulterated chemical love.... Again, not something that necessarily happens straight out the gate. In total honesty my first night as a parent was spent wondering why my wife was holding a plastic stunt baby and me trying to work out if there was any way to reverse the whole process.

Day 2 on the other hand, when I held him. Not something I can describe beyond saying I have never felt so alive or unconditionally in love. I don't know his name, (for now we call him MR X like the Ultravox song) but I do know that I am a proud father and more than that a guardian, the Secret Service agent willing to take a bullet for his very own little Richard Nixon.

Anyway, back to that night in German, my leaning out of he window trying to annoy the overly noisy club goers below by playing Faust IV...

A few people including Julian Cope formerly of turgid and foppish New Romantic's 'The Teardrop Explodes' have this in their 'Top Hot Kraut' lists, one guy in particular, a german music journalist from way back, I forget his name (tell stories much?) has this as his all time favorite album ever. Would love to know why? For me it sways between half decent but 'done better' to utterly unlistenable. In fact my soul reason for choosing it was to aggravate the lederhosen wearing idiots below: A kind of declaration of sonic warfare along the lines of the US military attempting to oust that Southern dictator by playing Twisted Sister really loud.

It's just not very good. It's obvious, outdated and done better.

'Would you care to expand on that?'

Not really I'm off to see if I can find a Ramones baby grow instead.

CELESTE BOURSIER-MOUGENOT AT THE BARBICAN, LONDON

So this is the thing I went to a couple of weeks ago at the Barbican. No idea who the guy with the girls name is but this was really well worth a look, even if we did have to wait in line for over an hour.

The basic idea is that he gets birds to unwittingly play human instruments by landing, shitting and or building nests on them. The effect as you can see was surprisingly coherant.

BLUE CHEER - VINCEBUS ERUPTUM

So exactly what the difference between 'the birth of heavy metal' and a dull and elongated electric blues jam is I do not know. 'Vincebus Eruptum' is cited by some as the starting point of all things metal, a pre-cursor to Sabbath a slow distorion-laden exercise forming the 'A for apple' at the start of the heavy metal alphabet. So why does it sound so much like 'boogie woogie'?