WALTER RIZZATI - BRONX WARRIORS O.S.T (1982)

We are in the middle of a heatwave and there are a million things I should be doing that don't involve being in a loft room listening to this, even if it is playing on a really nice stereo - It's like 36 outside or something, I can hardly breathe and I am stuck to my pants. I am dealing with this by pretending to be in SAS extreme weather training.

Released as part of DeathWaltzRecordings big and seemingly failed Record Store Day putsch I initially steered well clear of this due to the weak packaging: A generic factory sleeve isn't always a bad thing but when you have a logo that's as poor as DeathWaltz' you don't really want it emblazoned across the front of anything let alone an album sleeve. Anyway, eventually courtesy of a trip to a record store in Glasgow I did pick this up. Much like the film it's a mixed bag. It plays at 45 in a struggle to fill an entire album's play length. It's duration isn't the only clue to the fact that it was never supposed to be analysed separately from it's role as incidental music to the film - It's full of filler, some of it so utterly dreadful it should never have seen the light of day. 

That's the downside out of the way - Apart from the poster which is horrible given the visuals you have to choose from and use here. The big plus is the title theme and 'Bronx Suspense', yes it's wanky jazz fusion but it's good wanky jazz fusion. 'Bronx Traffic' on side 2 is also a hit and if you like your Goblin then it's well worth giving a go for that alone.

For me the greatest thing about this film aside of the bikes, exploding mannequins and choice of fire arms is the scene with the drummer (above). It comes during a meet under the Brooklyn bridge, is literally a couple of minutes long and focuses entirely on the guy smashing out some dirty early 80's New York breaks for no reason what so ever, it's not central or even incidental to the plot. So why is it there? Rumor has it that the guy was using the waste ground as a practice space, they saw him and thought 'fuck it' let's put the kid in the picture because it's cool... And more importantly it adds precious minutes to our running time.

Here he is again from another angle. Guy's a legend and not just because he's playing on disused cinema seats. That all said, he's in the film, not on the soundtrack so back to that. Is it' any good? It's alright. Do I need it? No. Do you need it? Honestly ask yourself do you need 85% of DeathWaltz' output? The real answer is no, of course you don't. If you are one of those new wave of record collectors who chases coloured vinyl(s) or even worse fucking 'wax' then good for you, that's great, really it's so important to have a worth while hobby. But if you are a vinyl speculator, one of these people sucking up multiples the second a record hits you will already be learning an expensive lesson - A reissue is as a reissue does... It get's reissued... In a different coloured 'wax' (fuck off) next month. In the case of Bronx Warriors, this is as far as I am aware the first time it has ever seen the light of day (for a reason) and DW promise it's release is a one time thing. Quite possibly, but you can be sure that Mondo, One Way Static etc will jump on it for US rights the second it looks like selling through (This has yet to happen and if you want a copy they are as of writing marked down on DW's website).

So, to conclude, not bad but utterly un-essential (That's the opposite of Boomkat's favourite word of the month for December 2013). More to follow on DeathWaltz, mainly because at a quick glance I own way more records from that label than I thought I did and I'd like to try get to grips with how and why I got sucked in to the great  'Horror' soundtrack revival of 2012. 

Right, now to let my eyesight to adjust to British summertime.

TOKYO FUCK EXPLOSION - A NON GUIDE TO RECORD SHOPPING IN JAPAN'S FAIR CAPITAL

By rites this should be a detailed and all encompassing appraisal of Tokyo's many and varied record shops, it's not. I have forgotten the finer points and the trip was 'whirlwind' to the point of me not even being sure it actually happened. 

One of the very last things I did whilst in gainful employment was insist that my team embark on a trip to Japan. It is after-all a global consumer capital and home to some of the most intriguing and inspiring retail experiences on the planet (my job involved trainers and marketing and markets yada yada). So on getting a 2.5 day foray during a stop-off to Hi Chi Mihn signed off I made sure I had the names of at least one or two record shops in my phone. This trip came at a time when my vinyl consumption was down to a manageable fifty quid every couple of months on Boomkat or Normans Records (both stirling sites), so I hadn't expected to go particularly crazy.

I did. On one fateful day in mid May 2014 I managed to spunk 700 quid between five shops in about four hours. Had I had the luggage room the damage would and should have been a lot more considerable. (See guy above about to jizz over a record).

My main recollections are shortness of breath, palpitations, continuously asking myself it this was actually happening or if it was just in my head. It's weird but even at a time where I had my little problem in check I found myself nose deep and utterly aroused. The intoxicating smell of ancient card battling protective plastic alone was enough to say fuck every dry day and all of the money I've saved not dicking about like a complete fucking loser in record shops.

It had been so long since I'd walked into an even half decent record shop that I'd forgotten that buzz, that thrill - Just how pant-shittingly exciting it can be to be faced with so many of your round, black  and plastic dreams coming true at once. The only way I can attempt to describe the feeling is as pure specialist retail pleasure. It bordered on sexual, it nearly spilled over firmly into sexual and that's not something I've felt since Copacapbana records opened in Nuremberg: I still recall the cold and sobering chill of my face on it's window as I made out the sleeves through the half-light the night before it opened.  

If you are interested in the specifics or any names to go with the pictures there are a few blogs out there that do the experience a justice complete with addresses. Sadly the best I can do is tell you that it was for me at forty a game changer. I had always known Japan would be special - they've spent the past four decades robbing the west of it's vinyl. But to see it first hand. Crikey fuck.

On a practical note Japanese grading appears to be the most consistent and accurate I have come across.

On an impractical note the flimsy plastic/polythene sleeves with the sticky edges that they house records in are utter shit.

I had hoped that this trip would act as an exercise in 'binge and puke', idea being I made myself sick to death of record shopping, kind of like the kid caught smoking by his dad who was made to smoke a pack of 20 straight in an attempt to forever put him off smoking - Flawed fucking logic there in both cases. I do recall that the lady above is right to walk past this particular shop. Miserable staff, pricier than most and way too much bollocks to sort through. But in saying that had this one shop been my local i'd be happy as pancakes with a side of crispy bacon.

Yeah, this was the entrance to that shop. Not all that despite the Richard Hell poster.

See what I mean about wheat Vs chaff? Anyway, this is a bad example. I went to one called Disk Union, had about seven different stores, all for specific types of music. They was fucking awesome. The last time I was in a situation where I was having to put stuff back because there was too much affordable stuff that I wanted was a record fair in Cheltenham in 1996 - Back then it was because I was a student and buying a VG copy of Shirley Collins' 'The Power of The True Love Knot' for 50p would have been a considered purchase. This time around it was because my suitcase was only so big and my back was fucked from carrying kids. Anyway, I always knew it would be but now it's official Japan is record shop heaven and everything I thought I had seen and knew has now been reclassified... With a couple of honourable mentions including Night Owl Record Fair Portland OR and Pied Piper Records Northampton circa 1998.

So there it is, a totally useless guide to record shopping in Tokyo. The legend of Big-foot is real.

FIRST AID KIT - THE LIONS ROAR

It seems like the very last thing I did over a year ago was draft this review. By 'draft' I mean upload an album shot, which if you are as compu-savvy as me, is no mean feat. Why did I do that? What was it about this album that had me so excited in April 2013? Is it that I have a massive 'thing' for the two right side of kooky, fine fly-away hair throwbacks that make up First Aid Kit? There is that. I have a friend who very unkindly said they looked like they had Downs, fuck that guy, he's an idiot. Anyway, that's not the reason. I'm here for the music, always have been (apart from in any instance involving the un-bridalled gorm of a young Roger Waters - See 'Piper at the Gates of Dawn' in which case the sleeve alone is enough to permanently sour the listener to any or all of Pink Floyd's output).

Anyway. First Aid Kit. 'The Lion's Roar' is a great album. It's chock full of musical and actual references to the golden age of 70s (or at the time 'New' Country) and sits nicely next to Lee Hazlewood's Swedish era output in my racks... They aren't racks, I'm not a fucking DeeJay, they are value friendly Expedit shelving from Ikea. I hate myself for owning Ikea product but in this instance they were free and do do the job... Wait, both Ikea and First Aid Kit are Swedish. If I was better at this I could turn that into a very clever review referencing cheap plywood flat-pack furniture, horse meat balls and useless sales staff but I could only ever see that kind of likening as unkind and for all that Radio 2 were all over this, meaning that it's about as alternative as my dad's choice in slacks. 'The Lion's Roar' is a great album.

Why? Dream-like vocal harmonies, thoughtful lyrics, wistful and lush arrangements that never get to the point of being over-baring. It's 'country folk' leanings are very easy to listen to and it works excellently as a whole. The sleeve sets the scene perfectly with it's sun burnt upper corner and washed out summer meadow photo call. The title track is an obvious stand-out as is 'Emmylou' but for me the one single pinnacle is very specifically the final phrase in the chorus of 'In The Hearts of Men' in which one of the two sister? sings the line 'and you do it all with a goddamn smile' turning the final word of that line into a sigh or whisper. Tiniest thing, most completely unforgettable nuance.

Winner. On a scale of 1 to 10 this album would not be a monkey pissing in it's own mouth.

FUCKING HELL! AND JAKE BUGG

I remembered I had (or had had) a blog a few nights ago. I wondered to myself why I didn't write in it anymore and then decided regardless of the reasons: Children (multiple now), job searches (made redundant), mental imbalance (borderline depressed) that I should fire up this fucker and get back into having terribly opinionated yet at the same time aft utterly uneducated opinions on music. It's my niche, it's what I do. In the past this blog has been key in keeping the wolf from the proverbial door so much like Michael Gira suddenly going 'ooooh shit! Swans!' (in a 'I've left the iron' on style) I am reactivating 32RPM hence forth. More on what you've been missing out on in the guise of 'reviews' (see thinly veiled self help sessions) as we move forward...

So what's been going on in the year and something since I deemed it expedient to tap shit out on a grubby silver porn-tired Mac?

This guy.

Ever wonder what Bob Dylan would sound like if he had been born in 1998 and came from Nottingham?

No me neither.

If you own this you are either a relative or a fucking stool sample. If you are a relative it's not too late to buy him a copy of 'Beneath The Remains' by Sepultura and fix the course of history.

In my humble opinion, on a scale of 1 to 10 this is a monkey pissing in it's own mouth.

PLANET X RECORDS OF CHESTERFIELD

Before I discovered that Sheffield was a mere ten minutes away on the train Chesterfield was a lonely place. A small town famed for little more than being the home of Robinson's Nappies, Trebor Sweets and a terrible football team with a violently passionate z-list firm called the CBS. The sofas and cigarettes didn't even come from there they just shared the same name as this home of the church with the bent spire.

In the 80s it was even smaller than it is now, an easy place to get beaten up by people who no doubt still live there. The wrong hair was enough to get you a punch in the face* and as somebody with a passing interest in something other than the Top 40 there weren't too many places to frequent: There was a dive of a pub called The Anchor with a piss poor music policy that did little more than pay lip service to it's clientele by including Meat Loaf and the Stranglers on it's juke box and there was Planet X records.

There it is to the far left of the above picture, the place where I spent some of the happiest days of my youth. This was in fact the second premises for Planet X. The first was around the corner from my old primary school, another institution that has not faired well in the face of time. Planet X was shaped like a slice of pie or cheese if you will meaning the further into the shop you got the smaller it became. To my knowledge nobody was ever became wedged in the store but the architecture meant that this was a real possibility.

My mum used to work around the corner for the local newspaper (also gone) so I would while away much of the time between school and her leaving work in the store. I'd do the same again on Saturdays doing a loop between there, Hudsons, Our Price, the market and whichever other short lived vinyl based enterprise was up and running at the time (Record Box was a great store).

A counter to the left, a CalorGas heater, a singles rack and then new records straight ahead with t-shrits to the right and used records on the wall under the window. I dream about this shop, or versions of this shop, not necessarily because it had the worlds greatest inventory but because it was such a big part of my growing up. This was the place I bought one of my very first albums, Kiss 'Dynasty'. Didds the owner was a very friendly chap and thanks to his endless patience and welcoming smile the contents of this store moulded my formative listening habits.

Without this place my teenage years would have been total and utter misery... And I would probably have got laid a lot sooner.

Highlights of a list of things I bought from Planet X:

1. Metallica 'Whiplash' 12"
2. 2 Official KLF T-Shirts
3. Cassette Single of The Smiths 'Ask' (Never actually bought it but had it put aside for a week)
4. Dark Angel - Darkness Descends
5. Death Angel - The Ultra Violence
6. Death Angel - Frolic Through The Park
7. S.O.D - Speak English or Die
8. Stupids - Jesus Meets The Stupids

*I believe they call it 'Goth Bashing' nowadays, a lazy catch all term: All subcultures appear to have morphed into either 'Emo' or 'Goth'. Quite what Rites of Spring or Bauhaus have to do with any of these people is less than obvious.

BLACK EAGLE CHILD/DONATO EPIRO - SPLIT LP

If I lived in the woods, in a cabin and ate beans all day this is what i would like to listen to. I bought this as part of my start of the year splurge. New Years eve (early eve) was spent at a friends house, a friend who likes records, a friend who unlike me has freely acknowledged that great musical moments continue to happen in this the year of our lord 2013. Apart from the neatly shelved usual suspects: A chunk of jazz and US Indie he had two snaking piles of poly-sleeve covered intrigue that crawled for some distance across the floor. As I thumbed trough I was surprised, not by the fact that I didn't know 90% of it but rather because it all appeared to be from that year (2012). I'm not sure when he got time to listen to all of this or if indeed he did but the event made me realise that there was a very good chance that I had missed some very interesting music.

There and then I decided to make amends and resolved to up my mother fucking game for 2013. True to my word I purchased approximately 50 LPs in the first two months of 2013, all with beautiful sleeves, all from the last couple of years and all on really wanky beard stroking labels like Blackest Ever Black. Honestly I've listened to maybe three of them, mainly because I am spending every waking non working hour attempting to get the house to some kind of normal. This means it's a case of painting avec iPod rather than exploring any new interesting looking vinyl based acquisitions.

One of the few that I have taken time to sit through is the above. Black Eagle Child came to my attention courtesy of the lovely Under The Spire label, he's a one man band (not the cymbals strapped to the knees and kazoo in mouth kind) with a knack for producing intricate and beautiful guitar based music. He has a name that reminds me of Eagle Eye Cherry which is a shame as catchy as 'Save Tonight' was it's not exactly relevant to the field ploughed by Mr Child.

So what exactly is said field like if it's not chock full of the radio pop hit(s) synonymous with Don Cherry's youngest? Ry Cooder comes to mind, as does the stripped down guitar work of Mazzy Star's David Roback. It's nice, there's a lot of space, it feels breezy and sinister at the same time. It's good out doors music.

And what of Donato Epiro's side? Who knows, my understanding is that it's in a similar vein but it could well be 2014 before I get the time to find out.

I didn't want this to turn into an essay on the futility of hoarding vinyl but the above hardly seems like a sensible way of consuming music. I am not sure whether I am fuelled by one-upmanship, a primal need to hunt and gather or if it's to do with penis size. My actions could well be influenced by the clever marketing tactics of the likes of Boomkat who have (and all credit to them here) successfully fetishised vinyl to an entirely new level with anal linear notes, sound bites and sleeves that comfortably fall into the 'design porn' category. Add to that the fiendishly limited pressings of much of this fayre and you have a perfect storm: Circumstances that have you buying an album because a member of Barn Owl played on it or because the sleeve reminds you of the successfully sinister fluxus heyday of some right-wing freak folk collective.

Predictably I digress. This is a good album and if even half of that 'inbox' pile that I now have to go through is of this calibre then perhaps my financially damaging new years resolution was not such a bad thing after all.

PIXIES - BOSSANOVA

There is something so predictable about the inclusion of a Pixies album in a blog about records and record shopping that i for some reason feel like a dirty pervert for typing these words. They are the archetypal 'indie' band one of the few international artistes associated with said genre that you might name before Nirvana. There is something so trite about their image, something so dull and sub-art school wank about their album sleeves that they are almost a Chris Morris Fur Q 'UZI Lover' type parody. They have this dry toast persona that they used to market as 'achingly hip' that falls flat on it's face and they are ugly, very, very ugly (Ms Deal being a notable exception even in her latter days).

The guy with the hairy back, the predictable videos, the total and utter pointlessness of their stance and guise aside I hate to say it but they were very listenable. Bossanova comes from the absolute nadir of the bands success, my understanding is that it is almost universally overlooked in favour of earlier works but this is the album that I put on at random to accompany myself home on a sweaty tube last night. 

Given the endless winter the stench and stickiness of the very literal steel tube that trundles me too and from work was almost welcomed. The stale odour of my fellow commuters a short holiday from the dull grey and black Nordic Metal style winter that has outstayed it's welcome month on month. I had remembered my iPod for the first time in a while so decided to take the opportunity to stuff my ears with rubber and drown out the station announcements in favour of something that sounded less like a quirkyTrunk Records release.

I'd like to say that I was transported back to my heady student days, beer sticky floors and sex but instead I was reminded of what god awful taste in music I had when this came out. Yes I borrowed a cassette copy of Doolittle from my local library copying it onto an Agfa in an attempt to impress a very short lived girlfriend, her mum hated me, or more accurately the thought of me upstairs in her house with her daughter - If reading this she would be relieved to know that nothing much beyond a ruffling of hair and amateur fumble on my part ever took place. The Doolittle cassette aside I was still very much cock-deep in that horrible world of 'funk metal'. In my teen mind bands like Mordred and Primus were the pinnacle of mans musical achievement. I was a musical idiot.

It probably took another five years or so for me to get around to this proper and when I did, I liked it, it was good.

On the tube yesterday the thing that really got me was the amount of songs on here, real songs, no filler, no vacuous WIRE magazine bullshit, but real, honest to God songs and these songs are good, great in places. Fucking foot-tappers some of them. Last night Bossanova did what any good record still has the power to do. Outside my front door I pulled the headphone buds from deep in my ears, examined them, flicked off the flecks of offending yellow and looked up at an alien clear blue sky conscious of my sticky arse. I inhaled deeply and thought to myself 'I should start an indie band.'

Regardless of the fact that that's absolutely the worst idea in the world the thought stayed with me for a while as I considered using a roll-on anti-persperant on my backside for the following days commute.

HMV GOES INTO ADMINISTRATION

And a Happy New Year to you all.

If you have a.) Been following the plight of this once behemoth retailer since 2009 and looked on in horror as it's share prices nosedived to 0.01p or simply b.) Visited any high street in any medium sized town over the past three years the news that HMV is flat out fucked will come as absolutely no surprise.

Like Zavvi (Nee: Virgin) and Our Price before them It's further proof that the victims of file sharing and discounted on-line retailers come both large and small and on one hand it's a real shame:

I have very fond memories of both Sheffield city centre HMVs and a hundred others dotted up and down the country from Hull to Gatwick Airport.

There was the time that somebody set the store near the big Boots on fire back in 1992. This resulted in a large portion of the stock being deposited in a skip behind the shop. One enterprising student friend filled his car and made a mint from smokey smelling tapes and CDs for weeks after that, this incident is the actually the reason for my renewed interest in Reggae as well as a life long obsession with Hip Hop luminaries NWA.

The HMV round the corner from Coles used to be our meeting point in Sheffield. The idea being that if any of my sleeveless Megadeth t-shirt wearing mates were late you could wile away the hours flicking through racks of tapes, records and Megadeth t-shirts... complete with original sleeves.

A HMV on your high street used to be the second sign of civilization, a stamp that said 'this is a proper town', (The first sign was a Woolworths, for what was anywhere without a wall of the Top 40 and a solid selection of pick n' mix?) It also meant that there were other record shops, record shops that could moan about HMV and compete with it's pricing.

So I am saddened, but only in the same way that I might be moved by the passing of an elderly neighbour with chronic arthritis because HMV are after all at least partially to blame for the demise of the physical music industry.

£14.99 for a CD anyone? £10.49 for a copy of the Ozzy Ozbourne Randy Rhodes Tribute cassette? ... It's 'Double Play'. (whatever the living shit that means).

If the record companies and retailers hadn't been quite as ambitions/greedy as they were the public might not have taken the very first opportunity to fuck them over by means of the free download or indeed the cheaper CD posted by way of the Channel Islands to save on taxes. As it is you can almost view the mass actions of the man on the street as justifiable, a blow against the other 'man'.

And besides, who is this really going to hurt? Yes a swathe of record shop employees are suddenly going to be eyeing the situations vacant and will need to consider a retraining but it also means an end to the instore performance, and one less podium for the likes of Rihanna and that ass clown Jason Zed to whore their mass produced bile so it's plusses and minuses.

You could see it like that but at the same time today's news means that the vast majority of town's and cities in the UK are now going to be entirely without the means to buy physical music in person and the army of phone shops that will no doubt take up the empty retail space could well help provide the final nail in the high streets coffin.

...Still there's always Boomkat.com and you can shop there from your smart phone.

RARE AND RACY OF SHEFFIELD

There's just about time to get this in before it all ends. If the Mayan's are right the last record shop really will shut for good at some point on Friday making all of this and oh so much more kind of without point. But then if the Mayan's were so good why did they dress like the bad guys out of Stargate the movie? ...Exactly. Shit movie, shit calendar.

So, 'Rare and Racy'. This place has taught me a couple of things. Firstly that I have gone for thirty eight years spelling 'Racy' incorrectly - It appears that there is no 'e' in the word. Secondly, books and records can co-exist, in perfect harmony just like Paul McCartney (of Nirvana) and Stevie Wonder.

So many stores get this completely wrong and we are faced with something akin to a jumble sale or charity shop. The cross-cultural lair of some jack of all trades that nails neither, this is not the case with 'Rare and Racy', the music represented is good, the books are great. Granted the music based stock isn't what it used to be, there was a time when the vinyl section here was more exciting and diverse than anywhere else in Sheffield. Despite this it still has the feel of a very special place, somewhere I could happily kill half an hour or so.

'Rare and Racy' used to be the end of my unofficial (partial) Sheffield 'Record Shop Crawl', assuming that you are too tired to make the walk past the Octagon to 'Record Collector' on/in Broomhill. I always was. That kind of Scott like trekking needed special preparation and a day all too itself.

Before hand I would have bounced up the hill from 'Kenny's Records' on the Wicker, up to Castle Market to the Goth Shop on the first floor balcony, then onto 'Their Price', then that one up the alley way that might have been 'Roulette' then to 'Fopp', then 'Jacks' and finally 'Rare and Racy'. And that list only takes in about 50% of the shops at the time.

Now... Well now there's 'Rare and Racy' and given that the Vinyl Holocaust of the past decade has not been able to claim them maybe the Mayan Sun God will leave the cosmic battlefield head down and defeated as well.

Record wise the stock has a Jazz lilt but still caters for more experimental musical tastes. I bought an early Melt Banana CD in here at a time where the only other place in the UK to get them was London or Slap-a-Ham records. Yes it comes across as strafed, but from time to time there is enough good stuff here to keep you coming back and on the trips when there isn't it doesn't feel like a wasted journey but more a pleasant diversion.

So here's to Sheffield city centre's last bastion of civility, cultural intrigue and the occasional record, may you last forever... Which if you are Mayan is approximately 36 hours, and if you are Mayan you have built a religion around the wrong Kurt Russell film, next time try Escape From New York.

AND THEN SHE WAS GONE (HUDSONS RECORDS R.I.P)

I got the call one Saturday morning a couple of weeks back. It was my sister. Hudson's records was closing down. I stayed pretty deadpan, pretty unemotional, in my defense I hadn't had a lot of sleep and there was still a half empty glass of warm white wine by the side of my bed. my reply was along the lines of 'well it was always going to happen', defeat acknowledged, fate accepted.

It was a short phone call, she said she was going into town (Chesterfield) and asked if I wanted anything from there. I asked her to enquire about the fixtures and fittings, especially the old blank cassette showcase or the counter, I didn't hear back.

It didn't really hit me until I was looking for images to accompany this and now, looking at the picture above I feel like I missed the funeral of a friend.

I touched on the magic of this place last year or the year before when I 'reviewed' Hudsons Record and Tape Centre. Up to the age of about eighteen I spent so much of my life in that shop it is untrue. It was impossible to pass without going in, even if it had only been hours since my last visit. The shop was instrumental, for better or worse for shaping me into who I am today, for pre-defining my priorities as I stumble through this life. It's the reason I am typing these words, it's why I still reach for my camera/phone/camera-phone every time I see a record shop no matter where I am or what the occasion. I have been on dates to that shop. Just looking at the font butted at each end by two treble clefs makes me feel like Scott Bakula in Quantum Leap.

I will refrain from lamenting beyond this as this one really is too personal, what I will do is list my top 5 memories of Hudson's Record & Tape Centre, there are 6 of them:

In no particular order:

6.) Buying Superchunk's 'Seed Toss' album from there very early one morning after staying out all night, possibly at a girls house.

5.) Discovering the original now withdrawn sleeve to The Scorpions 'Virgin Killers'. I also obsessed about the rear sleeve and gatefold of 'Tokyo Tapes' by the same band for a long time around this period and considered a foray into flare wearing off the back of this - Something I did not dare try until 1994.

4.) Christmas 1985, thinking about but not actually buying the picture disc to Red Box 'Lean On Me'.

3.) Going halves on a cassette copy of Suicidal Tendencies 'How Will I Laugh Tomorrow...' with a friend, the idea being that one of us would keep the original cassette and have a photo copied sleeve whilst the other would get the original sleeve with a copied cassette. This technique was employed less successfully for a copy of the Bullet Boys album purchased from Our Price.

2.) Being picked on by another customer for wearing a black and white skull scarf as a belt. In retrospect although this is a motif that has made millions for the Alexander McQueen fashion house my aggressor was right to call this out, it was not a good look. It was on the same visit to the store that I decided against buying Guns n' Roses 'Live Like a Suicide' due to the fact that it only had four tracks on it.

1.) Buying the 12" of 'Girls on Film' by Duran Duran from there in 1984, not my first record but certainly my most significant purchase, not least because it led to an obsession with the band that continues to this day and also because it led to me crying like a girl when Simon Le Bon's yacht capsized a year later. 

So there it is, or there it was. Gone just like that. Wow, isn't life a fragile and precious thing...

ROUNDER RECORDS RIP

Read all about it here:

http://www.rounderbrighton.co.uk/

I'd like to say it was a shock but despite this being a great place to shop it was always going to happen. Who to blame? Honestly? Nobody. It's evolution... Or devolution as it were. You can point the fingers at all sorts of people or events but the reality is that the disposable income of the youth of today goes on things other than cassettes, CDs and records. On the whole that 12-24 age group don't invest in Hi-fi equipment either.

Their money is spent on phones and computer games and when they do listen to music it's likely to be illegally downloaded and played through the single speaker of a Blackberry on a crowded bus. It's just the way it is: There is no inherent value to the racks of CDs you might possess, vinyl albums are now sold at Urban Outfitters so you can colour match the sleeves with your new deep v-neck t-shirt.

My question is, what happens to the staff? Where do they end up? There isn't even the option of 'selling out' and working for 'the man' in the shape of HMV. They are closing door after door in constantly reviewed streamlining programs, continually switching direction in an attempt to appease share-holders: Is it computer games today or are you the 'real home' of vinyl?

So where do they all go?

Maybe there's a secret army of ex-record store employees out there arming itself with sonic weapons, waiting and watching ready to take back the high street by force...

As much as a war of music being waged in a post apocalyptic landscape by way of turntables and speakers sounds like a lot of fun (and a lot like the video to Pat Benetar's 'Love is a Battlefield') the reality would be that nobody was listening. In 2012 music is shitter than ever: a potato-headed fuck-tard and his back-stabbing wife, the talentless ex-girlfriend of some fist-happy rapper, x-factor leftovers  and elevated buskers in uniforms stolen from that Bruce Dern sci-fi film.

The consumer doesn't need any more than a stolen four minute clip to understand what music has become, unless it's the same song being played thirteen times in a row at some gig in Paris by way of some embarrassing misunderstanding of the culture of the encore in which it takes close to two hours.

Truthfully records and record shops would be wasted on them. Let them find something else to do with their Saturdays.

Goodbye Rounder and thanks for the Spacemen 3 records.

BEAUTIFUL DAYS MUSIC - LYNMOUTH

I was hungover when I went to Lynmouth. A nights heavy gin and tonic drinking in a Weston Super-Mare gay bar accompanied by the surprisingly robust warblings of a trans-gender crooner were midway through taking their toll. The short bed of the cramped DSS stamped manual workers lodgings that had provided a roof for the night hadn't really helped my cause either - The radiator came on midway through the morning and burnt my toes.

I needed a bright-side and I found one in the shape of 'Beautiful Days Music (Vinyl, CDs, Games)'. This has to be in my top ten of least expected record shops. Lymnouth is a quaint throwback of a sea-side resort, equal measure fishing jumpers and pre-war un-bombed wonderment, the odd second hand record in the shape of Marie Curie or the Spastics, yes, I could see that but an entire shop, housed in a white washed cottage - That I was not expecting. Think of the first time you went to Cob Records and you are on the right track.

So what of the stock? The pirates bounty awaiting me inside? Yeah, it was alright, nothing special. I do remember an unusually large Pink Floyd section. I could have spent some money if the urge took me but I was finding it hard to focus and was happy to settle for a fish and chip lunch accompanied by a couple of pints of best and swiftly followed by ice-cream of the hand made variety. Conversation centered around the night before and about how faced with a man convincingly dressed as a woman, with gin and tonic involved, you probably would and quite happily so.

SNU PEAS RECORD CENTRE - BOSCOMBE, BOURNEMOUTH

The last time I was here (apart from in a number of dreams since) I was accompanied by my ex-girlfriend and sister - Needless to say it was not the longest foray into the world of well thumbed and cigarette smelling vinyl. This time round I had substantially longer to pick my racks, flick from front to back and pull-out (ever so slightly) anything that looked remotely of interest.

Having frisked the whole of 'Rock and Pop A-Z' I was disappointed to find that only three records were standing proud of the racks, winking at me at a jaunty angle a bit like those green plastic WWII soldiers I used to play with as a child - The GIs always wore their helmets without fastening the chin straps meaning they sat at an angle in contrast to the twat-helmeted British troops who always, and I do mean always had them fastened.

So what were they? I don't remember. There might have been a Savoy Brown album (isn't there always?) and I'm pretty sure I pulled a copy of Let It Be out for further inspection. Anyway, my point is this. Look at the above picture. Tell me it doesn't look amazing, like there has to be something in there? It's a strangely named Record 'Centre' in the middle of a half-arsed seaside town, how can there not be something in there? It's surrounded by Polish supermarkets and discount drinking establishments (Imagine a Yate's Wine Lodge without the fittings), surely there has to be something to get you excited...

Now look again. Prime wall space is taken up by cassettes, no plastic covers, over generalized rack dividers. If you are a Now That's What I Call Music album completist they yes, you might just go home happy. If you have an idiosyncrasy that means every time you see a copy of Terrence Trent D'Arby's 'Introducing the Hardline According To...' you have to buy it regardless of format again, my hopes for you are high. Otherwise, this shop looks awesome and the government should slap a listed building heritage style protection order on it but are you going to come away feeling like one of those champions that the guy out of Queen used to sing about? 

Probably not.

RED ROSE RECORDS - BOSCOMBE, BOURNEMOUTH

 So what makes Boscombe's very own Red Rose Records worth a visit? Well if you are a fan of Victorian architecture in the shape of scandalously undersubscribed ornate shopping arcades you could argue the stores facia alone is worth the trip (Not dissimilar to a certain Leeds record shop of yesteryear). You could also pop along to cruise the racks, see what your fingers can find: Theres was a nice copy of Ash Ra featuring Rosi on the wall and a reasonably priced UA pressing of Can's 'Monster Movies' if you are interested in that kind of thing...

The other reason you might want to visit Red Rose Records... Or indeed steer clear of it entirely is that it appears to be haunted:

Now an honest to god supernatural Record Store is a first for me. In the world of Sit-Com pitches, yes it's niche but I'd rather see it green lit than pretty much anything else that comes to mind (Sex in the City remade entirely with talking pigs aside). It could be haunted by the former owner who has a distaste for any format other than Vinyl or a ghost obsessed with that Virginia Astley album. It would be called 'Spooky Tunes' and the theme would be 'There's A Ghost In My House' but not the Fall version because it's shit.

Anyway. I didn't see anything but then again in a record shop environment I am usually so 'in the zone' on my quest for vinyl completion that if you aren't black, 12inches and made of plastic you don't exist. The above picture is from their website and the following is a link to not only photographic footage but also video evidence:

http://www.roseredrecords.com/index.cfm?sid=58950&pid=907371

So if you fancy combining two hobbies, record shopping and a spot of Sarah Greene inspired Ghost Watching (minus the frightened kid hanging himself because he thought it was real) then get on the bus to Boscombe.

METALLICA - MASTER OF PUPPETS

I had a copy of this on cassette as a young boy. Along the spine of the cardboard inlay and on the paper facia of the BASF tape it read 'Metalicca - Master of THE Puppets'. I now understand that there is only one way to spell Metallica but I stand by my original assertion that the record should have had a 'THE' in the title.

I bought my first 'real' copy used for £2.99 from Planet X Records of Chesterfield, it was the Music For the Nations single album first press so it played a lot quieter than subsequent double album remasters and didn't have the benefit of a gatefold sleeve, but then I supposed it was never really supposed to and the only real reason for the expansion of packaging, (later it graduated to a further expanded edition that might even have gone to 4 LPs) was top try and do justice to the music inside.

Twenty five years later I still don't like the sleeve, it's lazy and doesn't fairly represent the near timeless bombardment of awesome fucking metal that lies await inside like a dormant mountain bear starved all winter. This is an album that everyone has heard, one that most of us have at some point owned at least once, so why does it need to be here? What's adventurous or remotely exciting about a record that consistently comes in the top 3 metal albums ever? Well I decided to include it as a polite knee under the table aimed in the direction of those of us who be it for aesthetic reasons, metal snobbery OR the fact that Lars Ulrich is a cunt refuse to give it the acclaim that it truly deserves.

'Master of Puppets' is a truly great metal album, unparalleled for the most part in its combination of brutality and melody. Yes if you dig too deep it's lyrically inept in parts and that it is the product of some very young pock-marked West Coast idiots is all too clear but if you can happily over-look this juvenility it's shockingly well rounded. 'Ride the Lightning' does come close to capturing what James and co succeeded in doing here but despite including some of the bands greatest songs it falls short due to production issues (Way too much high-end, the entire thing has a very mid-period Judas Priest feel) which is interesting because the production here is the very thing that makes it.

The other reason, without sounding too sentimental is that 'Master Of Puppets' is Cliff Burton's swan song, his final middle fingered salute to this world. Burton was Metallica, that they have soldiered on for over a half century without his guidance, grounding and true metal sensibilities is nothing short of shocking. It's not just the fact that he played the most awesome metal bass this side of Geezer Butler or that he wore flares and looked like Neil from 'The Young Ones'. Courtesy of his choice of t-shirts Cliff is also responsible for my introduction to the world of Hardcore (no, not that Hardcore) via the Misfits and an obsession with Zombie films by way of Dawn of the Dead that continues albeit at a slightly more sedate pace to this day.

So in closing I guess I have a lot to thank Metallica for and I think that deep down, even if you have seen that documentary you do too.

VINYL VILLAINS - EDINBURGH

Edinburgh's record shop Vinyl Villains has taught me two things, firstly how to spell 'Villains' and secondly that you can have a name that suggests you are not going to pay the best prices for used records or indeed put out stock that people might view as in keeping with any kind of real-world pricing structure and people wont care.

Not that I am suggesting that the walls of Vinyl Villains are covered with outrageously over-priced records in the style of Notting Hill Music and Video Exchanges 'Deletions' department for a second. It wasn't the cheapest shop I've ever been in but I certainly didn't come away with the kind of 'sticker shock' that can haunt your dreams after visiting certain other establishments like Beano's of Croydon for example (rest it's soul). I gave up going long before it closed it's doors due to the extra zeros and stray digits that seemed to appear in the strangest of places.

Anyway, why I like this shop: The shop front is unapologetic like a German high-street tanning salon but only with a Lake of Dracula theme. They had a Harvest records t-shirt for sale (see above) that I would have bought had the green not been a shade that makes me look drained and ever so slightly anaemic. The owner was friendly enough. He was otherwise engaged for most of my visit but the conversation I overheard was top notch record shop style banter, the kind of thing that means you can come away having learnt something rather than being insulted because you don't 'get' Bob Dylan's 'Street Legal'.

What I didn't like about this shop: New reissues in the racks with originals, no second hand only area meaning it's hard to focus.

Regardless, had this page got some kind of rating system in place so that the occasional reader could ascertain whether or not a shop was worth visiting and assuming said scale worked on a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being: Utter fucking rubbish and 10 being: Pre-Ebay Amoeba Records San Francisco I'd give Vinly Villains a wholly reputable 5.

ELVIS SHAKESPEARE BOOKS AND RECORDS - EDINBURGH

If you can only go to one record shop whilst visiting the English city of Edinburgh I wholeheartedly recommend 'Elvis Shakespeare'. Yes much of it's floor space is dedicated to books but the records that are there are well worth a browse. Be prepared for a minor downside in the shape of the innovative storage system which employs wooden fronted filing cabinets at knee height to store much of the stock. The only way to maneuver  through them is by crouching or using a stool. Even then the weight of the racks means that when you at the beginning of a section the records you are coming too keep falling onto and on occasions trapping your hands.

There is a reward for persistence here and for me that came in the shape of a first pressing of Current 93's 'Nature Unveiled' and a Spanish alternate sleeve version of '2' by Neu, It has a GREEN 2!!! (I fucking know right???) I also bought three Psychic TV albums, all of which were rubbish.

Elvis Shakespeare is the kind of shop I can imagine stopping off at a couple of nights a week on my way home from work, darting in from the rain on a dark mid-winters eve freezing fingers pressing against the hard edged plastic sleeves hands moving at an arthritic pace desperate for some kind of aural discovery to transport me away from the grey bitterness of surroundings and to take my mind of the fact that bus fares in Edinburgh are the same price as in London.

Anyway, very friendly, informative and knowledgable staff, very reasonably priced stock, lovely shop.

BILL WELLS AND AIDAN MOFFAT - EVERYTHING'S GETTING OLDER

We all know Aidan from Arab Strap, it's been a few years since their untimely 'shutting up shop' and they are still (by me at least) dearly missed. I'd abandoned all hope of ever hearing anything as world weary, truthful and realistic again, instead retreading the body of work they left behind until it was carpet worn and threadbare like the lobby of the Scarborough Grand.

'Everything's Getting Older' is also a lot like the Scarborough Grand.

I chose this hotel particularly because they have a very favorable off season rate for OAPs, a relatively well priced bar with Skol on tap and a number of rotating entertainers including a Hits of the 60s package, ballroom dancing and a spattering of 'blue comedy'. It is also an insanely ornate monument to Victorian time of winged cars and steam powered corsets, one that has seen better days. There is a beautiful synchronicity between the aging patrons and the peeling walls cigarette stained ceilings and it just so happens to be quite possibly the most beautiful hotel on the face of the planet.

So I think that what I am trying to say is not so much that Arab Strap or indeed Aidan Moffat are a hotel, but rather that in the same way that the Grand is something of a proud old lady held together by a nice floral frock from Fenwick's and a spattering of rouge 'Everything's Getting Older' manages to marry dignity and decay to startling effect.

Bill Well's instrumentation is perfectly judged acting as an anchoring point to Moffat's sober often spoken observations. It's a beautiful album that also acts as an obvious soundtrack to the mid-life crisis that lies just south of the halfway point for most of us. Where 'The Weekend Starts Here' had a feeling of cheap drugs, all night parties and walking home in the daylight, 'Everything's Getting Older' reflects on parenthood, the inevitability of the dull daily grind and ultimately death.

It's not a cheery listen but it is brilliant and beautiful testament to somebody who has seen better days, again, a bit like the Scarborough Grand.

UNKNOWN PLEASURES RARE RECORDS & CDS - EDINBURGH

This came at the end of a day's wondering through the city rain, pushing a pram and discussing the merits of themed scatter cushions and whether they could be utilized to brighten up an other wise drab sitting room with my wife. I pretended to get us lost on the way back in order to take in the joy's of 'Unknown Pleasures Rare Records & CDs'

'We can definitely get back this way... Oh look a record shop!'

I expected a lot from this store, not least because the guys in Avalanche had said it was 'pricey'. I took this to mean it was full to the brim of interesting but expensive stock. Sadly this was not the case.

Despite a name that suggests the store is a haven for Joy Division completists or other similarly serious musical types it's actually very heavily geared towards Edinburgh's passing tourist trade - Lots of band t-shirts of questionable legitimacy, U2 picture disc albums and the like. The punters were exclusively Spanish and almost certainly in search 'a something special by the Depeche a Mode'. There was an experimental section but it was the kind of experimental section where an Osibisa album wouldn't look out of place.

To do the shop justice I need to go back for a rematch. All I can really say is that my first visit was pretty fruitless and despite the ambitious signage the 'Rare Records' part was not as omnipresent as I had imagined it would be. But whatever, it was a record shop on a miserable autumn's day, add a pint and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps to that and I'm happy.

AVALANCHE RECORDS - EDINBURGH

For some reason the first thing that comes to mind when I see the above is the first Godflesh album (featured the track Avalanche Master Song). The second thing that comes to mind is this:

A schlocky disaster movie cashing in on the success of Towering Inferno, Earthquake etc. featuring the godlike Rock Hudson and Rosemary's mum (and Tisa Cannibal Holocausts sister) Mia Farrow. I've only seen it once and as you might expect, it's not very good. The third thing I think of when I see the above (excluding real avalanches) is that fucking god awful Australian? 'Beats' band who put together an entire album from snippets of other albums (Jive Bunny anyone?) and had a hit with the song 'That Boy's a Terrapin' (or something).

Needless to say, were I a bit more clued in on the world of Indie music the words that should have come into my head the second I saw the above record shop should have been 'Mecca'.

Avalanche Records still plays host to regular in-store spots from Indie up and comers as well as the occasional visiting main-stay. It has been a key player in the Scottish music scene for the past twenty seven years and is Scotland's biggest high-street record shop. So what's inside?

The used stock is very reasonably priced, I picked up a 12" of Pavement's 'Trigger Cut' for a fiver and a couple of other things that whilst I didn't need I could not leave the country without. The racks aren't as stuffed as you might wish but there is a decent sized new section on both vinyl and CD. There also appeared to be a coffee shop behind the counter, which if you drink coffee is great (NB: If you do drink coffee you are a drug addict and cannot listen to Minor Threat).

So what of the staff? Well If I gave out awards, medals or gongs the guy I spoke to (assuming it was the owner) would be on the top of the podium. He spoke candidly of the state of business, the successes and  failures of 'Record Store Day' and where he saw the future. He had a sense of enthusiasm for new music that lost me over a decade ago and was happy to wax lyrical about some of the more recent acts to play the store.

Despite the back of the shop being a bit of a ghost town (this is where bands play) this is the kind of place I felt I could have spent the day reading sleeve notes, listening to conversations and butting in with opinions before being politely asked to leave. I can't really emphasize how important it is that this record shop exists. If you doubt the validity of the independent Scottish music scene or associate the entire thing with deep fried Mars bars, Irn Bru and heroin visit their website and prove yourself wrong:

http://www.avalancherecords.co.uk/avalanche-manifesto/

The guy is a visionary and the entire website proves a very interesting and useful record store based resource.

WHITEHOUSE - CREAM OF THE SECOND COMING

I have a vague memory of when I discovered the word 'poo' was naughty. I am told that I pretty much used it every time I opened my mouth. If my mum asked me what I wanted for dinner, the word 'poo' would no doubt be in my reply. I was about two years old.

The best way of describing Whitehouse is as a group of similarly minded men who never really got over that initial excitement of discovering a naughty word. Over the years they expanded their vocabulary with an array of other words and offensive concepts both 'musical' and otherwise all of which were geared to do nothing other than challenge/upset.

Maybe William Bennett and Peter Best's mum's didn't react when he said 'poo' and that's why they kept saying it, maybe that's why they became the kind of people whose sole purpose is to ride that naughty schoolboy bus of 'shock' until the wheels fall off or the world ends. Later in their career they would graduate to songs with the word 'cunt' in the title a series of visual head-nods to the world of pre-pubescent sex and incest.

I don't have a problem with any of that, what does perplex me is how they manage to make it all so singularly dull. Take the song 'My Cock's on Fire', how is that not going to be the greatest song you have ever heard? How can it not be the opener to every compilation cassette you make? For me Whitehouse are a wasted opportunity, an unfulfilled idea. I want to like them so much it hurts. The world needs Whitehouse and others like them but beyond an awesome t-shirt what do they actually deliver on a musical plane? Not a lot... Imagine a bad Spectrum album where Pete Kember has developed Tourettes syndrome and you are scarily close.

'Cream of The Second Coming' serves as a compilation of the highlights of their pre 1990 career, it's alright but it never really gets going. Musically they are unpleasant and as difficult to listen to as you might expect but that's not the real issue I have with them. Where are the peaks, sonic explosions, walls of layered throbbing sound? Does 'Power Electronics' really just mean sub-Status Quo sonic exploration? Much of the album has a very amateur Bontempi through a Boss Distortion pedal feel, it's uninteresting and doesn't even work in a so bad it's good way. At it's worst and in part due to lyrical content it actually comes across as a novelty record the likes of which could quite easily sit next to an Ivor Biggun or Macc Ladd's album.

All of this said, does it stop me from not only owning a copy and displaying it proudly at the front of one of my piles? It does not. The sleeve is a masterpiece. For the uninitiated it screams 'explore me', for those who know it's a very neat and stylistic summary of the bands first ten years, even if, in the cold light of day they were a bit uninspired.

CHALDON BOOKS AND RECORDS - SURREY

'Where are we? What is this?'

Almost a year later I still don't know. We were cycling around the Surrey Hills in an attempt to shed some of the weight that comes hand in hand with a love of fine wine fueled delicious cake eating and we came across this. 'Chaldon Books and Records'.

Chaldon is near Brunton, I know this because there is a sign in the above picture. I could Googlemap both of these places but I wont. I want the entire experience to be as geographically ambiguous as possible - It adds to the mystery, the odd spookiness of the occasion.

So I ride up the hill toward a junction, out of breath and wishing I had worn a helmet due to about five near misses with on-coming vehicles in as many minutes. Something catches my eye ahead, it can't be, it looks like a branch of Music and Video exchange in the middle of a one horse town.

'Fuck me! Record shop! Record shop!'

I signalled to those riding with me and they duly pulled up, glad of the opportunity to rest, to swig water from badly rinsed bottles, attempt to stop their hearts exiting through their mouths.

'Watch my bike.'

Instantly a months wages fall to the ground with a fiberglas klong and I open the door.

'Hi.'

There are two people in the shop in and around the counter, they both greet me, they are in their late fifties possibly sixties, I can smell cats.

'Hello.'

The layout is as you would expect. Chaotic, piles of books, records and cassettes (see window in above pic) towering toward the ceiling. Time is on my side but I am so pumped from the cycling that my hands are twitching before I even hit the racks. I lay waste to Rock and Pop A to Z in a matter of seconds, my mind, slower than my fingers still working out exactly what records I just scanned past. I hit 'Jazz' and I try and slam the brakes on, take my time to see if there is anything worth removing from it's sleeve, examining, smelling. Unfortunately there is not.

I take time to soak up my surroundings fully. There is nothing in this shop I want but this shop is awesome. I want this shop. I imagine the ghosts of records that have passed through here over the years, far enough from the greedy eyes of Japanese collectors to be picked up by random appreciators, in it for the death and glory rather than the net 60 point profit margin after Ebay and Paypal charges. I close my eyes and brush the racks, breathing in the must of ages.

'It happened here.'

Not some ancient evil or exorcism but rather an exchanging of cash for records that made somebody, very, very happy. Judging by the state of the shop it was some time ago but it happened, it definitely happened. I dearly wish I could be more specific, offering some clue to the actual event but I can't, my psychic abilities do not stretch to the levels of Mystic Meg.

If you are in Chaldon or indeed Brunton visit this shop. There is a chance, albeit a slim one that you might encounter the very same magic that I did, the very spirit of the used record shop.

THE LOLLIPOPS - THE LOLLIPOPS

Jaws 4: The Revenge is not as bad as a lot of people think it is. It's not the best film in the series but Michael Caine is in it and the dialogue is actually pretty realistic, even if the action isn't great and the plot is 'other world' ludicrous. None of this is the real issue with Jaws 4: The Revenge though, the thing that really kills the movie is that the shark, the entire shark, not just its face or teeth makes an appearance way too early in the proceedings, this way, all of the surprise, the magic is gone. You see it nose to tail in real time.

In a similar way The Lollipops album 'Lollipops' shoots its proverbial load in the shape of the god like 'Naked When You Come' far too soon in the proceedings leaving you with little if any reason to finish listening to the record, even if it's not half bad. If said track was the closer or even half way through side two you might have reason to explore the rest of the album but just like in Jaws 4: The Revenge once you've seen the shark, all there is left to do is wonder a.) how many people it's going to eat and b.) how they are going to kill it.

Not to say I came away from listening to this record wondering how I might dispatch this particular Danish trio, in fact I wish them no harm at all, not even if they do have ridiculous hair and the kind of trousers and t-shirt combination that would scare away most childrens TV presenters.

So the Lollipops, what do we know. Well for a reason other than their music they get what the kids might call 'mad respect' for naming three albums out of five between 1965 and 1975 'Lollipops'. A feat matched by very few other bands (House of Love are amongst them), add to this the fact that there three EPs were called: 'Lollipop Lips', 'Lollipop Boogie' and 'Lollipops' and we are either dealing with conceptual kinds or complete fucking idiots, either way, I am on-board.

But why? The aforementioned track 'Naked When You Come' is so ahead of it's time it's unreal. It's a stark, string led paen to either sex or a guy who takes his clothes off before his friends come round, either way it's amazing. Vocally it's perfectly pitched and the sparse accompaniment is so great that I  Imagine has been sampled to death.

So what of the other music? For 1966, it's pretty fresh, bang on in fact, if not entirely indispensable or original. It's as solid as you could wish for from an upsettingly dressed Danish trio with a very specific obsession with children's confectionary.

Unlike in Jaws 4: The Revenge, when the shark turns up it looks shit, when the Lollipops have their parallel moment it it's fucking brilliant. Join me next week when I shall attempt to explain why Blonde on Blonde has a lot in common with Piranha 2 The Flying Killers.