His Masters Voice. Muted

Hanging out in a record shop was an important part of growing up.

It didn't matter if there was any intention or ability to actually buy anything. It was more a case of just being seen by your peer group and hoping that the first vinyl album your lifted out of the rack and studied intensely was not by Abba, Bing Crosby or St Winifreds School Choir, just to mention three possibles, randomly, completely and in no way in any order that could have happened in real life to anyone, ever.

I grew up in a small town of population about 5000 so when I say record shop I really mean the record counter in the old Woolworths. It took a trip to the nearest large town or a special excursion including a paddle steamer crossing of a major river to the regional city to reach a proper, bona fide, dedicated record store. These were, regrettably, infrequent experiences given the time, effort and cost involved.

I admit that I was a slow starter in showing any determined interest in music, or at least music other than in the collection of my parents. This did have some merits, a broad selection from Sandie Shaw to Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band, James Last and his Orchestra to The Chipmunks sing the Beatles.

To my recollection I was never witness to my parents buying a record from a shop although from time to time a large package would arrive at the house bearing the Readers Digest Record Club logo. In a stout box would be a themed series of large 33 rpm albums such as tunes from the movies or indicative of a certain trend or period in music from the 1950's and subsequent decades.

Pocket money budgets did determine what sort of records we could buy as children. The 'Music for Pleasure' releases, their covers suggesting a Top of the Pops quality were not by the authentic artists. I know not where they came from or who made them although if you listened very carefully you could, I am convinced, hear a bus passing in the street outside the recording venue or a door opening and closing. They were really that poor in every aspect. The soft porn images of scantily clad leggy ladies was perhaps a saving grace for the whole operation.

Cringingly I would play these versions to my friends thinking I was trendy and in tune with the latest sounds. I then moved onto albums of theme music from TV programmes and War Films. Looking back now I was terribly unfashionable and so far away from what my peer group were into at the time.

My first real album was a second hand purchase of Blondie- Paralell Lines. I wore this out from very frequent plays and in my adolescent mind I really thought that I had single handedly discovered the band and was solely responsible for their success in England.

My upbringing was in a loving and safe environment but for that it was very sheltered and I was naïve and impressionable. When my friends started to listen to and introduce me to the likes of Led Zeppelin, Queen and some heavy stuff such as Coliseum and Black Sabbath I felt as though I was betraying my parents and everything they stood for and had instilled in me.

It was, to me, very subversive music in sound, language and intent. The late 1970's was a great time to be into music and in the period of a few short years I experimented with disco (yes, I did), Punk, New Wave, New Romantics and finally settled on the Mod Movement. This was aided by wearing one of my Father's old work suits, grey and shiny, along with one of his thin ties, starched collar shirts and brown brogues. The suit swamped me. It was necessary to wear braces at their shortest setting in order that the tapered legs just hung above the shoes. This meant that the waist band was somewhere on my upper torso. The shoes were at least two sizes too small and after an evening at the village hall disco I could hardly walk.

The weekly hang-out in the record shop was an essential part of growing up and to help to decide in what direction your musical and social interests would go. We learnt that a common interest in music, whatever the genre, bridged any potential divisions of class, upbringing, outlook and opportunities that may be present, albeit through no fault of our own. Knowing the words, by heart, of a certain song could be an introduction to a new group of friends. A shared loyalty to a band broke down many barriers. You never forget the excitement and anticipation of the impending  release of a new album or the tragedy in your own small world when your band announced a split up. I was for a short time quite popular because, on a Tuesday, when I went home from school for my dinner I was able to return with news of the weekly pop chart before anyone else knew the outcome.

I am therefore sad and disappointed with the closure this week of the HMV record store chain. This mega-organisation killed off the majority of the Independent Record Shops in its ascendancy on the High Street and now falls victim itself to the internet and e-commerce giants who have captured the market.

I am distraught for the youth of today who have been deprived of partaking in the equivalent of what was the highlight of my week at that age. There are other places for the youth of today to hang out of course, the mall, video game store and coffee shop but they are cold, insensitive and impersonal places and of no value whatsoever in the all important and character forming experiences of life.