The Death Of The Record Shop?

Do you remember when you used to be able to buy music from a shop on the high street?

Of course you do. But, in a couple of years time, this question may seem less daft. About four years back, I wrote a post on my previous blog following the demise of Woolworths, looking back on my early record purchasing habits locally on the Fylde coast. In the light of this week's announcement that the last major high street music retailer, HMV, is in administration, and may disappear forever, I feel it's a fitting time to revisit that post and expand upon it, in light of the last few years.      

Anybody who's in their 40's surely remembers going out on a Saturday afternoon in their teens, and nipping into Woolies to have a look at the music on offer in their record department. If you were a bit flash and could afford to go "into town" i.e. for me that would be Blackpool, you might nip into Virgin, Our Price or the mighty HMV to buy the latest happening chart sound. Hey Daddio, get with the lingo. 

Young readers may be excused for thinking this is crazy talk and your writer has gone mad. No, foolish child, once upon a time, you could walk down the street and buy the latest top 40 singles from your average high street record or department store. Back in the day when I was a nipper (during the war) it was all vinyl. Black round things with a hole in the middle - ask your Gran. Seven inch singles mostly, with the odd twelve incher (ooh err, missus). Okay, there might be cassettes but who bought them? It didn’t always have to be record emporiums you’d go to for these shiny black treasures. I bought my first single ever, the glorious “Knowing Me Knowing You” by Abba (ah-haaa) from a box on the counter of our local television rental shop (“Focus” if I remember rightly).

In the 1970’s, even a small town like Fleetwood, where I grew up, had many varied outlets for records. The aforementioned TV shop. High street colossus Woolworths, who had the Top 50 (imagine that!). There was another small shop which I think was owned by a bloke called Steve Price, which always sold loads of coloured vinyl New Wave stuff and second hand discs, around about 1979. Even the bloody caring sharing CO-OP had a selection of discs. Granted, most of them were on the dreaded "Music For Pleasure" label but hey! A record's a record. What's wrong with James Last and "Hammond Hits For The Highway" anyway?

The shop that most punters went to in Fleetwood was the hallowed Record Centre, tucked away on Poulton Road, a shabby looking shop which sold loads of albums, the top 40 singles (always positioned directly above the counter - it would be pot luck if the proprietor gave you a single with a picture sleeve or not, but you wouldn't say anything anyway if you were unlucky) and of course, the necessary diamond stylus and "Dust Bug" for your record deck. They also sold electrical equipment like Stereos, Radios etc but these never seemed to shift. If anybody out there has proof that they managed to sell any of this other stuff, please let me know. Anyway, many an idle Saturday afternoon would be spent rummaging through their ex-chart singles looking for that elusive “Hungry Like The Wolf” picture sleeve, though mostly it'd be shite by Shakatak or the Barron Knights that you'd find instead.

If you ventured further afield into Cleveleys, there was the ever-reliable Cobweb record shop, part of a mighty local empire with additional outlets in Poulton-Le-Fylde and St Annes, and which was worth a look for the punk badges, Adam and the Ants seven inches and gazing at that copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy" soundtrack album that I never got round to buying. And what's more you could stare in wonder at these new fangled things called videos… wow, movies in your own home… but that’s another blog post.

Blackpool had yer actual big Woolies, WH Smith, the pokey basement record shop in Binns, the record bar in Boots department store... and then there were mysterious places like Ray's Melody Inn, frequented by serious looking older punters who intimidated you at the age of 10. No major specialist chains back then. In the early 80's there was a decent record shop above the Hounds Hill branch of Milletts. Now, looking back, this was a weird concept – wandering round tents and camping gear until you stumbled upon this oasis of musical wonder, complete with a little gate in and out. It was like some sort of musical grotto, and an bit of an adventure trying to get in there to buy “New Years Day” by U2. Of course, that’s supposing I could afford to buy a new record – usually it was back to scouring through the cheap ex-chart racks or the local newsagents for their selection of juke box records.

The floodgates burst around about 1983 when Ames Records (remember them?) opened on Bank Hey Street, swiftly changing to Virgin in 1985 before transforming into Our Price for the rest of the late 80's to 90's. Then a little branch of HMV opened on Victoria Street – I could never afford the records but it was just wonderful to browse, and see & hear some of the records I could only read about in Smash Hits or Number One magazine.

However, if we backtrack a little bit in my TARDIS to Fleetwood, 1980. There was a new kid on the block. Opposite St Peter's Church, next to the fruit and veg shop (too much detail?), a new store called “Soundtrack” records opened. This was a small modern bright shop which had loads of up to date new singles, usually with freebies like poster sleeves and badges. More to the point some new releases were cheap! Like 99p, instead of the usual £1.29 (okay, it seems like nothing now but this was 33 years ago!). On my limited budget, this was great. It was only many years later, long after the shop's demise that I would come to understand how they managed to make it such an Aladdin’s Cave of vinyl delights... when I came to understand the concept of the chart-return shop.

These were the shops to hunt down. In 1988 post sixth form, during my dole months, my cash would be squandered on a Friday afternoon down at Cobweb, or Sinfonia (run by the bizarrely named Sandy Mountain, situated on Cookson Street in Blackpool) where I'd take advantage of the new releases at these chart return shops. These CD singles and 12 inches were cheap because the record company reps would target these shops, giving them the latest singles at cut down prices in order to get them high into the charts for Sunday. So I’d get the latest Beloved single for £1.99, whereas poor old Record Centre or even HMV couldn’t compete, having to charge full whack. Now the downside in buying records so cheap was that you’d also end up buying some right shit along the way for 99p – Climie Fisher anyone? What was I thinking?

I was getting a bit savvy and realized that record deliveries were on Monday, so it would be best to get down there on a Monday lunch for the latest releases, and more important, the limited editions. Yep, I’m a mug for a special edition. Fine Young Cannibals in a tin? Yes please. Chris Rea Car shaped CD box? Why not. Voice Of The Beehive honey filled PVC sleeve? Oh go on. I'd buy any old bollocks at times.

It was amusing buying from Sinfonia, as owner Sandy was a full-on Christian and would take offence at the slightest thing in certain records, and try his very hardest not to sell them to you. He nearly didn't stock Happy Monday's "Hallelujah" for some reason. Then again, finding out what he did stock was near on impossible. He didn't display ANYTHING in the shop. Okay, some stuff was perched precariously on the shelves behind the counter giving a pretence of promotion, but it was hardly convenient having to ask him for everything. Eventually it got so haphazard behind the cash desk that I usually ended up having to go behind there myself and search through the piles of CD singles and cassettes for what ever I wanted. I went in there for one single once, and ended up spending £50 as I found loads of rare singles that were just tucked away forgotten about. Needless to say, his business didn't make it far into the nineties.  

Of course, in the early 90's, if you wanted your actual proper bosh bosh dance stuff, then a trip down to murky South Shore on the number 11 bus was in order, with a visit to the land that time forgot - Bond Street and Melody House. This was at one time predominantly a video & record shop, and had been there for donkey's years as the outside decor showed, but when Acid House arrived in 1988, it underwent a bit of transformation. Not visually, but the customers. This shithole was THE place to come for dance vinyl. You’d walk in, and after adjusting your eyesight to the murkiness you'd usually eye up about eight punters around the counter, getting the guy behind to “put this one on mate”. Meanwhile you'd pick up what you wanted, try valiantly to get served and usually be ignored. Customer service wasn’t the watchword there. If you weren't buying dance stuff then Debbie usually served you with a grudging demeanor. Swanny was the guy you wanted, he was friendly - he went on to work in HMV. We were on nodding terms - it's a record shop thing. Dance probably took up about 99% of the shop's trade - meanwhile the rest of the store, with it's old vinyl, VHS rentals and range of 50 CD's gathered dust, but if you persevered, the odd gem could be unearthed .

It was during the mid nineties when the Britpop era began in earnest that I frequented the independent shops less and less. Woolies had finally got it’s act together, plus HMV and Our Price were competing price wise (and you could rely on them actually having the stock on the shelves). Little did I know that this would be a watershed point in the record buying experience. The indies couldn't compete. Cobweb died out - I feel a little guilty as Jeff and Dave in Poulton were always good to me as a regular, but I had to abandon them as they couldn't compete. All the little shops went, and it was because we all shopped in the High Street shops. I'd hop down on the bus on a Monday lunch and nip into Our Price and HMV and play them off against each other in my head - I'd get the records I wanted and I'd get them cheap. It was an arrangement that suited me fine for a good five or six years. If you couldn't get it in one shop, there was always the another. Brilliant. Halcyon days indeed. Those "listening posts" were a pile of shit though. Listen to the latest albums through a set of headphones that nearly worked next to some shrieking Peter Andre fans. Cheers.

During the late 90's much of my serious record buying was done whilst in Manchester, where the real specialist shops could be found. In particular, Vinyl Exchange on Oldham Street was a regular haunt when in the city on a United match day. This was a different experience completely - you could spend all day in there rooting though the racks, and frequently I did. The counter service back then though was much like it was at Melody House - you'd have to fight to get yourself noticed and woe betide you if you were buying something uncool. Which I frequently did, risking the familiar blank stare of the so called assistant. Still, great shop. Similar customer service can still be found in Action Records in Preston, dear reader. I think it must be common throughout the World, if Nick Hornby novels are to be believed.

Then the internet came. Ooh. You can order these CD's from a place in Hong Kong three quid cheaper. Yes please. I don't even have to go into town to have a look. Great. And then came all the other on-line retailers... Play.com, Amazon... and suddenly the idea of buying a record in the shop seemed not only a bit old fashioned, but financially stupid. We should have seen this coming when Our Price was replaced with a Virgin Megastore, only for it to close a couple of years later leaving just HMV left as the sole record shop on a Blackpool high street. Yeah, there was Woolworth's and WHSmith as well, but they'd only be stocking a limited amount of CDs. Singles? They became harder and harder to find as the Millenium turned. One by one, the multitude of outlets disappeared. Yeah, you could go into Asda or Tesco and buy CD's but was that fulfilling the record buying experience you once knew and got used to? No. It was a sideshow to the mundane act of buying bread, washing powder and vodka.

And then Woolie's went kaputt. WHSmith pulled out of stocking music altogether. Music Zone and Zavvi came and went. HMV was, and is the last man standing (yeah, I know there's "That's Entertainment" but to be honest it's like a well stocked Cash Converters). The former top dog did get into the digital age, and still have a reasonable online presence. But their failure to take notice of the noticeable change in the markets and act upon it quickly enough left them standing looking stupid. Downloading music? It's a fad. Yeah, right. Wake up and smell the coffee. Like, that iTunes will never catch on.

They said in the 80's that "Home Taping Is Killing Music". It didn't, and neither did illegall downloading. But it may have helped kill the likes of HMV. I was as guilty as the next man of illegally downloading music. I did it back at the turn of last century and still do. My reasoning back then was - fuck 'em. I'd spent the best part of 15 years supporting the music industry, loyally buying music week in and week out and where had it got me? The music was as expensive as ever and becoming less value for money. There didn't seem to be any loyalty towards the consumer so I'd download for free. And the music I did buy, I'd walk around HMV, see it on the shelf, laugh at the price and go and buy it online or in the supermarket cheaper.      

It's an attitude that's still there in part. I'm now more likely to download something for nothing but if I like it enough, buy it for real as a CD. I'm still a bit old fashioned about paying for downloads. Call me Mr Luddite ("Oi! Mr Luddite!") but I like to have something in my hands if I'm paying £10.99 for an album. A "digital booklet" doesn't do it for me. But I'm getting better... but for years the managing directors at HMV ran around with fingers in their ears shouting "la la la", pretending this wasn't happening. They believed that the general public would always want to have a physical record buying experience. When this proved NOT to be the case, instead of looking at their pricing they panicked and went the other way filling the stores full of tat and electrical goods to show they could diversify. Durrrr. I refer you back to the good old Record Centre in Fleetwood during the Seventies and Eighties. No bugger bought anything other than the records. HMV is now full of iPod accessories, books, toys and other guff, which people will buy, just not from there. And to make room for all this other crap they cut down on their core business, the music. So there isn't actually that much on display, and what there is on display is massively overpriced. Stupidly in many cases.

At the moment, HMV is like a massive virtual Argos catalogue. You go in, look at the item you might want to buy, decide "yeah, I want that"... and then sod off and buy it cheaper elsewhere. To take the piss even more, you can do this, go on your phone and check the price against other retailers and then order it from the the other retailer there and then. In the shop. Yeah, stick it to the "man" why don't you. I've done it. It's what you do now.  Christ, I've even bought it from HMV's own website itself, whilst IN THE STORE, because the on-line price is cheaper than instore. That's not right. It's the equivalent of dropping your trousers in the aisle and curling one out right there. And then leaving. HMV should not be a shop window for Amazon.

So this week's news that HMV is in trouble is no surprise. For the last few years bad business decisions coupled with a massive change in the way we consume entertainment has left them, if you pardon the vivid imagery, on the outside of the train, trying to piss in. I don't want to see the stores close. It's been an integral part of my life, but to be truthful, it's nostalgia isn't it? Okay, that's what this blog is about, but really? What is the point of HMV in 2013? I don't walk in there with any purpose, like, wanting to buy anything. Go in there any day and you'll find lost souls wandering about like the living dead, desperately hoping to find something cheap to make actually being there seem it was worth the effort. That's not how a business should be. God bless the staff, I've not come across a more helpful bunch for a long time, it's not their fault but without a massive change in the firm's business model and generous leeway from the banks and suppliers, HMV won't be with us much longer and it's a shame because the goodwill is there on the part of the consumer. We don't want to see one of the last great British shops disappear.  

And poor old Nipper will have to go to Battersea.