There are fewer things in life harder than throwing away memories. If nobody ever made that quote they should have done. Most of my collection of vinyl albums and singles is still in the UK but there has to be a reckoning and shipping is expensive.
The problem is that there are fragments of the past embedded in many of these round pieces of grooved plastic. What can replace the thrill of buying your first ever single (I Did What I Did for Maria by Tony Christie), your first album (Slade Alive), or being sure you had every record issued by a single artist (everything Slade did from the very start up until 1980).
There is a bit of a Slade theme there and it goes back to sitting in the bedroom of my best friend, Ewart Richardson, and hearing Slade Alive for the very first time. From the romping bass of Hear Me Calling, through the self-penned In Like a Shot from My Gun, to the thrashing of Born to be Wild that made Steppenwolf’s version compare like a mocktail to Hemingway’s favourite, Death in the Afternoon. And put into the mix was the absurd burp (4.11 into the video) in the middle of a tender Darling Be Home Soon and the onstage banter between Wolverhampton boys out on the town.
The love affair for Slade was forever and they were the first band I saw in concert on a trip organized by the Stewards Comprehensive School Youth Club that saw Graham Butterworth halting traffic on the Seven Sister Road to let us cross. The gig was at the old Rainbow/Finsbury Park Empire with Thin Lizzy and Suzi Quatro (first UK tour) as support. I still have the progamme which will most definitely be making the trip across the Atlantic.
The tribal politics of being a teenager meant that being a devotee of Slade entailed an absolute loathing of anything to do with Marc Bolan and TRex. It was the forerunner of spats about The Clash versus The Jam (only one winner as Strummer had so much more cred than Weller) and Blur versus Oasis (shoegazing versus swagger with the Gallagher boys ahead by a mile). Obviously, it has always been possible to love David Bowie as someone rising above the common herd and with a sneering disrespect for Coldplay.
The weakness in my choice was that it became clear during the early, feeble attempts at working out how to engage with girls at parties that nobody could dance to Slade. Enter the sweet soul sound of Feel the Need In Me by the Detroit Emeralds in March 1973 and a moment that the harmonies of the Motor City opened a whole new world. But the most honourable mention goes to Rock Me Gently by Andy Kim which still captures the best of hot summer evenings and late, late nights whenever I hear it.
That’s the reason so many of the records will have my handwritten name scrawled across the label. We would all bring our records, take turns at DJ’ing and then walk home in the early hours. The next day was to catch up, retrieve the vinyl along with the memories and put them back in their sleeves until the next time.
Another look at the list of records brings the realization that some vinyl purchases betrayed very poor decision making. Being the owner of Puppy Love by Donny Osmond was based on the belief that I could buy every single number one without any sense of judgement about the consequences or the embarrassment. I quickly realized that a run of Tumbling Dice, Rocket Man and Metal Guru could easily give way to a Puppy Love, Circles and Ooh-Wakka-Doo-Wakka-Day.
The album Jimi Hendrix at His Best Volume One, should be prosecuted under the Trades Description Act and is a sign that the great man had very average moments. The sleeve notes suggested that it captured him on a single-track recording made by Mike Ephron, an avant garde, free form, jazz pianist, on a night they jammed before Jimi was famous. To support my judgement of its merit, I find that David Shadwick (writer of “Jimi Hendrix – Musician“) summed up the recordings as, “The most arid and worthless musical adventure that Hendrix ever had the misfortune to be involved in.” All I knew at the time was that it was in the bargain box of a sale in a record shop when I had only 50 pence to my name and was desperate for something new.
A few of the singles are on the list because of the B-sides which were often unavailable in any other format. The flip side of Stardust by David Essex is Miss Sweetness which has a charming start and a raucous ending that catches the best of the man in a single tune. The Sweet’s bubblegum pop of Little Willy is backed by the hardcore rock of Man from Mecca which shows what a great guitar player Andy Scott was.
For those sneering because the advent of music streaming has made all this irrelevant, I can only suggest you try looking for The Blues by Python Lee Jackson on Spotify. You will miss a great Rod Stewart vocal and nice Mike Liber guitar solo and that is why the vinyl still counts. I am also reminded of the many months that Slade were not on any streaming service as a lesson that the spats between media giants can be truly damaging to my listening pleasure.
I’m not blind to the problems with vinyl. Skipping records and worn-out grooves are very annoying and there is usually no option but to put a heavier coin on the needle or melt the vinyl down to form an ashtray you will never use. The other fact is that starting an LP while you work only means that you’ll have to turn it over within 20 minutes which quickly becomes tiresome.
But choices must be made and I can only hope that my loss becomes somebody else’s joy as the records are handed over to a shop working in this niche market. So, if you frequent such shops and buy a single with “Alan’s” written on the label you will know that it served its purpose at a party in my youth and was much loved. Give it a spin and think of me.