Let's Get Physical

It's funny how we need a “Record Store Day”. To me the notion that music fans need reminding that it's good to spend some quality time at your local purveyor of fine platters seems strange. But in this modern topsy-turvy hyper-connected world apparently we do. I've wasted more time in record stores on more continents than most people but even I need reminding sometimes that I should get out a bit more and look at some records.

I could get all old guy on you and relate through sepia-tinted mind-o-vision about how the local record store was the beating heart of the record fan's culture, how me and my mates spent all of our formative years pouring through racks of counter-culture and humbly enduring the mild contempt of the vaguely Toyah Wilcox-ish counter attendant who would look upon my purchase of the second Riot/Clone EP with bemused pity. How we would glean whatever information we could from poorly-printed fanzines and hissy tape compilations before making that commitment to actually go out and buy some music.

“But that was back in the 20th century!” I hear you chorus. Well sure it was and these days yer Spotifys and YouTubes are great resources and I'm as happy to use them as the next Luddite. But all the convenience in the world won't take away what I love about records. The best thing about a stack of 45s is the very inconvenience of the format. Each piece of music is separated by a moment of contemplation as you unsleeve the record, eye the label for clues as to why it exists and ponder what to play next, each song enveloped by a moment of time. Ten thousand songs on shuffle is a wonderful thing but a box of 100 45s and just your impulses and taste will always be a deeper, more rewarding experience. A long time ago the powers that be – guys in business suits with devil horns I imagine – tried to kill the vinyl record. In fact back in the early '90s our band made what was supposed to be the last record ever pressed in the country. Things were so dire for the format the record plant had its power shut off before the pressing could be completed. Don Bartley, who cut the record, scratched “This is the last record ever pressed in Australia” in the run-off groove and that was that. That wasn't it however. Fans of the medium never stopped buying or for that matter making records. The pressing and cutting equipment fell into new enthusiastic hands right across the globe and two decades later vinyl culture is pumping. We even have our very own Willy Wonka in one Jack White, whose Third Man Records will happily distribute their product via helium balloon or release liquid-filled records just because they can.

At the centre of it all is the humble record store. The best ones are bulging with stuff, the air filled with music that's perhaps a little too loud and chockfull of people with heads down in racks. I like to go to a record store not knowing what I want, leafing through discs hoping that some long sought after white whale will leap out and grab me. Or else the nice person behind the counter is playing some gem I've never heard and I'm compelled to wander up, cap in hand and enquire as to what exactly the hell it is. A good record store will provide you with the thrills of finding things you never thought you'd own and an education in things that you probably should put on your list. No algorithm is ever going to replace that.