Record Store Day – gosh that’s a teeny bit American. When did any of us growing up in North Wales or Salford ever shout up the stairs “Mom, I’m just nippin’ t’store…” No? I thought not. It’s a great idea and cause though. Here are a couple of mini-facts.
Against a background of the creeping death of high street shops that sell recorded music, apparently 11 new shops selling vinyl have successfully opened in the UK is the last year. That surprised me, but not half as much as finding out via a post on The Joy Formidable’s facebook that there is a record shop in small town Mold in North Wales. It’s the next town over from me, when I’m at home, and I had grown used to the fact that with Borders going, the nearest ‘proper shop’ was in Manchester, which has a couple of great ones in the Northern Quarter, the sort where you can say “Look at all these promos and imports I’ve bought, now recommend me something I don’t know” and they’ll turn you on to the Phantom Band.
The plainly but descriptively titled MOLD RECORD SHOP had been there for 2 years, under my very nose, although in fairness it’s small enough to blink and miss. So, come Record Store Day, a pilgrimage had to be made, to return the favour to The Joy Formidable and buy their special RSD vinyl release of Whirring / Chwirlio. The place is tiny, really tiny, and great all at the same time. Me, the guy behind the counter and two customers (all notably about half my age) and it was full. It’s stacked with vinyl (hey, it is a record shop). I got there for 10am, the usual opening time, to find it had specially opened an hour early today, and lots of the goodies were already sold out. Wow, in an hour, that’s got to be great for business, that sort of demand. I emerged triumphant with the TJF single.
The shop is run by Colin Trueman but he’d left his son in charge while he did duty at one of his regular VOD record fairs, today conveniently round the corner in a community centre. I nipped round and had an impromptu chat with him. Nice guy, the love and enthusiasm shows through. The crammed record fair was in full swing and I had a look round the 20 odd stalls, emerging with an L7 CD single and some other bits. The guy on that particular stall took down my email address in case he found any other L7 rarities, while telling me he’d seen them in 1993 supporting Faith No More (I think I’ve got that right) and we agreed to agree on abhorring stadium gigs in favour of the up close and sweaty experience.
Record Store Day then is in this particular case, far away from the big cities, is succeeding, bringing enthusiasts together and allowing them to chat, gossip, and to buy the sort of releases that keep music great. There is some hope in the face of corporate blandness.
