One
of the things about doing this music blog is I listen to so much music I love
that I feel compelled to write about it and share the word. However, often, I don’t
actually have the time to write because I’m so busy listening. Consequently,
the more I need the blog, the less time I have for it- a most frustrating
irony.
This
is exacerbated by my ever constant music shopping, on early evening finishes at
work and on weekends. Whether online or via haunts in London’s East and West, music
shopping has become a prong of my music obsession in itself.
So
this is the story of how my music shopping story began. Really this is appropriate
for Record Store Day, but let’s ignore that because this post didn’t come
together in my head until now. Shopping in shops for physical formats had an
impact on me as a 23 year old man who grew up with the digitisation transition.
For me, it would be a shame to see the extinction of the CD, but especially
vinyl. This is not supposed to persuade you of the merits of physical record shops
either way. You just read it if you like, and go about your business…
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| 38 Notting Hill Gate, W11 - The flagship store |
At 14, I was introduced to the London chain
of retro/vintage clothing, music and bric-a-brac shops known as the Music and Video Exchange. For those who don’t know, primarily based around the upper
class Notting Hill area of London, and with affiliate stores in Berwick Street
(Soho), Camden and Birmingham (I have never been to this one), MVE, or the
Record and Tape Exchange, as it was known, offers arguably the most
interesting, unexpected and deliberately low key second-hand music shopping experience
in London.
Its key feature is what first drew my attention.
At 14 and running low on pocket money, I sought alternatives to expensive entertainment
retailers. Even small discounts increased my leverage in the entertainment
world. (You can imagine what I was like when Ebay arrived.) So on asking
my brother keenly why it was that all of his vinyl- I had a mature range of twelve choice CDs at the time, mainly garage, aye- had these price
grids on them, he confirmed my suspicion that MVE had a policy of
knocking down prices until someone buys the item. "This is my sort of
place", I thought. "By its very nature there will be bargains. I just hope they
have that Oasis whatsit I love so much."
Music stores are the clear pillar of MVE’s vintage
cultural offering. Although I did not know this when I asked the question, as London’s most serious and arguably well-respected second-hand music institution, MVE is a magnet for vinyl and CDs from all over the world, from every
genre, of every quality, rotating relentlessly, unbendingly, as customers
plunder its stock, leave a hell of a lot of Bread vinyl, and wait for the
staff to slip in some new treats- hopefully- before your next visit.
At school, I notified the posse I
was planning a visit. It hadn’t occurred to me to look on the net, so when we all rocked up one Sunday afternoon, it all came as a surprise. As I wandered the main floor that day, quietly
pleased that I recognised some of the titles, the prices were at first a
disappointment. This was ok, but no cigar.
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| Art Tatum, Fleetwood Mac...R Kelly |
A sign however pointed to basement. My
friends and I descended a flight of stairs and what greeted me at the bottom
was a moment I can honestly say I still remember vividly. Rows upon rows of
rock/pop CDs lined the wall, spines facing outward, with prices knocked down on
each item pound by pound, to occasionally superb prices. Oasis’ What’s The Story Morning Glory (I think
I was surprised they had this, such was my charming open-mindedness): £6, £5
right down to £2. In Virgin Megastore, this was no doubt at least a tenner.
Beatles back catalogue? £4 for Abbey Road
– a thank you- and £5 for Rubber Soul.
No doubt such prices could be found elsewhere in second-hand retailers around, but
with the concept of near-limitless browsable and affordable albums at my fingertips
and the prospect of sudden discoveries and impulsive purchases suddenly
revealed to me, the bargain CD floor filled me with excitement.
Now as you can imagine, the sort of
environment I describe can take a lot out of shop assistants and customers
alike; row upon row of tediously monitored stock. As any music shop
assistant will tell you, myself briefly included, cataloguing is a pain, but
this place is that in over-drive. Due only to its immense success and dogged
pricing/margin structure, the atmosphere is dominated by the ethics of a very
specific but loyal part of its clientele- the die-hard anorak (often seen,
majestically, in the English woodland countryside in the Fall), a product of
years of plunder and discovery, with over-flowing knowledge (and sometimes unfortunately
fewer social facets), now with a single-minded pursuit for purchases, that will
allow him to rest easy (and it is invariably a ‘him’), until the next
single-minded pursuit for purchases. While I hope frankly I don’t become one, serious minded affectionados rule the roost at MVE. This is arguably its second most
well known characteristic, after its pricing.
A noticeable smell hangs in the air of most of its shops, of dirty, dusty vinyl
racks and men’s unwashed trousers. Trendy Rough Trade East this is not.
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| Next door, Soul and Dance |
The same prevalence of eclectic characters among
the shop’s customers is also present among staff. There are some musico titans
in here. I don’t know who they are ‘cos I’m too afraid to speak to them (I’ll
come on to that), but they are a matrix of music knowledge you can be sure.
The downside this all brings though is a dose
of music snobbery; an arrogance and hot headedness among its tireless staff. Customer
service here is in a league of its own. Don’t try and talk about music, your
music taste is invariably shit; don’t walk in laughing or talking too loudly
with your friends (preferably you won’t have any friends); don’t try and
clarify an answer or ask another question, and lastly, don’t request something such
as, say, a carrier bag for your purchase, or something in one of the cabinets,
because passive aggressiveness will invariably follow. When I walked in once
and asked if I could get a combined discount on two records, I was met with a
gruff ‘No’, from the man who has, although he might not know it, been
serving me at that counter for nearly 10 years. “There is
absolutely no negotiation on the price. The price is the price and that’s it” Ok
fine. But why? “To avoid any confusion”. That was the end of that
mystifying encounter. Once, I asked if they ever had in any Beatles Anthology
on vinyl. ‘No’, was the response. "There wasn’t much call for vinyl in the
90s." End of conversation.
This aspect of the stores, which is
unfortunate if you view extreme record buyers’ fetishisation as a slight case
of ‘wood for the trees’ as I do, has even courted official recognition. Time Out in 2007 awarded its Most Unhelpful Shop Staff award (across all retail sectors, bear in mind) to the Music and Video Exchange. Its
comment, in full, read as follows:
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“The movie ‘High Fidelity’ won praise for Jack Black’s
accurate portrayal of an obnoxious record store employee making customers jump
through hoops to justify their own purchases. MVE makes this look like silver
service on the Orient Express; staff here seem to delight in making the simple
act of buying a record a baffling trial akin to crossing the Bridge of Death in
‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’, with Anne Robinson asking the questions.
It’s easy to understand their need to express their superiority – prospective
employees have to pass a written music test before they’re considered for
employment – but surely this attitude can’t be good for business.”
There you have it. As a result, I fully believe
there are MVE shoppers out there who have frequented it for decades and are
dedicated even emotionally to it, but have never received so much as a ‘hello’
from the staff. In an ironic sort of way, the fact that it continues to survive
with such brazenly shit customer service is testament to the powerful enigmatic
depths of its stock. If you want that post-punk 7” import that only you give
care for, but don’t want to pay Ebay prices, then MVE is the only place it’s worth going to in search of it. And when you
find it, there is no doubt you will be jumping for joy, as I sometimes do, and rush
over to that counter.
Overall, my decision that day was pretty
big. Two weeks or so later my friends and I went again, and then every
fortnight or so for the next three years. I now go every week if I can, and
rather than merely the bargain rock and pop CD section catching my eye, I am
drawn across the shop like a skilled craftsman tending to his weathered tool-kit: from bargain vinyl, to the £1
CD section, to rare 7”, the soul store, and spoken word records upstairs. I have not yet mustered enough fortitude for the ‘soul basement’, which is where records go to die). It is very sad,
however, that the classical music store has now shut down. I hope it is not a
sign of things to come.
So, so ends my dedication to Notting Hill-
my favourite place. I am aware people who are similarly fond of the MVE may
have some comments about it, so please do post them below or message me on twitter
@grapevinesound if you feel like sharing.
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