Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Bands, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Culture, Music, Nottingham, Paul, Queen, Relevance, Resonance, Respect
When I was a kid in Nottingham, there were 3 independent record shops I continually went to.
WayAhead, Rob’s Records and Selectadisc.
OK, part of this was because there were no major record shops in Nottingham at that time – Our Price, Virgin and HMV all arrived [and left] years later – so unless you were happy with the extremely limited range available in Boots, they were your only options.
Not that they were a ‘lesser’ experience to the big chains. Far from it.
In fact WayAhead became my Mecca because it was a pure rock and metal store. The only one in Nottingham … a place that loved the music rather than just sold it. A place – when I look back – that not only helped forge my identity as a teen, but gave me a space where I could feel safe and supported in it.
It’s also the location where I queued up all night just to ensure I could get Queen tickets for their Works Tour. So the memories are deep and strong.
Rob’s Records was a second hand store up a small alley called Hurts Yard.
WayAhead used to be a few doors down, but they moved to a much bigger location when [1] metal music became mass in the mid-80’s and [2] the shop couldn’t fit customers in because too many people were crammed around the Pinball table and Track and Field arcade game that was in the front of their store. [See photo above]
But I digress …
To be honest, Rob’s Records was a shambles.
Messy … cramped … records stacked tight in big boxes and plastic bins placed literally all over the place. But it had cheap records so I’d find myself in there searching for some rare Queen albums or singles… normally after having a fried chicken lunch from the place that was a cut-price KFC in name, cleanliness and taste.
And then there was Selectadisc.
Set over 2 floors, it was the music lovers, music shop.
A dimly lit, warm cocoon that incubated you from the world outside.
In fact, it was considered an institution by record/vinyl fans all over the world thanks to its continued support for new and up and coming bands.
That said I didn’t love it … it loved The Smiths for a start … but it did have a lot of variety. It also had a great noticeboard where people could put up ads … especially for musicians for bands. We found our first singer, Rob Reid, from an ad we put up there … someone who helped give me some of the best times of my teens and who I am still in touch with to this day.
All of these places were like a wonderland to me.
I may have entered from the street, but I found myself on a different planet.
I would spend hours there on a Saturday… listening, talking, looking, reading. Occasionally even buying.
And while Rob’s Records and Selectadisc didn’t offer me the same community as WayAhead … they mattered to me. A lot.
Sadly, only Rob’s Records remain … but what caused me to write this post is because I recently saw a photo of the upstairs of Selectadisc and it stopped me in my tracks.
Not because of the memories it ignited.
Nor because of the state of it.
But because of its size.
Specifically, how small it was.
I appreciate when you’re younger you overestimate size … but this wasn’t when I was a child, I was in my teens.
And even though it wasn’t my fave record shop, I still remember it like it was a Cathedral of Sound.
Maybe it was because it was bigger than both WayAhead and Rob’s Records.
Maybe it was because it was on 2 floors where the others were just on one.
Or maybe it was because it offered me an escape from normal life to a place that was filled with sound and people who shared a similar love to it as me.
There’s never been a place like those record shops for me.
The closest was Funan Mall in Singapore – a whole building dedicated to selling electronics and gadgets.
A place where I could happily spend hours just looking at the latest new tech that had come in from China … where Jill sent me to after I’d proposed so I could calm down from the intense emotions of the morning.
But even then … even with all that … those 3 record shops in Nottingham will be where a part of my soul resides.
A place that was educational, recreational, and experiential.
Society is worse off without these places.
Yes, I know culturally they have been replaced by a bunch of other places – from the barbers shop to the chicken shop – but records shop were more than a place to hang and talk, they were a place where you grew.
So even though this photo of Selectadisc highlights how small it actually was … it’s impact on who I was remains huge.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Audio Visual, Bangkok Shakes, Creativity, Music, Nottingham
So recently I went into a local cafe near the village that I live in to get a coffee.
As I walked in, I saw this …
When I saw it, I couldn’t help think about this scene – at 2 minutes 40 seconds – from the brilliant rockumentary, Spinal Tap.
What happens to their till when you use your phone?
Does it start coming up with random prices?
Does it write 54377017 … only the oldies will get that reference.
Bizarrely, I followed orders and didn’t use my phone for anything other than taking that photo … possibly because the Spinal Tap situation happened to me once.
Bangkok Shakes were playing a gig at a venue called The Mill, in Nottingham.
Carlsboro Sound had lent me their latest wireless guitar system to try out on stage and I was so excited about it … or I was until it picked up and broadcast the local taxi firm radio conversations.
Never used it again.
Which all goes to say Spinal Tap isn’t a comedy, it’s a documentary.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Culture, Education, Experience, Happiness, Queen
When I was in my late teens, I would go to Rock City, every Friday night.
Rock City was a mecca for heavy rock music fans.
From 9 till 2am, it would play none-stop tunes at eardrum-busting volume.
There would be the classic songs by the classic bands – Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Queen, Whitesnake – but the best bit was when they would play something that was just breaking over in the US.
It was at Rock City I first heard Guns n’ Roses, Cinderella, Love/Hate, Badlands and countless others.
Eventually, Rock City gained an international reputation and so bands would not only send them copies of their new album before they were released, but they would ensure they visited and played at the venue as part of their World Tour.
I went to that smelly, sweaty, cramped and pulsating venue for absolute years.
Starting at the Tap and Tumbler pub round the corner before queuing up for entry in the sort of clothes a stripper would balk at before hanging around the edges of the club to say hello to the friends and acquaintances you knew before finally working your way through the heaving, throbbing masses to get into the middle of the dance floor so you could be swept up and pushed around by the intense energy of hundreds of people all loving the same thing at the exact same moment.
They were, quite frankly, some of the best times of my life.
I made friends.
It forged and influenced my love of music.
I discovered what being part of a community was really like.
It pushed me to experience and experiment with things I may never have done.
Which is all my way of justifying why – when I heard they were changing the floor after
40 years and were selling the old one off in pieces – I happily paid them £40 so I could own a piece of my history forever. [See pic at the top of this post]
Yes, it’s tragic.
Yes, it’s pathetic.
But as mid-life crises go, it’s less expensive than a Porsche.
Or an affair.
So a while back I wrote a post about an online dating site for Metalheads.
I mentioned that being a lover of metal, I might have turned to that site if I was unlucky in love.
[Whereas it’s Jill who is the unlucky one. Boom Tish]
What I can tell you is that while I am now a bald bastard, I wasn’t always that way so to help you picture me as a ‘metalhead dating candidate’, I thought I’d show you a photo of me from that era.
Well, to be honest, it’s only ‘sort-of’ from that era, as I took it a few weeks ago as a leaving ‘present’ for a client of mine who was heading back to the US.
[I should add, he was leaving before he saw the pic, I’m not the cause of his departure. Allegedly]
Anyway, cop a load of this …
What a dish eh!
OK, more like a dish that has been lying in the sink for 7 weeks with a load of stains on it.
Damn.
However, may I point out that the leather jacket I’m wearing is the same one I had when I was 20 years of age.
Of course I can’t zip it up, but the fact I can still sort-of wear it is amazing to me.
AMAZING.
Anyway, as you have been so nice to not vomit yet, I thought I’d push-you-over-the-edge with a photo of me from that actual era.
Just for context, it’s one of the press photos we were ordered to have done before we had our first album released. As you can tell by the fact I now work in adland, it bombed and we were dropped soon after but it still was one of the best times of my life … well, it was while I thought we were going to be Rock Gods.
Anyway, have a look at the photo … I swear one of them is me.
Honest.
Can you tell?
I’ll give you a clue, I’m holding the guitar.
Yes, it’s a very long time ago.
And like the leather jacket, I still have those jeans and that guitar … though I can only just about squeeze the 6-string around me these days.
Happy vomiting.
[Sorry, soon-to-be-born son]
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Bands, Bangkok Shakes, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Education, England, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood, Nottingham, Parents
So on Sunday, my beloved Dad would have been 85.
Given he died at 60 – and I’m 53 – that means he has been gone for almost half of my life.
And in some ways it feels it.
Memories made up of different moments from the distant past.
But when anniversaries approach … the context changes.
Backgrounds become foregrounds … and despite all the years I’ve had to come to terms with things, they still have the power to take me on an incredibly emotional rollercoaster.
Part of that is because of our history … the other part is because of what I wish I could share and discuss.
He always had questions.
Not for judgement but connection.
OK, mainly for connection – hahaha.
And with so many things having happened in my life since he passed, I can only imagine all the things he’d want to know about.
God I’d love that.
I’d love to watch his eyes as he met my wife, my son …
Saw the life we live, have lived and plan to live.
Feel I’d made him proud.
Because so many of the decisions in my life have been driven by my desire to do just that. To feel my actions and behaviours would be things that made him feel a sense of pride.
Of course I’ve done stuff that would not come anywhere close to gaining that reaction, but in the main I think he would believe I’ve made him proud more times than I’ve disappointed him … but then my Dad, like my Mum, saw their role as encouraging me to always chase fullfilment rather than choose conformity or contentment.
And they did.
Sure, there were some gulps when I told them I didn’t want to go to university …
And when I was going to spend 10 years of savings all in one go on guitar amps …
But once they knew why I was making those decisions, they supported me.
Proper support. Encouragement. Interest. Help.
It was only when I was older that I realised how lucky I was, how this was not ‘normal’ parent behaviour.
So on what would be my Dad’s 85th birthday, I’d like to talk about a story of this encouragement.
I’ve written it before, but – to me – it’s a moment where his [and Mum’s] reaction changed the course of my life in a good way.
I was alright at school.
I was one of the cleverest in the thick bunch and one of the thickest in the clever bunch.
So basically bang in the middle.
But I worked hard. I put in effort. And the teachers knew I really tried.
However when it came to exams, I was a disaster.
Didn’t matter how hard I revised, the moment I was in a situation where I felt ‘everything came down to that moment’… I fell apart. While my parents did all they could to help – including getting me extra lessons – I now realise it was probably driven by anxiety … however in 1986, anxiety didn’t exist so while my school work continued to be good, exams still continued to be a major problem for me.
Nothing highlighted this more than when I was sent to the local careers advisor.
I told them I wanted to be a lawyer or a journalist [more on that in a minute] but the moment they looked at my projected qualifications – despite my solid schoolwork – they said:
“Have you considered a career in catering management”.
Now there is nothing wrong with catering management. I have some friends that work in that industry who love it. But even then I knew absolutely that it wasn’t for me. And at that moment, that careers advisor stamped all over the hopes and dreams I had for the future.
Aged just 16.
Of course I sort-of understand. They said what they saw from the ‘data’ in front of them … however while I appreciate they couldn’t give me any false hope, pointing me in a direction I had no interest in was equally as bad. Despite this all happening 37 years ago, I still remember the lack of interest he showed in understanding me. I was just another kid he was contractually obliged to see. Another kid he had to ‘tick off’ his register.
I left that building in a bit of a daze.
I caught the 45 bus back to Mum and Dad’s.
I remember the day because it was the day Andrew and Fergie got married.
It was sunny. Except in my head and heart.
Frankly I was devastated. I had – in my mind – been told the most I should aspire for was what I imagined at the time, a ‘mediocre’ life.
(I appreciate this would not be necessarily the case, but I was young and at the time, I just had my hopes crushed and so I only saw stuff in black and white)
When I got home, I found Dad in his chair watching the pomp and ceremony.
He loved the history of the Royal Family, but didn’t really love the Royals … so when he saw me, he could tell something was up. I tried to fake it at first. Put on a smile. Not just because I was trying to process what had just happened … but I didn’t want to disappoint him. But my Mum and Dad knew me well and so slowly I let things out.
I remember he listened intently. Taking it all in. And when I got to the point of ‘catering management’ he asked what I thought of that. And I probably cried … because it was absolultely not what I wanted to do.
And despite my family all being incredible lawyers, he asked, “why aren’t you looking at music?”
This was a revelation for a whole host of reasons.
One … the idea of a career in music was so far outside my frame-of-reference that it sounded even more crazy than me saying I wanted to become a lawyer.
Two … while I had been playing the guitar – and done some gigs for a few years – I always assumed my parents saw it as a hobby. Or worse, an educational distraction.
And if that wasn’t amazing enough, then he said something that changed my life.
He told me he loved me.
He told me exam results don’t define the future of me.
He told me a person who only spent 15 minutes with me knows nothing about me.
He told me history was littered with people who achieved more than others said they would.
He told me he wants me to chase what I’m passionate about, not what others want me to be passionate about.
He told me he sees how hard I work and how much I can – and have – achieved because of that hard work.
He told me he and Mum will always do what that can to support me.
He told me he was proud of me.
This is all I needed to hear. Because all I wanted was to be seen. Recognised for my effort and interests not just my school results. Actually that’s wrong, just seen for my exam results.
Of course I knew whatever I did wouldn’t be easy … but I never expected it to be. But here was my Dad – followed by my Mum when she came home from work – telling me he loved me and believed in me, despite what some careers officer thought … and that changed everything.
Within a few years, I got the 3rd highest mark in law across the country.
Within a few years I became a session guitarist for a bunch of 80’s popstars.
Within a few years I was in a band that signed a record deal with Virgin.
Within a few years I started a career in an industry that has helped me experience a life beyond my wildest dreams.
My Dad did that.
My Mum did that.
And in later life … my wife did that.
I’m not saying I didn’t work hard for it … I’m not saying I didn’t have many twists and turns along the way … but they were the reason I was able to go for it.
A belief in me that is probably more than the belief I have in me.
Never blind and blinkered … but also never dismissive or undermining.
What a gift.
What a Dad.
Happy birthday. I love you and miss you so much.
A kiss to you and Mum.
Rx