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Vinyl Lovin' Speaker Bustin' Eardrum Bustin' Lover Crushin' Buttock Clenchin' Passion Quenchin' Window Smashin' Guitar Thrashin' TOOOONZ!
This place is a mess and sometimes I think we'll never sort it out. We're a mess and I wonder whether we'll ever sort it out…it's all relative you see. A dirty shop in a dirty old town selling dirty f****d up noise distorted bitter and angry. That's the blues. Another day every day waiting seeking searching listening for a sound…just something that makes you say "yes…yesss" with all the passion of a Kerouac novel. "Blow man…blow".
There's so much vinyl it's hard to move in here. There's so much dust I can hardly breath. There's so much noise I can barely hear. Boxes upon box under crammed racks like maybe there's some semblance of organised chaos. Stick on the Free Jazz.
All this second hand vinyl carries such a historical weight. Every surface scratch a tale unto itself and every groove locks worlds of memory and cycles of emotion. I can just make it out through the black vinyl white noise surface scratch and pop…"Do What You Gotta Do" croons Nina.
A sound for every emotion. A sound to make you feel good…or maybe just not quite so bad. A sound to help you lose yourself. Music is a drug. A new delivery. They always arrive early morning. Worldwide.
Spanish techno and French deep house. Japanese psyche and Detroit blues. UK Subs. Dutch hardcore pornographic soundtracks of our lives. A penetrating sound. Sex death metal trio. Safety in numbers.
Sixty nine seventy seven…some records last forever. Piercing needles wear deep down. Waiting for the friendly face.
