A Veiled Apology To A Record Store Area Manager

12 thoughts on “A Veiled Apology To A Record Store Area Manager”

  1. I will always be interested in droll tales involving snooty Verve and ex-Spiritualized members and little baby record store worker Lazer Guided. Get to it, young squire!

  2. Once upon a time I worked in a record shop too. It was fun; it was shit. Depended on the customers. Had stuck-up cunts people like Radley too come in now and then. Mostly always “girlfriends” of some nano-celebrity or some poseur whose taste in music didn’t stretch further than U2, Simple Minds, or Bob “Reggae is vile” Marley. Best bit was being able to listen to literally everything and getting the chance to discover some amazing sounds. Worst bit was being almost blind in the smoke haze caused by the numerous ‘jazz’ cigarettes that a few punters copiously consumed while browsing the racks.

    1. Every week, pop-art doyen Peter Blake would shuffle into the store and buy a five-pack of C60 tapes. Apart from a format after your own heart, jf, I reckon he might have been selling bootleg copies of Sgt Pepper and Weller’s Stanley Road down Camden Market.

      There’s nowhere better than working in a record store to broaden the musical horizons. There was plenty of jazz in my store, and a fair few cigarettes, but never the two together – probably a good thing.

    1. Ha! Having dated (well, lived with) a girl with a bigger record collection than mine, it’s not recommended – never trust a DJ, of either gender; the post-break-up division of the record collection was one of the longest nights of my life. I’m still fuming about that rare Spacemen 3 single I know I bought…

      1. Cheers to that young squire… having also had the devastating division of the record collection [two days and multiple shouting matches] with a DJ. My tangible collection still resembles a metaphorical block of Swiss cheese.

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