Wednesday, April 20, 2011

How could I have pulverised my treasured records?

Yesterday's must-have discs became today's embarrassments, so they had to go ? violently

It was November 1977 and a mate and I took Tina Charles's 1975 disco hit I Love To Love into the garden, surrounded it with fireworks and laughed hysterically as it was, well, not exactly blown to smithereens, but rendered an unplayable, charred pile. Why were we doing this? Because fashions had changed: a once-treasured item was suddenly really embarrassing.

Last Saturday's Record Store Day brought these memories flooding back. While you can delete a download, MP3 culture has denied a generation the sheer, stupid joy of purging their record (or CD) collection by violent means. In 1977, as the punk tsunami rendered my childhood record collection old hat, I traded all my Gary Glitter singles with a lad down the road for his Blondie 45s. But others ? such as the gently swaying Mississippi by Dutch Pussycat, a forgotten 1976 No 1 ? were so uncool that no secondhand shop would touch them.

So the cull began. Showaddywaddy's Hey Rock'n'Roll was hurled like a Frisbee from my bedroom window, others were melted down on my mum's cooker. Only concern for safety prevented us throwing them under a bus.

Purging is a part of growing up and is cyclical. Years later, when indie reigned, I remember packing punk singles off to Greece to swap for some obscure Durutti Column 12in or other. However, the flipside is regret. As an adult, I've found myself getting nostalgic for records that captured a moment in time as well as any photo. And not all were embarrassments ? how on earth could I have offed Billy Ocean's yearning Love Really Hurts Without You, which my 10-year-old self rightly recognised as one of the greatest singles ever made?

Last week, I queued for Record Store Day singles like a child, but I would swap them all for my old 7in of Love Machine by the Miracles on Motown, which I bought aged 11, lost in a shoe shop, and then recovered 20 minutes later, thrilled to bits that the assistant had placed it to one side in case I came back. Three years later, I took it into the garden and hit it with a rock.


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