Who here can relate??

[troche@...]

http://arts.guardian.co.uk/features/story/0,,1927568,00.html


In the vinyl analysis
Music fans over the age of 30 will have amassed a sizable record 
collection over the years, which they rarely play. Is it time to put 
away childish things?



By Jacques Peretti
The Guardian


Saturday October 21, 2006

�I�ve done it. I have done it. I can�t actually believe I�ve done it, 
but I have (done it). And now I�m looking at the floor - at where 
everything I loved and cherished and held dear to my cold heart used to 
be - and I can�t help thinking it looks wrong. Yesterday, the entire 
floor space of my dusty attic was covered in records: 30,000 lumps of 
plastic warping gently in the autumn sun. Records called things like 
Trance Orgasm Express and Black Magic Horn by long-forgotten people with 
names such as DJ Spanky; Mushroom Mike and Melting Dolphins (featuring 
the vocal talents of Janeen).

There they stood, like some frightening installation of everything 
frightening and �underground� from the 1990s, a few embarrassing, a few 
rare, believe it or not, and worth an absolute fortune, but the vast 
majority (all of them basically, bar an armful), 1990s house music in 
all its pompous glory: when dance music went all Rick Wakeman and prog 
rock, taking itself so seriously, it disappeared up its own 
linen-trousered backside. The King (Crimson) of this prog house shit was 
someone called Sasha. Every Sasha record was identical: there�d be a 
blurry photo on the cover of a moody Sasha on a cliff-top, looking out 
across the sea to some far-away destination (a place called Meaning). 
The record would last 45 minutes, with a 25-minute intro of doomy synth 
washes. This would be followed by a multiple orgasm of drum-rolls and 
then some woman (Janeen probably) wailing Take Me Higher, Let Me Be Your 
Fantasy, Come On My Face or some such charming refrain over the top ...

I�m trying to damn these records to sound modern and with it but truth 
is I have great affection for this rubbish - it sounds so anachronistic 
now, it�s laughable. But at the time, it all made sense and it was rock 
and guitars, not dance music, that seemed out of date. I remember Bill 
Drummond of the KLF saying that in the future, there will be no more 
need for to live music because we�ll have enough samples to last 
forever. Oh well. There�s wrong and there�s I�ve seen the future and its 
shaped like a rave saucer. I�m sitting in the living room under strict 
instructions from the missus to be brutal when it comes to choosing what 
to keep when sorting my �choons�.

I started out in front of the telly taking them a hundred at a time, 
putting this L�il Louis French Kiss in the KEEP pile, Phuture�s Acid 
Trax in the KEEP pile, Josh Wink�s Higher State Of Consciousness, hmmmm, 
in the KEEP pile. This is going well, this sorting out. It takes me only 
a few minutes to get through a hundred records. �How did that go?� the 
wife asks. �I have, let�s see, ooh, maybe,

96, 97, yup, about, er, 100 in the KEEP pile�.

�Right. And how many in the chuck pile?�

�In the CHUCK pile? Hmmm ... let�s see. That would be, er, none�.

Turns out I was keeping not just the eBay-able records, but the 
tackiest, cheesiest abominations ever committed to plastic: the rave 
version of Jump by Van Halen, some speed barrage thing that sampled the 
Casualty title music with bits of Knight Rider thrown in. I even have a 
happy hardcore remix of the theme to Bob The Builder. �What the fuck are 
you keeping this for? And why did you ever buy it in the first place?� 
�It�s good!� I reply defensively. �That�s rare that. There�s an Erick 
Morillo dub on the back with no vocals and that is awesome�. My wife 
looks at me with pity.

I need a different strategy. I need to chuck the lot. I could put it all 
on eBay I suppose, but I think my records are better than that. I see 
myself as some sort of house music curator, like a rave dad version of 
Charles Saatchi, keen to donate my collection to a deserving museum or 
library. �What the hell are you talking about?� my wife says. �Take them 
to Oxfam�. So off I go. I�m weirdly hyped up as I head off to Oxfam in 
Dalston - a veritable Aladdin�s superstore of mauled children�s toys and 
dead people�s cardigans.

�Hi,� I say brightly. �I�ve got about 30, 000 records I need to get rid 
of�. The quiet man at the counter looks at me. �OK,� he replies. �Where 
are they?� I take him and four colleagues to the back of the car. I open 
the boot, half-thinking I should have set up some Raiders Of the Last 
Ark lightshow to go with the reveal moment.

�Wow!� They are not disappointed. Over the next three hours, we ship the 
vinyl weight equivalent of nine elephants from my house to Oxfam.

�There�s some good stuff in here� one of the guys says to me when we�re 
nearly finished. �And some not so good stuff� (holding up a copy of 
Saturday Night by Whigfield (the Brothers In Rhythm remix). �That is a 
credible tune!� I shout. �The Brothers In Rhythm remix! It�s ace! Ask 
anyone!!� �Not a patch on this surely� he says, taunting me with a Paul 
Oakenfold cash-in remix of The Lighthouse Family. �I was given that! I 
never bought it ... I never ... bought it� (my words petering out).

�Or this�. Nigel Benn�s rapping attempt to break into the pop business. 
�You bought that?!� I do not have words. �Or this� Blue Pearls� Naked In 
The Rain. I leave, without giving my name.

I�ve been here before. When I was 16, I sold all my records (about 5,000 
that time) in order to pay to travel round Europe (fucking rubbish 
Europe, shouldn�t have bothered). I got about 100 quid from some morose 
gent in a Cure T-shirt at Record & Tape Exchange. The irony is that all 
those records I bought when 13, 14, 15 - avant garde mid-1980s indie 
guitar thrash noise - would be worth a serious amount of money today. 
They sound like The Killers, whereas house music just sounds weird and 
gone. Like it never happened.

Anyway, I have a plan - now that I�m feeling the loss. I�m thinking of 
buying the records back - popping in and paying 50p a time. It makes 
sense. It�s worth it. Join me if you like - I�ll be the one clutching 
The Prodigy�s Out Of Space and fighting off old people trying to get to 
the Best Of Barbara Dickson.�