25

IN WHICH… ADDICTS, COMPULSIVES AND HOARDERS APPEAR

In April 2018, I paid a visit to one of the record shops where the proprietor is now used to seeing me. I arrived shortly before an overweight chap a few years older than me who wheezes in, and asks to sit down – collapse into a chair, more like! He stays for a while, chatting to the owner, then departs with a couple of bags of records.

When the man has gone, the owner tells me:

‘He’s a hoarder. Lives on his own – you could probably tell from his appearance and odour. His house is crammed full of records, boxes of them, shelves of them, rooms, garages full of them. I’ve been there and seen very rare stuff just lying around, on the floor, or stacked up together. An original Fontana Kaleidoscope album, for example, just left on the floor; a Parlophone Beatles’ black/gold label “Please, Please Me” chucked down on a chair, others worth three figures each strewn around. There’s probably enough classic stuff just lying around to pay off his mortgage – if, that is, he even has one! You can barely get through his door or into the rooms. He also has a number of lock-ups which are packed to the rafters with records. He buys them from all over the place, not only from me. He’ll pay the full “book” price even when the covers are tatty. I sometimes feel uneasy about the amount he buys from me. He is definitely a hoarder. I think the records are a protective, defensive shield for him, perhaps against family members he’s had problems with. I’ve no idea what will happen to them when he dies, but I’m not the only person in the business who knows him, what the value of his records must be, and who lives close enough to him to join a race to be the first to get there when he goes.’

The owner also offers what seems like irrefutable proof that the man is more than a keen collector, but that he has a serious medical problem: ‘He does not own a record player.’

I would not remotely put myself into the same league of hoarding as this man who clearly suffers, in my opinion, from a mental aberration of some kind which, if it didn’t reveal itself via the hoarding, would almost certainly find another outlet.

When I was made redundant in 2017 it meant that after a lengthy period of forced separation, I was able to pick up where I’d left off with my long-suffering mistress. My wife had known about my illicit relationship, carried out clandestinely whenever she was out of the house and I had the place to myself, but she had tolerated it, knowing that, without what it brought me, I’d probably start looking for another outlet for my passions. In fact, there was indeed already another suitor – but, unknown to her, this one had by now begun to lose the grip on me which had once left me powerless to resist.

Sheila gave me an ultimatum. ‘I don’t mind you not getting another job, but if you’re going to be around getting under my feet all the time, you are going to have to make compromises. You’ll have to downsize.’ The words struck a chill into my very soul. They meant I would have to cut down drastically on my commitment to what had been two of the major loves of my life – vinyl records and books. Both had been essential to my peace of mind over the years although I had used them terribly, without ever really being able to give them the love and affection to which they were entitled. I would expect them always to look their best and to be there for me when I needed the soothing balm of their presence. Now the time had come to re-examine our relationship.

The books, if I’m brutally honest, had been exploited by me, in return for little more than a commitment not to do them any harm. I used them mainly for research purposes, to help ensure that as much material as existed about the subject of the many books I wrote about horse racing and/or gambling, was available to help me create more volumes on a similar theme. Within a few weeks, though, I’d steeled myself and discarded hundreds of them. Many of them found a new home in local charity shops; others were sold via Amazon and/or eBay. Mrs Sharpe was very happy with this progress, but she was anxious that it should be mirrored on the vinyl front.

This turned out to be a much more difficult process. My record collection long ago became something of a comfort blanket for me. Whenever the world has been giving me a hard time I always know I can retreat into the welcoming, uncritical embrace of my vinyl. Surely it ought to be a straightforward process of elimination to discard records acquired for review purposes which I didn’t like. Those which I bought 10, 20, 30, even 40 years ago for a bargain price yet still remain sealed and unopened. Why buy them in the first place if I didn’t really want them? Could I seriously start learning to love them if I hadn’t been bothered to do so for so long? Doubtful. Perhaps they were records I bought for the sake of buying records. The times when, like a junkie, an alcoholic, a compulsive gambler, I just needed a fix and it didn’t really matter what it was. Champagne quality wasn’t essential, cheap cider would do; a bet on the 2.45 at Sedgefield would serve the purpose equally as well as a wager on the Derby or Melbourne Cup. What about the ones I know to have a resale value which I never play and feel no affection for? Surely they can be dumped, or at least given to a friend, sold to a record dealer or on an auction site?

The overriding problem seems to be that I resent parting with anything which might possibly have a resale value. This is clearly a lingering hangover from childhood when both of my parents brought me up to understand and respect the value of money. The waste-not, want-not philosophy of most of those who had lived through the war was something they were desperate to instil within their children, not wanting them ever to go without, but not wanting them to underestimate what money could do for them.

Which might go some way to explaining why I found it so difficult to part with a reissue LP of the soundtrack to Cliff Richard’s movie Summer Holiday. Like most people of my age, I saw the film when it came out, and enjoyed it well enough, but have never listened to the soundtrack since acquiring it for review more than 30 years ago. I offered Cliff up for sale to the world via eBay for £9.99. No joy. I reduced him to £6.99. A few looked, but no one bid. £4.99. Still no offers. Finally, I accepted that there was no great desire for this item at any price likely to produce any sort of profit worth the hassle of selling and sending it. With some regrets I eventually managed to slip it into the charity shop bag when my mind was occupied by other thoughts!

What is behind this hoarding tendency and virtual fear of parting with any records that mean virtually nothing to me? I found someone to ask questions of this nature. I was intrigued to learn that Lynsey McMillan, of Mo’Fidelity Records in Montrose, Angus, Scotland, has a unique qualification:

‘I am a trained counsellor and split my time between my private therapy practice and our record shop. I love how these two seemingly different roles contrast and complement each other beautifully.’

I contacted Lynsey to get her perspective on issues facing record collectors and record shop owners, and began by asking: ‘How would you counsel someone who admits to a compulsive, but probably just about manageable addiction to buy ever more records?’

‘This is tricky to answer as I would be unlikely to take on a client who bought a lot of records, since it would be highly likely they would be a regular customer of the shop. My counselling practice and our shop are in the same town, and counsellors have to take care to avoid dual relationships. If a customer approached me for counselling I would refer them to a fellow therapist. I will answer more generally on the subject of compulsive buying/collecting. I specialise in eating disorders and specifically with compulsive over-eating, and the priority is to take care of the underlying issues that cause the compulsive behaviour, typically issues with trauma, loss, self-esteem, depression, anxiety, relationships, trust and (dis) connection.

‘The goal is often to increase that person’s ability to find other strategies to cope with life and in particular to develop more trusting relationships with others, so that food can resume its normal place in the person’s life and be a pleasure, but not the be all and end all. I imagine there are some parallels with record buying, in that most people buy and enjoy their records, but that it doesn’t take the place of other ways of coping with life – that there’s a certain balance they are happy with.

‘For record buying to be a genuine problem the person and those around them must be negatively affected, financially, emotionally, relationally, etc. The aim then might be to genuinely connect with their music collection, to curate, play, enjoy and share it whilst also taking strides to put in some limits and boundaries to mitigate the negatives.

‘You can have too much of any good thing. Like food, I don’t think you can “quit” music but you can learn to savour and slow down. Personally, I think that buying online encourages over-consumption more than visiting a record shop. Our ethos in the shop is all about mindful consumption, and our place in the community is that of a hub where people can get together and connect with the music, with us and each other. The customers who I’d say buy too many records are buying the majority online and visiting us only occasionally.’

Could you see Lynsey ever warning a potential customer that he or she should perhaps step back from collecting?

‘My partner does flag this up with the occasional regular, and has been known to tell customers, “You already have this record in blue vinyl, you don’t need it in red”, or whatever. A potential customer, no, because we wouldn’t know them or their habits to be able to comment.’

‘And what’, I asked, ‘made you want to become a record shop owner?’

‘My fiancé and I opened the shop some two years ago. He runs it most of the time, I’m very busy with my work and I help on weekends and my less busy days. I know a good amount but he’s the true expert. We opened the shop when Neil was made redundant and we had the opportunity to take a risk.’

‘Would you say females are under-represented amongst record collectors and/or record shop staff? If so, can you offer any indication why that should be the case?’

‘Yes, the majority of our customers are older males, 40 plus, but we have a lot of couples who shop together and some younger female customers. I don’t know exactly why – I was raking in record shops from the age of around 14, but my own buying tailed off as my life responsibilities increased and there was the switch in those days to CDs. I think the music industry in general is male-dominated, some genres of music more so than others. In general, I think men and women have been culturally conditioned to spend money differently. Women maybe spend more on clothes, cosmetics, appearances and on their children and homes. From a feminist perspective we might say that some women could be happier and more empowered if they spent more time in record shops than worrying about shoes and handbags!’

I’m relieved that it was Lynsey who made that final point – I wouldn’t have dared!

However, returning to the hoarding and compulsive aspects of record collecting, I still had to answer the question: Am I a vinyl addict? Since my teenage years, I have consistently spent more time than is healthy, and frequently more cash than I could really afford, in record shops, listening to and purchasing music in its recorded form. At no time have I ever been warned that my behaviour is, or was, unacceptable and/or told that I have a problem which may require some kind of medical attention or treatment. No record shop assistant or owner has ever quizzed me as to whether I should really be buying that much vinyl, or whether what I am about to spend is within my affordable budget. I do not advocate that they should do so. But why is this? People who feel powerless to resist the blandishments of alcohol, cosmetic surgery, costly cars, drugs, gambling, luxury holidays, tobacco, works of art, are usually roundly criticised for wasting their money and frequently accused of being in the grip of a medical condition. They may even be advised to seek medical assistance in an effort to help prevent them becoming addicted. No such concern appears to exist when it comes to people for whom only a fix of new records will do when the longing looms.

Selling vinyl in establishments offering tea, coffee and other soft drinks is now by no means unusual. Thus far there have been relatively few set-ups which team alcohol with vinyl shopping, and even fewer which use high-end wine to entice customers along for a quaff, and then encourage them to mix pampering their palate with the opportunity to listen to seductive sounds of vinyl as they sip, and perhaps to buy what they are hearing.

Winyl is the first of its type that I’ve come across and it also achieved the feat of introducing me to a place of which I had never previously heard – Manningtree in Essex. One customer posted online: ‘What a great store. A superb selection of pre-loved and new vinyl at very reasonable prices with the added bonus of being able to sip a cheeky red whilst browsing the racks.’ Another confessed to being ‘half-cut’ when departing, but didn’t reveal whether they were packing vinyl as they left. Another enthusiastic reviewer commented, ‘What a great place! Such a lovely couple, who really know their stuff! Great to try some different wines, and listen to some records, before purchasing your favourites to take home!’

One member of that ‘couple’, Steve, told me how the shop had come about:

‘I was in music retailing for 20 years and saw the rise and fall of vinyl. I always kept (most of) mine and with the revival I could finally make a business stack up. Plus I love wine, so thought I would create a space where people can have a glass whilst browsing and playing vinyl. We are licensed for on and off sales and have just introduced a small selection of beers. We have had a couple of events so far, a book signing and a vinyl “singles” club. As far as I know we are unique in the UK. There are plenty of record shops doing beer or coffee but not wine, especially vegan and organic wine.’

Steve even offered me a signing session for this book: ‘Be very happy to host a signing, although last time got messy and was a bit of a lock in!’

He has also combined his products:

‘I have traded old for new and even traded some vinyl for a bottle of wine, it’s like bartertown.’

Returning now to Second Scene, where I often go to appease the ‘must score some new old records’ desire, boss Julian appeared to be developing something of a (probably unnecessary) conscience about customers who, he felt, might be spending too much.

‘I had a guy who came in and chose a good few records, which came to about 500 quid. I thought he might have had a drink or two, so I said to him, “Are you sure you really want these records, they’re quite expensive? Perhaps you should leave them here, go home and think about it and come and get them tomorrow if you still want them.” Well, he did come back the next day and buy them. But then when he came in on the next couple of occasions he had started to look a little less well turned out each time, eventually even looking a little tramp-ish. Then he just sort of vanished.’

Julian’s conscience was certainly pricked. But I pointed out that, in my opinion, other people’s motivations shouldn’t be his responsibility. Why should he risk losing perfectly legitimate business by trying to persuade people not to buy his wares even when they insisted they were perfectly able to afford the money they were spending and that they were in a proper state of mind to do so? He hadn’t dragged them into his shop against their will when all was said and done. How is he to know how much disposable income they may or may not have? Why is it even his responsibility to do so? I would regard it as an invasion of my privacy if anyone tried that approach with me!

Now let’s hear more on this subject, particularly the ‘testimony’ from someone who is outspoken about his own kind of vinyl dependency…