28

IN WHICH… I SNIFF OUT JULIAN’S PROBLEM

It was not quite the welcome I’d anticipated when paying one of my regular visits to Second Scene in late spring, 2018. I’d not popped in to see Julian for a while. He and Helen were busy sorting, cleaning and pricing a batch of singles which had recently come in, and Julian was puzzled by an aroma which appeared to him to be wafting off a number of the discs he was handling. He thrust one at me for an opinion.

I admitted that there was certainly some kind of faint tang being given off, but that I rather felt it was being overwhelmed by the more obvious niff of stale baccy. Playing along, I told him: ‘I’m getting notes of late flowering body odour, fragrantly blending with essence of wet plimsoll and damp pet.’ But Julian appeared to be serious. He was convinced that the smell he had been noticing was emanating mainly from records on the Fontana label. ‘Then you’d better check that it hasn’t spread to your Pretty Things and Kaleidoscopes,’ I warned. Julian elaborated on his theory that the older records became, the more likely that some kind of chemical reaction could be taking place within the very grooves of the discs. ‘Who knows what went into the making of records back in the day?’ he wondered.

Now Julian picked up a single which had clearly made him forget about his olfactory observations and start thinking about a potential significant profit. ‘I haven’t seen one of these before,’ he said, showing me a 1969 DJM label single by Elton John. ‘Trouble is it doesn’t look in very good condition – otherwise it would be worth a good three-figure return.’ I could trust Julian on his valuation – after all, he is a Watford supporter, like the artist in question. The record was Elton’s third single, ‘It’s Me That You Need’, which Julian played and to which we listened respectfully as befits the value of the record, which was very good indeed, particularly Caleb Quaye’s guitar – which also had a very significant input to the B-side, ‘Just Like Strange Rain’. The record would have been worth twice as much had it come in a picture sleeve, and although I wasn’t about to hand over a ton for it, I did check out which album I might find it on. I duly ordered a 1995 reissue copy of Elton’s debut LP, Empty Sky, which didn’t contain the two sides of that single when originally released in 1969, but acquired both when reissued.

Julian was now showing me an apparently mint copy of a Peter Sellers’ EP, part of the collection he was cleaning up. After we both agreed that (a) Peter Sellers is rapidly being forgotten, and (b) that we rather felt Bruce Springsteen is a somewhat over-rated performer, he played me a doo-wop version of ‘Dancing In The Dark’. By now I’d found a record I fancied – a compilation of the group Earth & Fire, whose name I’d recently come across on a review copy of a single by them on the Penny Farthing label. I’d liked it, but not enough to resist an offer to sell it. Very successful in their native Netherlands, Belgium and Germany in the early 1970s, they never cracked the British or US market with their prog-cum-psych rock style. I put the record on and it wasn’t long before both Julian and I were simultaneously uttering the names ‘Jefferson Airplane and Grace Slick’. Once again – he always forgets he’s said it to me before – Julian said: ‘How do you always find records I’ve put out for sale that I’d probably like to keep?’ ‘Too late, she’s coming home with me,’ I answered.

This day was one when I wasn’t feeling the pull of many records. We did listen to a recently issued live MC5 album, recorded originally in 1968, but agreed the sound was off-puttingly muddy, and gave up after a couple of tracks. Al Stewart is one of those artists I always enjoy listening to when his music comes on, but will only rarely choose actively to play. I spotted his Past, Present and Future sitting there in very good condition for a mere six quid, and looked at the list of guitarists playing on it: Tim Renwick, Isaac Guillory, B J Cole, with Rick Wakeman and Dave Swarbrick also appearing amongst the collaborators.

Shortly after, Stewart came to play locally – charging £90 for two tickets. I bought two different ‘Original Album’ 5-CD sets by him for £21 the pair instead.

By now the afternoon was moving into evening, I’d had a cup of coffee, courtesy of Helen (I only drink tea by choice, but if someone offers you coffee it is only polite to accept). Julian had finished sorting out his singles, so I figured it was time to make my excuses with the two records I’d picked. Then I noticed a copy of Second Winter, one of the few Johnny Winter albums of which I did not have a copy, largely because when it was first released, back in 1969 my dislike of his brother Edgar’s less rocky style put me off. I do now – and it has become the only three-sided double album I, or most other collectors possess. Julian was his usual generous self, totting up the three records to a total of £31 then giving me a much-appreciated discount… of a quid.

My next trip was to a shop somewhere I hadn’t been since my days as a footballing superstar – in certain circles. My big break into journalism had come when, shortly after leaving school, I went for an interview at the Weekly Post. The editor, John Hyam, was quickly bored by the cuttings from the school mag which I’d hoped might impress him and win me the reporter’s job for which I had applied. Chewing a pen, and swinging back in his chair he put his hands behind his neck and snapped:

‘I don’t suppose you play football?’

‘Er, yes, I play for a local team, Wealdstone Athletic on Sundays. I’m a right winger.’

‘Hm. Would you be prepared to go to Lewisham each week to play for the team I run there on Saturdays? You’d get a lift.’

‘Suppose so.’

‘OK, you’ve got the job. Be here next Monday morning at 9am to start work. The football starts next Saturday.’

I ended up top scorer for his team, The Tab. But it took 50 years before I returned to Lewisham, this time in April 2018, to visit the imaginatively named local record shop Records. Before finding the shop I recognised the local clock-tower from past days, but nothing else whatsoever. I’d seen two online reviews of Records. One claimed, ‘Many records are in appalling/unplayable conditions. It seems like prices were put on them decades ago and nothing has been changed since… he doesn’t take cards so bring bundles of cash!’ Another said, ‘Only had time for a short visit. Found 4 albums I’d been searching for on eBay for a decent price – on eBay £40/50 – here, £22.’

Very different observations but both, as I would shortly discover, contained kernels of accuracy. You would struggle to call the premises spotless and the criticism of the condition of records also rang true. I searched through mountains of very poorly laid out shelves and containers for the best part of an hour, only latterly looking up, to see copies of decades-old Men Only magazines dangling down over my head. The absence of plastic covers for most of the records strewn here, there and almost everywhere was partly responsible for the less than pristine condition of many of them. But some of those which were, were housed in dusty, dirty covers. The closest I came to a purchase was a Don Nix LP in just-about acceptable condition, priced at £9.50.

Others did purchase, though. When I arrived, the elderly Catweazle-lookalike running the place was chatting to a guy who was trying to sell him a range of soul singles which, insisted the seller, ‘people will easily pay a tenner for’. Catweazle seemed unconvinced, but did good-humouredly agree to take one or two from him to play to potential buyers. Good PR for his shop, at least. Not long after, in walked a gent who may well have been a DJ as he was going through handfuls of singles, playing short snaps of them very quickly, some of them jumping or sticking as he did so. He found a few he wanted. Catweazle totted up the price. ‘Oh, and I’ll let you have this one for two quid,’ he said. ‘No,’ insisted the DJ. ‘It’s marked at £2.50, so that’s what I’ll pay for it.’ Honour between buyer and seller. Impressive. Restores one’s faith in human nature. I left, feeling vaguely unclean, but morally cleansed. On the way out I glanced at the notice on the window: ‘Many rare albums in every category of modern music.’ Well, I didn’t believe that one. But there was another one: ‘DANGER – don’t lean on the glass.’ I definitely did believe that one.

Having bought nothing in Lewisham I soon realised I’d started a losing streak…