<*dv_1*>Brighton Records Fair, 9 March, Brighton Centre
I arrive late. It's nearly noon and the records fair began two hours ago. This is normally enough to start me hyperventilating. The thought of records disappearing into someone else's hands because of my sloth makes me feel panicky. There are 150 stalls over two floors. I usually start upstairs, working on the theory that most people will begin downstairs, giving me a better chance of finding unplundered boxes. However this strategy is now in tatters. As I am late wont most people now have worked their way upstairs? Would I not be better off starting downstairs, taking advantage of the temporary lull, before people come back down to pick up the record they saw earlier? I am wracked by indecision. I decide to start upstairs anyway. Maybe it is my imagination but the records downstairs always seem slightly more expensive.
<*dv_0*> Rummaging through my first box of the day I immediately come across some old Motown and a Nina Simone record I quite fancy in a box filled with 60s west coast rock. However I know I don't really want any of these records. I just want to make a purchase to take the edge of the stress of arriving late.
<*dv_3*> I concentrate on the boxes of cheap vinyl. I am tempted by some mid 70s Temptations and some Harold Melvin LPs but know they are average records and it's only the "2 each or 3 for 5" deal that is enticing me. Again I resist the quick fix of a purchase. I begin to notice the bizarre amount of Blue Oyster Cult knocking around. It seems the worlds supply of their Cultosaurus Erectus LPs have come here to die Some things remain the same as it only takes three boxes to find my first Phil Collins record of the day. The satanic red tinted head of Phil stares malevolently from the cover of But Seriously. I continue to work my way through box after box. By the end of my circuit upstairs only a couple of Francoise Hardy records have interested me. My worst fears about the best stuff being snapped up are being realised.
I head downstairs without a purchase and feeling depressed. In fact, I must be very depressed because I find myself lingering over Korn's Life is Peachy. Nu-metal? What has happened to me? I replace the CD.
Records fairs often have this effect on me. If I spent every waking minute of the rest of my life listening to music I never be able to hear everything in this room. Whenever I buy a record the thought I could be listening to something better haunts me. I remember a bloke who would come into a record shop I used to live near. He bought nothing but Queen records, seven inches, twelve inches, picture discs, everything. At the time I thought he was sad, dedicating himself to one band. Now I am jealous. At least there was a goal in his life, some point to the records he bought. He could slowly make progress towards owning everything Queen had recorded whilst I have barely scratched the surface of a thousand styles. I think of how much money I have spent on records over the years. Thousands of pounds and too what end? I feel pathetic, emasculated. I look round at the hundreds of men bent over silently scouring dusty boxes of vinyl. Isn't there something more meaningful we could be doing? Is this the sum total of our lives? I see an acne ridden teen riffling through some classic indie, nearby a scraggy looking man, mid 50s, in washed out cords and shapeless jumper is haggling with somebody. It's as if I have been visited by the ghosts of Christmas past and Christmas future. It is a moment of painful, existential self-realisation. What is the point of it all? I feel an overwhelming....Isaac Hayes - Live at the Sahara Tahoe appears in a box marked at 3, what a bargain. Suddenly the black dog has gone. My spirits lift. I am rejuvenated. Am I really this shallow that one record can transform my mood? Luckily James Brown, Al Green, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin and Timmy Thomas records all surface in rapid succession to assuage any more painful analysis.
<*dv_2*> I leave the records fair with my haul a short time later. The clouds of depression have retreated but I know that they lurk ominously and I will have to face them again. The records I have bought weigh heavily, and the handles of my plastic bag cut into my fingers, it is a suitable penance
|
