Category Archives: Voices

Why do we collect records?

Why ask me?

I don’t know. Why do women look into a full wardrobes, sigh, and say ‘I’ve nothing to wear’.

Why do people take cars only couple of years old and in perfect working order and change them for a newer model? Why do people spend millions on a canvas with paint splattered on it?

It’s their money, they do what they want with it. Me? I’m happy buying records. I buy them because I like them. 1962 to 2010 couldn’t care less, as long as the vocal’s there, no problem. Get it in the collection. Photos too, especially the 60s ones, black & white photographs – magic. And the songsheets. And dentures, yeah, false teeth as worn by Sy Hightower. Continue reading Why do we collect records? →

Perk Of The Job


Little Milton “Don’t Leave Me” /  “I’ll Never Turn My back On You” (Checker)
I don’t wheel out ‘incredible’ too often as music is a personal thing and what has me dancing around the warehouse and screaming WTF/OMG/FFS may leave others twiddling their thumbs and waiting for the next Tim Tam & the Turn Ons 45 to come alongThis then is not for all. However, for those who like to face the real roots of soul minus their under armour, come in friend, here’s a live on. “Don’t” is one of those sides that is so good, so soulful, I’ll wager it’s never had an airing at a venue. If it has, well, fair play to anyone who has championed it. Continue reading Perk Of The Job →

Some time in the future…

I had give him his due; he was where he said he would be and he was on time. In fact, he’d been early. I’d staked out the meet a half-hour before and seen two other suckers approach him and make a purchase before scurrying away with that satisfied scuffle that fool who have only recently parted with their money make. He was leaning back again the old Piedmoor Bank building, his ankle length leather coat tails dancing in the cold midnight wind. Occasionally he lifted his head from within the depths of his upturned collar to see if any more prospective purchasers were braving the elements to make a hit. Then, like a praying mantis, he reteat back into his coat. Sheltering from the wind and a fine, misty rain that had given the city streets a slick, polished look, I witness proceeding from a disused shop doorway. Continue reading Some time in the future… →