BLUES NIGHT - RICHMOND
Sitting in a shed in North Yorkshire, listening to records.
Saturday, 4 November 2023
The 2nd Annual Berkeley Blues Festival Concert & Dance
Thursday, 19 October 2023
KLF - Chill Out
Background noise is negligible however, and this is important with a record that has passages where the music IS background noise. Play this record at a regular volume while bottling a beer or reading somebody's blog and it might pass you by almost unnoticed. But crank it up LOUD when you're as smashed as we were in the shed during scientific testing last weekend, and it crawls in through your ears, fills up your skull and expands your mind in seventy-five altered dimensions... which are costing you one pound each.
Actually, you needn't spend that at all. Just swing by some time and we will all listen to it. It kind of belongs here anyway, especially as the first elpee we've posted twice on Insta, appropriately enough for a record in a sleeve that looks like it could have been photographed about half a mile up Hurgill Road from here.
Tuesday, 10 October 2023
Darker Than Blue: Soul From Jamdown 1973 - 1980
I love doing this BLUES NIGHT thing. It's not actually a Blues Night, of course, it's just a name for a secret record shop. You know, like how a Lion Bar isn't actually made out of lions? Actually, it's not even a secret record shop, it's just that my own personal records are all for sale. Which is the pretext on which I invite people who might be interested in that sort of thing into my shed to hang out and drink beer and listen to music. It's a social thing. It's a hobby.
So I can't advertise or anything, apart from to offer information up to a potential audience of billions on here, of course. I only do it at the weekends, so the actual occasions upon which somebody buys a record off me are rare compared with a real record shop. I still get new stuff in, but only stuff I want to get in, and only at about the same rate as other stuff goes out. As a result, there are thousands of great records here that have been here for five years now. I often find it a little frustrating when I'm asked, "Have you got any new stuff in?" Because anybody who asks me that is missing the point.
Instead of telling them that, though, I thought I'd use this underused channel to talk about some of the records I can't believe nobody has bought from me yet. If you find something you'd be interested in here, I'd even be prepared to post it to you, if you're never anywhere near North Yorks.
This is a superb compilation of soul and funk tunes performed as roots and rocksteady, lovers and dancehall, by some of Jamaica's finest singers and musicians of the 1970s. It's in a beautiful thick hard sleeve bearing no information on the front, just this engaging photo of the crowd at a reggae festival in Brockwell Park in 1974. I spent quite a lot of time in that park in the years following my purchase of this record, but the closest that this copy ever got was probably a wedding reception at the Cambria.
I almost started this paragraph with the adverb 'sadly' for a moment there, and I'm so glad I didn't. There is nothing sad about the fact that I have played this record out in pubs and bars on dozens and dozens of occasions. Yes, on many of those occasions I would have been too pissed or otherwise distracted to get it back in the right inner sleeve after taking it off, but I would hardly ever have dumped it somewhere it could get scraped. It plays with very little extraneous noise - the countless superficial marks on both sides of both discs are a plethora of badges of honour, a patina to be cherished as well as a good solid reason for this record to be valued sensibly. The only compilation albums for sale in BLUES NIGHT with a price tag north of a ton are on Belzona Records, and that is the way that we like it.
Frankly, it seems fundamentally wrong for a 21st Century artefact - a comp of singles that can be found fairly easily for the larger part - to be fetching daft prices like £180 on Discogs. The idea that (with some of these copies for people with more money than sense) the previous owner doesn't seem to have bothered to listen to it makes it seem even worse, if you ask me. I would like to say I'd describe its condition as VG- but to be quite honest I get so little pleasure out of grading records for brevity that I was prepared to uproot my whole family in order that the discs might be fully playtested by anybody who is interested in buying them. The paper insert of this copy has one gloriously tattered edge where I might have even written a phone number and then torn it off for somebody. I told you I was pissed.
So let's cut to the chase. This copy is for sale for sixty quid. I don't really care if anybody buys it or not as I still love to play it, but when I do, no matter how drunk I am, I shall try to remember where I put the inner sleeve from now on.
Sunday, 21 June 2020
And When I Think About The Hole In The Sky...
Father’s Day often makes me think of John Lennon. He was a shitty father to Julian and he knew it, so he made a special effort to be the best father he could be for Sean. This probably didn't make Julian feel any better, but after his father’s murder his music would go on to have a significant influence upon the development of BLUES NIGHT, which must give him some comfort.
This was my first opportunity to understand that teachers are, generally speaking, terrible with music. I shudder to remember the hundreds of occasions upon which a piece of calming classical music (or inspirational M People / Lighthouse Family) was unceremoniously killed with the stop button instead of with a gentle fade so that assembly could start.
Music used in lessons is (nine times out of ten) chosen for its lyrical content rather than the consideration of whether it is any good. And so it was when, as a student teacher, I sat in the hall of a great big Victorian primary school in East Ham, to observe a dance lesson on the first day of my first placement. The teacher sat her class down in a rough circle around the wedge-shaped Coomber CD player (no, I have no idea why schools have to use these) and bade them 'just listen to the words' of this song.
Immediately I recognised the sub-Strawberry-Fields organ intro of Julian Lennon's 'Saltwater' and I was struck by the horrified realisation that these poor kids were going to have to Dance About The Environment. About four minutes later, the music stopped, and the teacher announced, “This song is called Saltwater and it is going to be the theme of your new dance. Does anybody know who this song is by?”
Naturally, I did not put my hand up. I was 27, and a student teacher, not a child in the class. Also naturally, none of the children did either. It had reached Number 6 on the UK charts around the time that they were born. The teacher was undaunted, however. As an observer, I was impressed by her expectations of this group of predominantly Bangladeshi 8-year-olds. “Okay, but after hearing it, can anybody guess who it was by?”
How on earth do you expect them to do that? I wondered. And then I began to worry. Oh no, you don't think…
“Well, I'm pretty sure a lot of you will have heard of him…”
Oh no I think you do think…
“He was very, very famous!”
Oh no. No. Please, no. At this point my hand would normally have been on its way to my forehead, but I was new here, it was my first day and I was eager to impress. In fact, my new ‘Mentor’, the single person it was most important for me to impress in the world at that moment, was just about to say something to which it would take all of my effort to stifle a visible reaction.
“Well, his name was Julian Lennon and he was the singer in a band called The Beatles.” At this point, the invisible latch holding my arm in place suddenly dematerialised and my fleshy, concave palm slammed against my already-sizeable, end-of-the-century forehead. In this hall it sounded like a gunshot, and every single child in the class turned around to look.
The teacher was already facing in my direction. “Oh I'm sorry, Mr Barnes, is that not correct?”
"Um, no, I think that was his dad.” I murmured.
Thursday, 24 January 2019
Destination: Richmond
You're thinking Isn't it strange that he has so much less to say about his weird, spoddy little music-shed project than he does about getting told off by various Yorkshirewomen?
Or you might be thinking I've read that Hi-Fi mag article already. Is that the best he can do? But lots of people won't have, there's a newer issue out now (so hopefully they won't mind) and I have actually taken the time to get the copy in a readable form. And also, everything else I have to say about my spoddy little music-shed project will need to make reference to this lovely article from time-to-time, in a post to follow soon. (Yes, I know you've heard that one before. Shut up and read it.)
Blues Night’s kit list makes for covetable reading. “I’ve always been more into hi-fi than DJ kit, but for the shop, I never thought about anything other than a pair of Technics 1210s,” Tim explains. These came via eBay, along with the Allen & Heath mixer. There’s also an ancient Goldring Lenco GL75 to play 78s on. The Nakamichi 600 tape deck is the most recent arrival: “I enjoy making a mixtape even more in my forties than I did in my teens,” he adds. “Sometimes it’s useful to record onto CD – the closest I get to digitising – on a Sony RCD-W100. A series of British amplifiers came to an end when the Marantz PM6003 was all I could afford and it seems it will last forever.” The speakers are bi-wired Musical Fidelity Reference 4s. “I’ve had them since I was a teenager and I love them like brothers.”
BLUES NIGHT aims to blur the lines between business venture and public service. “If I can get this project to make enough money to justify me spending most of my waking hours on it, it will be worth doing,” says Tim. “I really don’t know what to expect from it, long-term. I hope there will be live music, opportunities to sell the beer I’ve been making to occasional decent-sized crowds, and that it’ll be a venture that my boys can enjoy enough not to want to hide its existence and their connection to it from their school friends. I hope that people will listen to and enjoy music that they would never have picked out for themselves.
The eventual push for the escape plan was bitter-sweet, however. “Living in the capital, I never had any money – and rarely actually had any time to just sit and listen to music either. And an old friend died two-and-a-half years ago. I realised that while he’d never had much money to spend either, he had always done what he wanted to do – seeing the world, playing records in clubs, managing DJs and having a good time. That was my eureka moment: I knew I had to do it now or accept that I never would.”
Tim and family sold their
Tim’s commute certainly sounds enviable. “I decided it was going to have to be a premises inside my own home for a few different reasons,” he explains. “First, even if it was in a prime city-centre retail location, there would have been times when I’d be sitting there on my own drinking coffee in the morning thinking: ‘I might open up a couple of hours later tomorrow’. I got talking to a guy who’d started a shop stocked with his own collection several years back, who said he had essentially swapped thousands of brilliant records for a few years of rent payments to somebody he hated. The flip side of this is that I hope I might be getting phone calls from people saying they’ve come two hundred miles for a browse, so is there any chance I can get out of bed and let them in?”
It’s taken a few months to get BLUES NIGHT ready, not least because of the need to provide accommodation as well as a comfy sofa. One important aim is to be a community hub in his adopted home town. “Wherever we went, we were always looking for a place we could sit down, have a drink, have a chat with somebody who knew the place a bit, all of that stuff. Now I want to provide that place. The shop and the town should have a mutually beneficial relationship –the shop should be a good place for locals or visitors to go, but also be a reason for a few people to want to visit the town, and then while they’re here, they’ll discover what a nice place it is.
Looking around the beautiful space that he’s created, Tim reflects on what BLUES NIGHT means to him. “This is all about getting these great records I’ve been collecting for 30 years or so off the shelf, and into people’s hands. Out of the sleeves and onto the platter. Taste is subjective, of course, but this is certainly stock of a higher quality than you would usually find in a second-hand shop. Obviously, I need it to make a certain amount of money, so that I can pay the bills, but the need to make money has never been the driving force behind this project. I’ve always said I will have failed the moment I find myself looking at a visitor and thinking: ‘Are you going to buy anything, or not?’”