I'm good at the past. It's the present I can't understand
'Records' in Lewisham is the only place to go to escape 2021
I’m obsessed with a Facebook page that has fewer than 300 members. It’s called ”Lewisham Centre old and new” and features residents posting photos of the now much-maligned south London shopping district taken in different eras. It taps into a nostalgia about how the area has changed and, in some cases, decayed. Lewisham may have areas that are now sought after by young professionals as house prices show but the borough’s hub is a mess by whatever metric you use. Its years of ongoing reconstruction has led to dangerous traffic problems (the roundabout by the station is almost unnavigable), an explosion of new residential builds and very expensive commercial units — to rent a new shop costs £120k a year. Lewisham copied Croydon and somehow managed to fail.
Ok, that’s harsh. Lewisham is still being rebuilt and Croydon has a lot of hidden gems, such as The Windmill, a desi pub that serves Indian food through a hatch. But at the moment I don’t enjoy going to Lewisham high street. It’s hard to social distance and it’s such a sprawling mess, although it definitely needs to be said all shopping areas of this type are in terminal decline as the twin terrors of Covid and Amazon strike.
Among the Cash Converter-style pawn shops, irate motorists and fried chicken outlets is a timepiece of a forgotten London. On Lee High Road just before the traffic starts to finally quicken and car rental places mingle with discount supermarkets, there’s a record shop that acts like a reset button for everything that stresses me out about this part of London. It’s run by Aiden, a lovely man in his 80s, who I relish chatting to — he’s a private person, though, and has turned down repeated requests for interviews from many publications. He didn’t want me to take his photo nor write anything about his biographical details but I did show him this article as the last thing I want to do is annoy the great man.
Today I want to tell you about his shop “Records” and five albums I bought there that changed me.
I Successi Di Edith Piaf — Edith Piaf
The purpose of a vinyl record is authenticity and you get to hear the same recording your parents or grandparents would’ve heard. It’s a romanticisation (my mum and dad weren’t Piaf fans) but what a good record can do is act as a time capsule for an era that now only exists in history books. They can transport you back to a slower age.
It’s also how I feel about ‘Records’. It’s like the old classical section in HMV, on Oxford Street, hermetically sealed from the outside world: uncontaminated from modernity.
Paradoxically, the records I buy there remind me of what I was feeling during the moment of purchase which sometimes roots the vinyl in the present. When we bought this Edith Piaf record I had taken my partner, Clare, to ‘Records’ for the first time and I knew it would take some nudging on my part to get her to come.
It was a hot day and we had plans that didn’t involve flicking through piles of records. Shops like these are often male environments but Clare didn’t notice this as she rifled through a whole wall of records dedicated to female artists. When we played the record for the first time at home I was moved by Piaf’s voice and it cut through me with its distinctiveness and otherworldly melancholy. Because I don’t speak French it allowed me to focus on the harmonies, instrumentation and composition. With every crackle of this slightly dusty record we were transported to German-occupied France (impressive for an item that cost only £7).
Hopelessly in Love — Carroll Thompson
When I want to listen to music on my phone, I’m sometimes overwhelmed as the choice is so huge. That’s how our brains work especially when confronted with unlimited options and it’s why visiting a record shop like ‘Records’ is so appealing. Because if you go looking for something specific you’re probably going to fail.
Walking out with something unexpected is liberating in this day and age of huge choice and near instant Amazon delivery. An algorithm may tell you what you might like but there’s nothing better than taking a punt on an old album you know nothing about and buy just because you like the cover (it's how people would have shopped pre-internet). Hopelessly in Love was bought from the reggae section and introduced me to the sub-genre of lovers rock, recently popularised by Steve McQueen’s Small Axe.
Like most lovers rock, Thompson adds a feminine twist to reggae and this record, her 1981 debut, catapulted the artist to international acclaim. It’s a softer side to a genre mired in protest and dissent; a place to rest and take a breath, just like ‘Records’. Lovers rock makes reggae accessible just like this shop introduces the customer to all sorts of genres.
Hopelessly in Love (£7 but Aiden charged me £5) shows how ‘Records’ is an archive of Black music and contains a treasure trove of largely forgotten British music.
Absolute Beginners — The Musical
I saw the 1986 film about 25 years ago and I remember it being slated for its uneven acting particularly from male lead Eddie O’Connell despite his young age at the time. I think I found it in the surprisingly large ‘soundtrack’ section but it could also have been under ‘Bowie’.
It led to me somehow becoming obsessed by Sade, who sang one song on the album, because I already was familiar with the work of the other artists. This is in a nutshell what ‘Records’ means to me — it’s impossible to leave without finding something new, something to relish or even a whole new music genre. The record was in mint condition (£5) and reminded me of the British film industry in the 1980s.
It was a time that British movies strived to be different to their Hollywood counterparts and the soundtracks reflected that. Sade, Ray Davies and Jerry Dammers supplied songs to a film despite their eclectic styles and the film being set in 1958. So this one record included work from the 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s and is emblematic of ‘Records’ vast eclectic collection.
Love God — The Soup Dragons
My default is white. I can’t help it but I was brought up to believe that that culture was the best and my music tastes sometimes reflect that. If you were to ask my friends what my favourite band is then they would all answer Sleeper as I’ve been much mocked by having an enduring Louise Wener obsession. (My hotspot is any band that skewers Britishness and no song does this better than Vegas which is about an Elvis-obsessive dreaming of an unattainable glamorous life).
Love God (£8) is the total opposite to the other albums I’ve mentioned. The Soup Dragons don’t look anything like me and we share none of the same struggles. I think I liked the LP because of the track I’m Free, a Rolling Stones cover which has one of the most memorable intros of 90s music. The actual album is a curiosity that had four hits, and, years later, is a bit unmemorable. I knew it would be like this so why did I buy it?
I went into ‘Records’ that day when I was awaiting a back operation and had been off work for two months. I got a taxi to the shop as I couldn’t really walk. I bought the record because visiting the shop itself gave me so much euphoria that it didn’t matter what I purchased. I then managed to get to the hospital and I was so at peace despite the excruciating pain. I only remember the medical staff wanting to know more about the Soup Dragons record than my severe back injury.
Fats Waller at the Piano — The Immortal Fats
I had always been a bit dismissive about jazz. Then, the first lockdown happened and I couldn’t bear listening to music lyrics. I thought a lot about what if ‘Records’ was open during the most difficult time I’ve experienced? (I didn’t actually want it to open because that would put everyone at risk. It was just an idle daydream). I decided I would have browsed the jazz section and picked a record at random.
But I had no ‘Records’ and instead I found an app that played radio stations around the world. Bizarrely Switzerland has the best jazz radio station — no adverts, just different jazz subgenres played 24/7. I started to realize that I did like jazz and my previous hesitancy was because I was exposed too soon to a few of the more challenging sub genres — free jazz for example. Or maybe it was because I liked the Fast Show sketch, Jazz Club, a bit too much.
When things opened up for a bit last year, I visited ‘Records’ and bought this LP (£5.50). When I played it I was plunged into Fats’s world (real name Thomas Waller) which seeks to reinterpret Christianity in the slave tradition of using religion to offer some hope. His music is about escape — so it’s ironic that his piano and organ lessons encouraged by Baptist minister father eventually led to him becoming a jazz musician aged 15 years old.
Buying this record wasn’t really a punt but an extension of what the shop had taught me — there’s no such thing as a bad record because if you find something you don’t like you’re always one step away from finding something you love. In Lewisham there’s so much to be annoyed by but, for now, you’re always one step away from something to cherish when ‘Records’ is open.
The photos were taken from my kitchen table and the headline is a quote from Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity. I purposely didn’t embed any video or tweets this week to keep things lo-fi. Next week will be the total opposite as I will be speaking about The Streets, viral videos and footballer Scott Parker. (Although I may need to take a break next week as I’m having my second jab) Stay safe