TOWARDS THE MEN IN BLACK

 

Novelty is not a part of my genome and I’m definitely ‘addicted’ to habit. As you get older, rituals form an increasing part of day to day living. They’re regular, time-wasting and provide comfort. In fact, they tick all the boxes for a unit who doesn’t work and has a few spare hours locked in on most days.

I was in Sydney this morning and, while engaged on my compulsory tour of the music shops along York, George and Pitt Streets, I calculated just how long I had been doing ‘the walk’. The closest that I could figure was about fifty years. The outlets may have changed but my intent on searching for those hard to get releases (in varying formats, given my advanced years) has not. Luis Gasca’s For those who chant (1972) and Suntreader’s Zin-Zin (1973) might still be elusive but they haven’t weakened the crusade. Perhaps the chase is as important as the vinyl. Who knows?

I can remember in the early seventies heading off from Abbotsford on Thursday nights or Saturday mornings and zeroing in on Nicholson’s or Palings. The foundations of my collection were hoovered up during those times but I also bought a couple of shockers. To this day I remain unconvinced about Slapp Happy/ Henry Cow’s Desperate Straights (1975) and my second-hand vinyl copy of Butterfield’s East-West (1966) is barely playable due to its cracks, scratches and stylus detour routes on both sides….and it bloody cost me fifty dollars about 200 years ago.

One significant change I’ve noticed in recent decades is that the record parlours seem infested with old blokes (like me) in black t-shirts and jeans. ‘What are you looking for, pop?’ has been replaced by ‘Do you have an account with us?’ so I guess that I’m now very much a part of the demographic.

Maybe I should start investigating the boxed sets and stop worrying about what the men in black actually symbolise. Too much analysis might lead you to metal and I haven’t had a shot for that this year.