The Needle and the Damage Done

I get on particularly well with one of the senior managers in my store. We're roughly the same age, but unlike me who has moved from pillar to post throughout my working life, he's resolutely old school, a one company man, 45 years man and boy. I might never have met him at all, were it not for unfortunate circumstances. He'd intended to retire in his fifties, buoyed by the healthy company pension he'd accumulated, but his wife of 25 years left him just as he was about to hang his hat up, relieving him of their house and a substantial amount of said pension in the process. So he was forced to work on, in order to re-stock the retirement fund. 

Anyway, long story short, he's decided that now is the time to quit. He's not retiring altogether though, there's no way he could stop just like that - retail is in his blood. But he's going to step down from the ridiculous stress of supermarket management and move to another store as a regular general assistant, back to the position he started in 45 years ago. I'll miss him. He's always been on hand with encouraging words during my own intermittent bumps in the road. He's also well into his music, so we often waffle on about that. He's not an obsessive by any means, in fact he's largely oblivious to any post-1990s musical developments, but he knows what he likes and he's got pretty good taste - Reggae, Motown, Northern Soul, The Jam, The Specials etc. 

I've always respected his position and never pushed my luck in spite of our amiable relationship, until one day a few weeks ago at least, when I completely lost my head and let rip at him in front of everybody in the staffroom! It happened when we were discussing turntables and he voiced a concern that his was too old. I countered that my own deck is over 30 years old and that as long as he looked after it and changed the stylus regularly it should be fine for his needs. It was then he let it slip that he's had his deck for over 40 years and (honestly, I can barely bring myself to type these words).....he's NEVER changed the stylus in all that time! Can you imagine? I'm amazed that he gets any sound out of it at all by this stage. Anyway, after I'd calmed down a bit, I got him to bring in the details so that I could source him a replacement stylus post-haste. I've bought him a Lee Perry compilation LP as a leaving present and I can't have him disappearing over the horizon with that on my mind.

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Here's the dark, dark tale of a very different kind of needle from one Harry Snyder. The song was originally tucked away on the b-side of a single in 1966, but I have it as the opening track on a 2016 compilation entitled 'Hillbillies in Hell: Country Music's Tormented Testament', which should give you some idea of what you're in for. 

Harry Snyder - The Needle

We'll Give All We've Got to Give

What's the oddest, most out of context music you've heard being piped into the supermarket ether as you do your weekly shop? I mentioned my own company's somewhat limited offerings in a previous post, though I'm pleased to report that they've upped their game a little in the interim. Every now and then a random Bowie song will drop into the mix and a couple of months back several Bob Marley songs entered the playlist rotation and still occasionally pop up to delight me when I least expect it. These are very welcome additions to the rather limited selection of tracks that have formed the basis of my working soundtrack for the past couple of years. Every now and then however, complete one-offs appear from nowhere, play once and disappear forever. While dragging a cage full of cakes from the warehouse in the summer, I was surprised to hear 'Turning Japanese' by The Vapours jumping out of the speakers and on another day the reasonably obscure 'One Step Up' by Bruce Springsteen got an airing, neither of them to be heard again. Nothing prepared me for what I found myself  involuntarily singing along to a couple of weeks ago though. I made it, word perfectly, through the first verse, before I fully cottoned-on to what was playing over the music system of a bustling supermarket in the Autumn of 2021. I was gobsmacked, though disappointed that I couldn't find anyone else my age on-shift, with whom to share my bewilderment. Whose idea was it to put this on the playlist?

Supermarket Soundtrack

One morning in October as I clocked in for my shift, I couldn't help but notice that music was playing through the public address system, a system until then only used for imploring reluctant members of staff to 'jump on a till' when an unexpected rush occurred or to berate an inconsiderately parked customer into moving his or her vehicle. Yes, a nominal internal company radio station was on the air - in reality an external drive playing a selection of random tunes interspersed with social distancing information. The music, however, was awful - truly awful. I'd consider myself to have a working knowledge of pop music, but this stuff was unrecognisable and bland in the extreme, falling slap-bang into the category of aural wallpaper. The weeks went by and gradually it became the default background noise of a working day. Of course I expected to hear random Christmas songs phased into the playlist as we entered the festive season, but what I didn't bank on when I walked into the store on December 1st was to hear this belting out of the system.

The Coral - Jacqueline

You could've knocked me down with a feather. It was yer actual Coral....playing at work! Next up was 'Talk of the Town' by The Pretenders. Then 'One Vision' by Queen, which was slightly less welcome to be honest, but you get my drift. Suddenly, without warning, we were getting proper songs by proper artists instead of endless bucket loads of dreary muzak. Yes, this stuff is indeed interspersed with the anticipated Christmas songs, but wondering what tune is coming up next has certainly put a spring in my step each day. To date we've had music from artists such as Stevie Wonder, Joni Mitchell, Bob Marley & the Wailers, The Supremes, Steve Winwood, The La's, James Brown, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Sam Cooke, early Rod Stewart, The Travelling Wilburys, Dusty Springfield & The Four Tops to name but a few - and just yesterday 'Penny Lane' by The Fabs themselves, it really is all over the place and has become a welcome soundtrack to my working day. Even the festive tuneage stretches beyond the blindingly obvious. I mean when was the last time you heard this one going head to head with Slade and Wizzard in your local supermarket at this time of the year?

Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers - Christmas All Over Again

Walking Boss

My new boss had a torrid time of it last week, as one after another of his full time staff members called in sick. As a consequence, he had to work several consecutive 12+ hour shifts to cover all the no-shows. His facial expressions as he worked were all painfully familiar to me - anger, frustration, exhaustion and despair - I'd been there and done that during my own time in management. As it happens, I had an absolute stinker of a cold last week myself (which only eventually lifted yesterday), but managed to drag myself into work, medicated to the hilt and sweating profusely, for all five of my allotted part-time shifts. I couldn't bear the thought of letting the poor guy down.

Here's the remarkable Clarence Ashley, born 122 years ago this week, with 'Walking Boss', a song he learned directly from African American railroad workers in the early years of the 20th century and finally recorded in 1962. Ashley is a captivating and hugely important figure in American music, who I fully intend to return to on these pages before too long.

Clarence Ashley - Walking Boss

Where Am I Now?

A little competition to keep you amused while I'm away on family duty in London. Last week an Ipswich newspaper ran a feature on the insurance company where I spent the first 2½ years of my working life. More accurately, the aim of the feature was to celebrate the company's head office, a building that has won a stack of design awards over the past 40 years. A number of old photos appeared in the article, including this one taken inside the building, circa 1978/79. It was something of a shock to spot a substantially younger version of myself hidden amongst the massed ranks of staff posing for the camera. Can you spot me, or at least guess which person I might be? You should be able to click on the image to enlarge it. I've shared several photos from my misspent youth over the years, so you could use those to narrow down the search.

Here's an appropriate tune from Girl Ray's terrific debut LP to soundtrack your musings. Happy hunting!

55 From 55 - 2011

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

In the 48 hours following Mum's passing in December 2010, I received a series of warmly appreciated condolence messages from virtually everyone I worked with, the notable exception being the Area Manager, my immediate boss. I heard nothing from him for 5 days. When he finally called, he offered no words of consolation and merely attempted to get me to commit there and then to a return to work date. He also informed me that I wouldn't be returning to my own store, but was required to take over a new unit that had opened during my sabbatical.

In spite of a general unease about life in the corporate sector after so long in small business, I worked hard and diligently for the company because a) I had debts to pay off and b) If I take something on, I don't believe in giving half measure. I worked very long hours, rarely got my allotted two days off per week and never once in ten years came close to using my full annual holiday entitlement - as a salaried employee, these were 'use it or lose it' elements of my contract, with no overtime payment option. I'm not complaining. For much of the time I enjoyed the challenges of the job - no two days were ever the same, that's for sure. But I was now at my lowest ebb and it was only by the grace of Mrs S's steadying presence that I was able to function at all. I had hoped for at least a little compassion. Business is business though.

A man on the move, 2011.

I took a good look at myself - the distance I'd travelled, the amount I'd stretched my own abilities and the success I'd achieved within the company, culminating in being named brand Manager of the year in 2010. I was nearly 51. Was I really in any state to dive back in and run myself ragged all over again? My sabbatical, Mum's passing and now the conversation with my boss had given me perspective. In January 2011, I handed in my notice.

Mrs S and I had been considering a move before Mum's health issues put all plans on hold. In the Spring of 2011, after we'd finished clearing Mum's house, we tentatively started looking for a new place to live.

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Death Cab For Cutie are one of those bands that only turn up once in my collection. The album in question is 'Codes and Keys' from 2011. I like this record a lot, but for some reason I've not yet checked out very much more of their output. The brilliant 'You Are a Tourist' was a favourite in the house all year. This official video for the song is the first ever live, scripted, one-take music video shoot.

55 From 55 - 2008

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

Mum showed remarkable resilience after losing Dad in 2007. Her broken hip recovered well and she kept herself very busy. She'd always been the outgoing one and now threw herself into voluntary work in the WRVS cafe at the local hospital and at a couple of charity shops in town. She also built on strong friendships with several near neighbours. I kept Dad's car and drove down to stay with her at every opportunity, taking her shopping once a week and to the hospital once a month, for a consultation with a Myeloma specialist. Outwardly she was coping well with being alone after over 50 years of marriage, though an Aunt let it slip that Mum had mentioned that she found the deafening silence in the house very difficult to adjust to. Dad had always been a very noisy man! He sang, whistled, drummed and generally crash, bashed and walloped his way through life. Mrs S will be happy to vouchsafe that his son is following in his Father's noisy footsteps!

Unshaven scruff. 2008.

I was busy too. I'd been given yet another coffee shop branch to open (this one on a trading estate) with another newly recruited team. On my many drives to and from Ipswich to visit Mum, I listened to a lot of spoken word - audio books, comedy, Radio 4. On the rare occasions that I actually played music, it was usually a Minimal Techno compilation. 'Enfants' by Ricardo Villalobos is minimalism taken to the Nth degree and the perfect tune to take out on the road when your brain is full to overflowing. The looped sample is taken from Christian Vander's 1995 choral reworking of Magma's 1973 prog-rock classic, 'Mëkanïk Dëstruktïẁ Kömmandöh'. This one won't be for everybody.

55 From 55 - 2006

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

In late 2005 I was shunted from my comfy nook in the bookshop to open a new coffee shop branch, situated within the walls of a soulless shopping centre. I recruited a brand new young team for the job, all of whom wanted Radio 1 on in the staff room - Radio 1! I hadn't listened to daytime Radio 1 since...., well since I was their age! It was awful! I initially considered gouging my eardrums out with a rusty spoon to alleviate the tedium, but over time I eventually managed to relegate the majority of the aural wallpaper to the background of my consciousness.

Taken by my Cousin's 6 year old Daughter. 2006.

A Radio 1 programme that I did actually quite enjoy and which was the soundtrack to our late close every Friday evening, was Pete Tong's Essential Selection. Tong was no John Peel, but after the daytime drivel I'd been subjected to for hours on end, some of the tunes he played sounded positively cutting edge. Occasionally, Tong would spin a genuine cutting edge selection. One Friday evening in 2006 for example, he introduced me to 'Simpler' by Pete Heller, a minimal prog-house classic that still gets me dancing in my head every time I hear it. Mind you, if you think this is minimal, wait til you hear what's coming up in 2008.

55 From 55 - 2005

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

Something I obviously never experienced during my years working in record shops was corporate jargon, though as a store Manager in a rapidly expanding coffee business, I quickly found myself bombarded from above by all manner of meaningless mumbo-jumbo. This was a company where every thought was encouraged to be of the blue sky variety, wages were ring-fenced, conversations car-parked, staff incentivised, meetings facilitated, changes action-planned, information cascaded, coffees up-sold and cakes on-sold. Goals were achievable, stretch targets attainable, but progression was, ultimately, glass-ceilinged. Oh, and woe betide any person caught thinking inside the box.

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I've been a fan of The Sea and Cake for a very long time, but my absolute favourite Sea and Cake related LP is 2005's 'Who's Your New Professor', nominally a solo album by Sam Prekop, although ¾ of the band contributed towards its making. It's a platter that matters here at Swede Towers.

55 From 55 - 2002

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far.

In January 2002, after 18 months with the coffee company (and in a echo of my first record shop job in 1981) I was offered the opportunity to manage my own store in Norfolk. The branch was located within a bookstore, the perfect environment. Occasionally, authors stopped in to sign stock while on promotional jaunts, in some cases hosting a reading and Q&A event in the evening. If I was on shift, I'd be sure to offer them a cuppa. Here I am with Our 'Enry.

55 From 55 - 2001

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

By the time my record shop closed in March 2000, I was in considerable debt. When asked, I always say that I had 10 really good years and 4 of increasingly swift decline. I should have pulled the plug around 1997, but when you're in the middle of it, you can't see the wood for the trees. And you always think it's going to get better.

In the Summer of 2000 I managed to secure employment in a newly opening branch of a modest sized national coffee shop chain. (15 years later, the same company is now a massive global brand.) As some regular readers might be aware, I am something of a coffee nerd and while my new employer's particular blend is nothing to write home about, I was really looking forward to working as a regular team member, able to leave work at the end of every day with no stress or worries. It lasted three days. The store's Manager walked out mid-shift, never to return and, purely because of my age, I was asked to take responsibility for the store (and ten staff) until a replacement could be found. I knew nothing about the company, ordering procedures, rotas or budgetary constraints. I'd barely even learned how to make a cup of coffee, but somehow I struggled through for a few weeks until a new Manager was recruited. 

New York, October 2001.

After the uncertainties of the latter years of my business, it was a joy to receive a weekly pay packet and have a regular holiday allowance. I had debts to repay, but, with careful budgeting, I planned a trip to see my cousin and her family in Manhattan at the end of October, coinciding with a couple of Bob Dylan gigs. One morning, on the way to work, I stopped off in our local Lunn Poly travel agents to book the ticket for my flight to New York. The date was September 10th 2001.

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Halifax Pier formed in Kentucky in 1998 and, by some accounts, are still musically active, though the last recordings I have by them date back to 2001. 'Lightly Noise' is from their second (and last?) LP titled 'Put Your Gloves On and Wave'. If I made you a CD, Minidisc or Cassette compilation at any point in the early noughties, this tune would've been on it.

55 From 55 - 1983

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

In April 1983, I took a couple of days off work and went back to Ipswich to celebrate my 23rd Birthday with as many chums as I could rustle up. It was a poor show, everyone I called was unavailable for the actual evening of my Birthday, though one of them did offer to pick me up during the day to head out for a couple of lunchtime pints and a bit of a drive around out in the sticks. We eventually arrived back in Ipswich in darkness and before running me back to my parent's house, my pal said he had to quickly stop off at his own place for a moment. As we entered his house the lights came on and there were all my mates, suited and booted - they'd arranged a surprise party for me. The Mother of the pal who'd been in charge of keeping me out of the way all afternoon had cooked up a massive amount of food and everyone else provided the all important booze. It was a long and glorious evening, one I'll never forget.

At my surprise Birthday bash. April 1983.

Towards the end of the year I was on the move again, this time to open a brand new branch of the indie record shop chain, for whom I'd now worked for 4 years. We were due to open within a busy Essex shopping centre in early December and I was given very little time by my boss to recruit the staff and stock the shelves, though after two days of solid interviewing I was fortunate to find three great people to work with. In the days leading up to the opening, we put in long hours sorting and filing dozens of boxes of records, after which I slept on the shop floor as I hadn't had any time to find myself digs in the town. All our hard work paid off though, we quickly became the busiest shop in the chain.

Today's song is from that most perfect of pop bands, Altered Images. 'Bite' was their final album and, in my opinion, their strongest overall, with great production, just the right amount of smooth sophistication and tunes to die for.

55 From 55 - 1981

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far.

After 18 months working at the record shop in Ipswich, I was offered the chance to manage my own branch 40 miles away. When I arrived in town, we actually had two branches, which my boss wanted reduced to one. So among my first acts as a manager was to tell one of the staff that their services would soon no longer be required. Mr Popular I wasn't. The move nearer London afforded me even more access to live concerts, culminating in all 7 nights of The Clash's legendary stand at the Lyceum Ballroom in October.

Back at home for Christmas 1981. In this photo, Dad is 4 years younger than I am now.

Exactly one year earlier I saw The Piranhas for the one and only time, supporting The Jam at Newcastle City Hall. At the end of 1981 they issued my favourite of all their singles, 'Vi Gela Gela'. All I could find online is the 7" version, but check out the extended 12" if you get the chance, it's an absolute joy.

In 'Vi Gela Gela' the Piranhas reference a 'tune from Af-ri-ca' they'd heard, couldn't get out of their heads, but were unable to buy over here. This is the song that made their backbones 'quiver and quake', '...listening to Western Jazz'.

55 From 55 - 1979

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

One of the guys at the office rented a large house just off Christchurch Park, a pretty nice part of Ipswich. He took the biggest room and sub-let the rest to friends and co-workers. I'm not sure how legal the sub-letting actually was, now I come to think about it. When one of his 'tenants' gave notice, he made it known at work that he was looking to fill the room. Without thinking too much about it, I said I'd take it and that evening, told Mum and Dad I was leaving home. I'm utterly appalled at my younger self for the way I dropped this bombshell on my parents. They knew the day would come, but were clearly hurt at the blunt way I broke the news, something my immaturity couldn't comprehend, yet to their immense credit they still helped me considerably when the day of the move came.

Don't say I didn't warn you about the 'tache! 1979

It was at the end of 1979 that I started working in a record shop. I wrote about those early days on the other side of the counter a couple of years ago (here). Earlier in the year, around the time I was leaving home, I bought 'Telegram' by The Monitors, a glorious, jangly little thing that I love dearly. I loved it so much that I also bought it again a couple of months later, when the single was reissued on a major label. Over the years, when times have been hard and money short, I've reluctantly exchanged bits of my record collection for cold hard cash - and usually regretted it. But I've never regretted anything quite as much as selling my original Monitunes copy of 'Telegram'. What a fool I was.

55 From 55 - 1977

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

In 1977, finally, a year later than practically all my friends, I got my first job. I also purchased my first ever suit, a mandatory requirement at the office. I arrived home from work at the end of the long first day, head throbbing from all the new information I'd absorbed and feet throbbing from my new leather shoes that weren't yet worn-in, and immediately ran upstairs to change into the comfortable familiarity of jeans and t-shirt. Mum was horrified. She'd been thrilled that morning, to see me dressed smartly for the first time in living memory and had been poised with a camera, awaiting my return, in order to document the moment. Before she would hand over any dinner, she made me go upstairs, change back into my new threads and pose for a photo-shoot outside the front door. This was the result.

At the end of the month, I received my first pay slip - £92! At lunch time, a friend took me to the bank and showed me how to cash a cheque, I hadn't got a clue. I took out £10 and headed straight to the record shop to purchase 'Live! In the Air Age' by Be Bop Deluxe - after which I still had £7.50 to spare. So began the lunchtime ritual of propping up the counter at the record shop, which would ultimately result in me getting a job there. Hidden under the counter was a 'Punk' singles box, available to peruse upon request. After hearing The Only Ones' debut single, 'Lovers of Today', on John Peel's programme one evening in the Summer of '77, I rushed into the shop the following lunchtime with the title scribbled on a scrap of paper, asked for the box, rifled through and found it. How great is this?

Frank and David

I left school with precious little to show by way of qualifications, but, thanks to the deft intervention of a teacher who saw some potential in me, I managed to land a job in a large insurance office. When I arrived for my first day at work, I was socially out of my depth and felt very much like a boy in a grown-up world - even the junior clerks of a similar age to me appeared to have somehow achieved a level of worldly experience, gained by a few months spent in an adult working environment.

Fortunately for me, my desk was positioned between those of Frank and David. Frank and David, much like the other experienced staff in my section, seemed very old to me at the time. In reality they were only in their early 40's. They'd both been with the company for 10 years at that point and had no doubt already realised that, in all probability, they would see out their working lives behind those very desks. It was a job for life, if you kept your nose clean. They, unlike some of our more earnest colleagues, were also wise enough to realise that the job. and indeed life, were not things to be taken too seriously, all of the time. They helped me to do my work well, but they also encouraged me laugh, treating me as an equal, rather than a new kid on the block.

Inevitably, when you're in a close-knit working environment, a little micro-language develops, full of tics, catchphrases and regularly-used terms. Occasionally after work, I'd catch the same bus home as David, sometimes with our favourite conductor on board, who would, more often than not, go into hyper-mode as the evening rush hour progressed, chanting 'Cheers, cheers, ta,ta,ta, thank you, cheers, cheers, ta...' at ever increasing speeds as he charged up and down the packed bus collecting fares. David could gently mimic the guy to perfection, often reducing me to tears at my desk after I'd passed him a file or folder he'd requested. 'Cheers, cheers, ta,ta,ta, thank you, cheers, cheers, ta...', he'd jabber ad infinitum, as I struggled for breath.

Frank was a mischievous sod too, forever the joker, frequently causing gales of laughter to spread among the desks, only becoming serious when his wife, who worked in the same building, descended the escalator from the floor above. As she came into view, his eyes lit up and he'd smile the smile of a man who was utterly content with his lot and deeply in love.

I don't know the origin of Frank's most used phrase, it was already well established by the time I appeared on the scene. Whenever things became overly stressful or too full-on at work, Frank would grin broadly, stretch out his arms and say 'Easy, easy', as a kind of calming gesture. The words quickly entered my lexicon and I still find myself reassuring myself with them to this day.                                                                        

  

I worked at the office for less than two years, but, without wishing to descend into cliché, I went in a shy, socially inept boy and left as a young man with enough self-confidence to work in a customer facing environment for the next 30 years. I'm sure I owe much of this confidence to Frank and David's early encouragement.

A few nights ago, I caught up with Frank again. He beamed that familiar smile as we talked and reminisced. When the time came to leave, I reflected on my first steps into the 'grown-up' world at the insurance office all those years ago and thanked him for the acceptance and friendship he and David had shown, that had meant so much to me. At this point, I confess I became slightly emotional and, spontaneously, I threw an arm around his shoulder and patted him warmly on the back. 'Easy, easy', he laughed.

David died in 2010, ravaged in his final years by escalating multiple sclerosis. Frank passed away a couple of years earlier, shortly after losing his beloved wife. Frank's visit the other night, came in the form of a particularly vivid dream. Our brief period of working together in the office was over 35 years ago, but rarely does a day goes by that I don't think of one or both of them.

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Frank wasn't particularly into music, but David was and we would talk about it for hours, when we probably should've been working. He didn't 'get' much of what I was listening to, but was always interested to hear about the records I'd bought or gigs I'd been to. David's era was a little earlier and this was one of his favourites.