The Sound of Music

Nestled neatly amongst the largest names in designer brands and sports cars, just two weeks ago I found a flagship Virgin Megastore half way down the Champs Elysees Boulevard. Like a glittering beacon of music industry past, the humongous store sat adhorned by thousands of bustling Parisians all dodging in and around the doors. I take a few intrepid steps towards this seeming mirage: I can’t quite believe that there’s still an operational Virgin Megastore around. With a certain sense of nostalgia, I remember how this would normally be one of my first and last stops on a trip into Manchester. Certainly, it’s a mecca of my childhood: the endless stacks of CDs and the perilous piles of DVD boxsets. It seems somewhat surreal, which is all the more confounding, because I know I can browse the selection at any HMV when I return home.

Nipper has become a symbol of HMV record stores worldwide.
Image Credit:  Lienhard Schulz, Wikimedia Commons.

But this treasured retail paradise is now threatened too. With the announcement of HMV’s administration, there is a huge question mark sat poised above the music industry in the UK at least. HMV is not just a store for music, film and game: it is a British icon and institution. The comic logo of a dog playing with a phonograph is an endearing image renowned worldwide, and branded the company something more than a faceless corporation, but a music shop that was ready to be alert, be active, be intuitive with the music scene.

From irrevocably changing the face of British and world music in helping to launch The Beatles, to today offering free intimate gigs with huge artists up and down the country, HMV has always been at the forefront of the high street music consumption. And some may argue that it isn’t a surprise that this store, which maintained high prices in the face of strong supermarket competition and emerging internet markets, has gone bust. In fact, some may think that it should have happened sooner.

HMV once had rivals in the form of Virgin, Zavvi
and Woolworths. Now, all of these illustrious music
stores look set to disappear from the high street.
Image Credit: Captain Scarlet, Wikimedia Commons.

Yet, consider that HMV still retain close to a 40% share in the sale of physical CDs on the high street. Without the fierce competition of high street giants, such as Zavvi, Virgin Megastore and Woolworths, HMV remained an oasis, a safe haven of the CD back catalogue. Whilst prices of chart and new releases are frequently a couple of pounds dearer than supermarket counterparts, there is no denying both the reasonable pricing and the huge selection available from yesteryear. Without sounding too much like an independent record-store hippie, HMV had become synonymous with the idea of rediscovering music, just as much as it presented the opportunity to hear new music. The catalogue is not only impressive for a physical store, but in cities, such as Manchester, the HMV is a virtual Aladdin’s Cave, hoarding gems to suit all tastes.

Perhaps without the competition of Zavvi and Virgin Megastore, HMV became too complacent, and believed too much in their monopoly on the market. But considering that Woolworths, until now possibly the largest brand to collapse under the crisis, was a leading retailer in DVDs until it folded, it is hard to believe that HMV would not extrapolate some lessons. More than any previous administration, this is probably the most significant of changing markets, and the most evocative of a ruthless industry.

And this ruthless legacy sparks potential for an even more sinister future. As the internet giants that are Amazon and Apple come to dominate the entire market, inundating consumers with rock-bottom prices at marginal profit, the high street fails. With the escalating problems at HMV, the nation’s last specialist record chain may soon face rolling the shutters one last time.

The ups and downs of HMV.
Image Credit: Kantar Worldpanel.

As fewer physical stores are open, the decline of job opportunities and the rise of further unemployment is only further aggravated by the fact that without any competition, the internet stores will soon be able to demand the same premiums that these stores once charged. Only excepting the fact that less VAT will be paid back to the UK, leaving an even greater whole in the financial heart of the country which only ten years ago welcomed the advent of internet shopping as a second coming for economic gains.

More than this, nothing quite beats the record shop. This is why independent stores have gradually made a comeback recently, competing more and more strongly each quarter. While the fall of HMV may spell a boost in custom for these shops, it will certainly see a real shift in the pace of digital takeover. Not even a decade ago, physical sales were more than double what they are now, whilst digital was still struggling to break the mainstream market and was only warily accepted by a few. Should a buyer not be found the endangered chain, not only is the future of the high street uncertain amidst the collapse of GAME and Jessops, but the very presence of the physical CD is undermined.

His Master's Voice: HMV's flagship store on Oxford St.
Image Credit: Getty Images

Without a major store in which to browse an extensive collection of artists and albums, the supermarkets’ charts will become the only token existence of the CD. Even here, there tends only to be CDs available from within the Top 50: if you want to find releases from before the past six or so months, there will be little choice but to turn to download. Personally, this strikes me as a killer blow to music. Just as some may say that nothing sounds like a vinyl, the CD, more than the cassette before it, is proof of the adaptability of music. Sharing and mixing, ready to be played in the car or the house, offering a backup against computer malfunction or meltdown, the CD is versatile. I find myself swizzing an album on Spotify before buying: if it’s something I know I’ll want to come back to decades from now, I buy the CD.

My favourite albums are all owned in the physical. There’s something about being able to hold a CD, point at an iconic cover, finger the inlays of someone’s work, slip in the disc to something that transports you to a time, place, mood, invoking memory and nostalgia. With the close of HMV, this very aspect of music love is also threatened, and it was the very thing that made the store unique. HMV might not be the first place to look for a bargain, but it is the first stop for a boxset bonanza, a CD binge or a gaming back catalogue. Without it, the versatile disc may not be considered versatile much longer.

Kids With Beatles Wigs: Why The Kooks New Album Deserves More Praise and Less Mockery.

When indie rockers The Kooks burst onto the scene with the angsty and infectious ‘Naïve’ back in 2006, the band received critical acclaim, with the release going on to sell millions. Whilst the second offering from the band a couple of years later shot to the number one spot, this was later attributed to the reputation and premise of the first lash of material. In an attempt to repeat the formula, Konk was soon perceived as a dry and uninspired copy of its predecessor: the rockier songs had less kick, the sing-alongs had less cheer.

With great disappointment then, I read early reviews of Junk Of The Heart, that indicated the album was to be, at best, average.

Having hidden themselves away in some obscure location for several months, this album was to be a return to form for a group who has now suffered line-up changes and severe delays to production.  Critics however gear negatively towards the offering claiming that “[The album] is a series of half-formed, indifferently performed tracks” [Andy Gill, Independent], or mock the group as “boys next door who've got hold of a guitar and some Beatles wigs” [Caroline Sullivan, Guardian].

After listening, we can all breathe a sigh of relief: the donned Beatles wigs, per se, are rather of the experimental type, and those who regard the album in such an unfavourable light have obviously missed the depth and showcased talent in the new hash.

True, nothing on this album stands out as ‘She Moves In Her Way’ as a summer anthem, nor does it excite rebellious teenagers: but then this album is a passage to adulthood for the band; songs featured are troubled and tinged with first regrets and a desire to regain youth. 

In fact, the third effort is a spine-tingling showcase that plays like an extended version ‘Seaside’, vulnerable and lonely, crossed with an apathetic ‘Ooh La’ (forgotten gems of their debut).

Opener ‘Junk of the Heart (Happy)’ echoes the group’s efforts in reacquainting themselves with their diverse influences. Twisting a sixties swing element, the track amply denotes the guitarist skill within the band, alternating between the relaxed acoustic sounds and the heavier and darker breaks of the electric guitar. Throw in the warbling of lead Luke Pritchard, which was the original source of the band’s uniqueness, and there is established a real sense of melancholy. This blurring of the boundary between positive and negative haunts the album throughout, and separates it from other indie albums in its quest to revive 60s, 70s and even 80s mainstream.

Should Beatle wigs be uptaken in such numbers as the softly reminiscent ‘How’d You Like That?’ they are only for influence and quickly shook off. Rather than a quirky throwaway pop track of love, the sound shifts to tribulation and trepidation. Elsewhere, David Bowie masks are simply skin deep in ‘Runaway’ and ‘Mr Nice Guy’, both alternating dark synths with scathing lyrics: obsession of “Seeing your name on the wall again” in the first, played against the deceit of “Believing in things that don’t believe in you”.

Tracks such as ‘Rosie’, wherein the band are prophetically “followed by the same old cloud again”, and ‘Petulia’ highlight the loss of innocence for the band: love’s fragility and hurt consuming “Be careful with me”. These sentiments are best framed by short ‘Taking Pictures of You’, which merits every moment an individual showcase of both beauty and disgrace.

Regarding the arrangements and instruments that grace the album, there has been some consideration in how to best achieve this revival feel. Credit should be given to the ethereal use of strings in ‘Time Above The Earth’, introducing a stripped back approach that is rarely used in the genre. Lead single ‘Is It Me?’ almost strays into drum n bass territory before switching abruptly to moody 70’s rock ‘n’ roll. A smattering of synths offers a dark edge to many a track; the contrast and clash between the guitars and electronica is to unsettle the listener and reaffirm the changing and unstable emotions and feelings in each piece.

Incorporating such a plethora of influences however means there is a hard balance to achieve. Whilst The Kooks should be praised for their indie stamp on some classic 80s sounds which takes a main segment of the album, the straying inclusion of 60s swing and post millenium drum almost sounds unconsidered in its measure.

Arising from this problem is that none of the tracks offer the simple happy Brit pop that featured on the first two albums. Whilst this is an interesting expansion into other territories, perhaps there has been too wide an area covered too thinly.

With this in mind, it is easily understood how Natalie Shaw, and many others, mistook lack of direction for scribblings: “[The album is] just a messy selection of meandering verses that surely can’t be the product of three years’ work.” [Natalie Shaw, BBC]. However, each track has some reference point to a dark experience: a regret, a mistake, a love lost. The meandering verses serve as a mental riddling of whether the right or wrong was done.

In fact that a majority of the individual pieces lifted from this album is not going to storm any mainstream chart in a hurry is true testament to the quality of the Brindie Pop to be enjoyed.