JAX WORLD: BLOG 236: Funeral for an old friend

"There's more poetry in a bored shop assistant's feckless sigh than a thousand soulless digital downloads" @montynero on Twitter regarding the demise of the 91yr old music retailer HMV

The great composer Elgar opened the flagship HMV on Oxford Street. His Masters Voice as it was still known at that time is the rather poetically named and now ill fated British Global Retail Chain that since the dawn of the gramophone in the late 1890's has rather dominated the buying of the recorded voice.

Although there is a HMV in every town worth talking about, it is the flagship store on Oxford Street London that stirs the emotion. It saw off competition from the likes of the Virgin Megastore and became less of a store and more of a destination for music lovers from around the world. Famously HMV did Playlist CD's and used to give them away free when you bought selected titles. These were exclusive collections of the days new music.

As an adult those playlist introduced me to artists such as Thirteen Senses, Massive Attack, The Dears, Roni Size, De la Soul, Biffy Clyro, and of course Funeral for a Friend .... to name but a few. I love HMV for that. They'd play featured albums, stuff that seldom got radio play... so that if you were in one of their emporiums your ears would be educated... and of course if you liked it... you could buy it.

Britain isn't known for fluffy customer service and I for one am not gonna blow smoke up any ones ass by claiming HMV were an exception to the rule. Yeah I've had great salespeople in their stores... and I've had crap ones. But one thing I can say is from my teens to this day - I've always found that in HMV the staff KNOW music.

As a music obsessed youth, HMV lured me through it's doors with the promise that if I could hum a tune - the staff could find it.

The first thing you have to understand is that being a suburban teen, the opportunities for buying recorded music were somewhat limited. My local high street could only serve you chart music … and that was over the counter at Woolworths. The opportunities for browsing along side other music lovers were somewhat stunted. My music taste as always been somewhat eclectic and whilst I am happy to tap a foot to what ever has made the playlist of the popular radio stations, when it comes to music ownership for play on demand, my tastes tend to reflect my romances with sub-cultures or lyrics that capture my ideology of the week. Quite often my requests for recordings would be met by a rather stunned expression from the woolies counter girl and a long wait while the manager scratched his head... only to be told that they couldn't get what ever it was I asked for. I soon learned that the best solution would be to take my musical quest... into London.

So, I'd travel up to town from the borders of Kent on a variety of buses and get off at Trafalgar Square and quite literally infuse my lungs with the chewy London air as I saluted Nelson high on his pigeon infested column. But I was not in town to play tourist.

I'd walk towards St Martins in Fields and hurry up Charing Cross Road where the side roads would boast many small independent record stores. Having spent many an hour browsing and ordering imports from counter clerks with superior attitudes (who quite frankly would actually sniff at my eclectic choices) I'd continue my journey up to Tottenham Court Road (TCR) where lay the Virgin Megastore. This emporium was always a fur coat/no knickers affair... unlike the sniffy musoos of the independent store, the VM staff were seemingly models and actors awaiting the big break and could do little more than point if you asked them a music related question. It was a great place to pick up music related tee-shirts though - and the carrier bag was particularly cool. (I used to keep them pristine - so I could use them again!) So it was never a waste of time popping into VM....You just had to remember not to bother the staff with service requests, as they had lip gloss to apply and pouts to practice.

I'd then enter the final furlong of my music walk... which would be the big walk from TCR to Bond Street. Yes... there was always a detor at Oxford Circus to ride the escalators into the bowels of Top Shop (Don't condemn me for being impressed ...I was a suburban teen!). But the big destination was ALWAYS Oxford street...HMV. Even as a callow youth I knew the benefit of saving the best for last.

As I said... HMV (unlike VM) were not 'johnny come lately's jumping on the wagon'. They had been selling recorded music since the inception of the gramophone... quite simply the just did it better than anyone else. Frankly... if they didn't sell it... you probably wouldn't want it. Simples.

Even their teeny tiniest store in the back waters of somewhere had a tardis like quality... I still have no idea how they create that illusion of space amongst all that stuff, but they did. They designed their stores so you could quite simply spend hours immersed in an entertainment world.However the flagship store next to Bond Street tube station on Oxford St was a palace dedicated to the music lover.

A large chunk of my youth has been spent within its walls.

I have a terrible memory for names of things. Friends are so familiar with my flappy hand gestures and my "you know ….oojamaflip!". At HMV I'd approach the staff (kind of a hybrid betwwen the beardy musoos of Charing Cross Road and the supermodels-in-waiting of VM)… they always seemed to be in the middle of a rather important music debate and would pause, then look at me with such focus, I'd sometimes stumble over my words.

"Whatchya lookin for?"

"Ah.... um...I don't know who recorded it … but it kind of goes like ...um this..."

The staff would never seem bewildered when I tried to recreate the sound of a tune that had that week stirred my soul. (Amazingly...as I cannot sing!)

"dah dah da da dah da dah da da da dum lah" I'd warble

The counter staff would be almost stonelike - I say almost as the only thing that would move would be the darting of eyes as they'd quickly process my catawalling against the musical encyclopedia within the space between their ears. And in seconds... without breaking the stone like pose they'd say:

"Morcheeba; 'Blindfold', here's listen to this... that's it yeah? - £3.99 - I'll put this months playlist in the bag yeah?"

As I'd nod in awe the item is rung up and popped in the famous black bag with the huge neon pink logo.

Then they'd sigh and return to their conversation as if nothing had interupted it. Yeah, not the greatest customer service, but I'd always leave happy. These people KNEW music. Which was why i'd make the trek. It never disapointed.

HMV was always, always, more than just a shop to me - even on this island of shopkeepers. It was the place music lovers went. It was a destination.

However, the day of the music shop, destination or otherwise is over...73.4% of music is now downloaded or bought online.

Times have changed and the nation accepts that we are resolutely in the digital era.

Britain has many world class retailers but to date has been pretty unsuccessful in producing any world class successful online companies. Which is why its nationals have deeply contributed to the success and growth of foreign giants ITunes, NetFlix, Amazon, Ebay etc.

HMV's business model of retail emporiums for music lovers simply became increasingly irrelevant and unsustainable. It did not react early enough to the digital trend; it did not seem to realise that even when you are the best of the best you have to continually give shoppers a reason to keep buying from it. So HMV has died.

However... we are British... which means like the curtailing of O'levels, the demise of Woolies and the death of our empire... we will not absorb ourselves with how it came to be that HMV is no more.

Instead we will recall that a Jack Russell called Nipper turned his head when he heard his masters voice some through a gramophone - then we shall grieve, tell tall tales, and immerse ourselves in nostalgia.

Because.... well, what else can we do at a funeral for an old friend?