Divinyl Inspiration
On the joy of retail therapy in a record store
You can probably remember what you did to make yourself happy on the first day of Covid level 2. I can: I went record-shopping. In his fond, meandering and typically comprehensive Audioculture article
“The lost record stores of inner Auckland”, Simon Grigg reels off the names: from the large and influential (Sounds Unlimited,
Record Warehouse) to the small and specialised (The Loft, Beautiful Music). They’re all gone. The record store is no longer a regular feature of the high street.
But there are still half a dozen in Auckland city, all sustained to a large extent by the revived trade in a medium we consigned to history’s dustbin more than a quarter of a century ago. In the age of the great streaming jukebox, when no one ever has to buy music again, people are buying records.
And those people aren’t all middle-aged men. The 20-year-old local pop sensation Benee made her name on Spotify but fans have been buying the double gatefold vinyl edition of her first two EPS, even though it costs $60. Today’s new records can be heinously expensive but they’re heavier and better-pressed than the ones you bought as a kid and they’re often beautifully packaged — because in a world of digital bits there is still value and meaning in objects.
Happily, the world is still quite full of second-hand records, which are usually cheaper. (But not always: an old New Order 12-inch might go for $60 and foreign buyers will pay hundreds for your original, badly pressed, Flying Nun singles.)
That’s mostly what I buy, not only because of the price but because it suits the reason I buy most of my records. I’m a Dad DJ — I play records at parties and the local bar, sometimes elsewhere — and there’s a lot of fun to be had exploring the millions of pre-owned records in the world.
We call it “digging” — the activity of patiently searching stacks of records for the one that will make you happy — and it’s quite a way to pass the time. I once went for a dig at a place called The Thing in Brooklyn, New York, where a dingy basement was crammed with tens of thousands of old records. I’m not sure how long I was there before I noticed that my hands were not only black with grime, they were bleeding and I should leave. Still, I found a nice, heavy pressing of Barry White’s It’s Ecstasy When You Lay Down Next To Me. That’s the thing about records: each one has a weight and a lustre. This one sounds richer and deeper than that one. If you’re buying old records, you should expect there to be a turntable and a pair of headphones for you to check them out first (by contrast, it is very much not okay to crack open new LPS for a listen). Most shops will buy your old records, but they might be picky and some prefer to acquire collections rather than individual offerings. Don’t even ask what your old CDS are worth, because the answer is probably nothing. If you’re buying used or reviving an old collection, you may want to invest in a recordwasher — the Spin-clean, for example, costs around $150. There may still be styluses available for that old turntable in the garage, but if not, you can pick up an okay belt-drive one from about $300. If you’re pursuing your DJ dreams, direct-drive turntables start at about $600 and you’ll need a mixer too. Hey, it’s a cheaper hobby than, say, rally cars.
But here’s the thing: you can go record-shopping without buying records every time. Sometimes, it’s about a yarn with the person behind the counter, or being in a music environment. Sometimes, it’s just about having a dig.
Real Groovy Records: The OG, now in its fourth Queen St location in 30 years. Not the place for a yarn with the owner — it’s big and busy — but thanks to its practice of shipping in old DJ collections by the containerload, the closest you’ll get to having a dig in New York for a while.
Southbound Records: A family business with a corresponding vibe. A rich selection of vinyl across genres and a growing second-hand section. Come for the sale stock, stay for a yarn with one of the industry legends behind the counter.
Flying Out: Manager Matthew Crawley — of Golden Dawn fame — is usually there manning the ship, and has developed the store’s role as a kind of community hub with events (Courtney Barnett and the Bats, among many others, have played there). In keeping with its roots in Flying Nun Records, the place to go for new indie releases, especially local. Has second-hand bins.
Marbecks: Got back into vinyl after being bought back by the Marbeck family. Lots of jazz and classical in the Marbecks tradition, but 95BFM DJ Gin Halligan will sort you out for what’s still charmingly called the “pop” catalogue.
Rebel Soul Records: Genial giant Tito Tafa recently moved his shop to 80 Ponsonby Rd along with most of the rest of the former Cross Street Market. Cramped and charming, with mostly second-hand releases and guest DJS playing at the door every weekend.
Holiday Records: The new crew, with the added cool of encompassing New Zealand’s first vinyl pressing plant in 30-odd years.
Record fairs: These happen fairly regularly and there are bargains. Join the Record Fairs in New Zealand group on Facebook.
Op-shops and markets: There may be gold! There may also be a lot of Bert Kaempfert to wade through first.