A canny decision not to change their tune
THERE was a time in Scotland, especially in the Grampian area on dark evenings around 7.30pm, when TV turned tartan with Devine Country or Thingummyjig.
BBC Scotland’s one-hour documentary The Story of Scotdisc – the homespun record label – totally nailed that helpless feeling of being trapped with kilts and Cairngorms telly, especially when viewers in the Borders area were enjoying The Muppet Show.
However, what was missing was any sort of critical assessment of Scotdisc – someone to put the company’s contribution into context, and offer some insight into where Wee Stuart Anderson and the Cleland cowboy Sydney Devine could be placed in a music pantheon that included Elvis, The Beatles, Adele and Kate Bush.
Instead, it showed us footage of Sydney, the Kelis of his day, in a canary yellow pantsuit, doing a bootyshoogle that ensured his milkshake brought all the boys and girls to the yard.
You remember Scotbloc – the cooking chocolate stored at the back of the kitchen cupboard? Scotdisc is a bit like Scotbloc, a substitute for the real thing. And like Scotbloc, it is something that inexplicably endures.
ISAID something along these lines to my friend Bill, who laughed and called me a snob. But I don’t mind being called a snob by Bill. Also, snobbery has its place, provided you are stubborn about your standards, rather than obnoxious. When a culture is in danger, snobs are its most precious resource.
What’s interesting about Scotdisc is that even the owners don’t talk about culture or music. Instead, they gleefully recall the short-sightedness of London record companies, who failed to appreciate that there were more sales to be squeezed from Lena Martell.
Or they (rightly) point out their ingenuity in revamping popular material, by pairing up old footage of Andy Stewart singing A Scottish Soldier with new video of an Army pipe band marching around the same location more than two decades later. The nearest Scotdisc came to a ground-breaking political statement was letting Lena Martell alter the lyrics to One Day At A Time, so the new version declared that she is a woman, not ‘just’ a woman.
Scotdisc bosses deserve respect for their canny business acumen. They identified a market others missed. Sometimes a Scotdisc album by the Alexander Brothers will outsell Kylie Minogue or Robbie Williams. This extraordinary skill puts Scotdisc in the same club as, say, anyone who works in a shoe shop. Or a kilt shop. Or any kind of shop. Or in absolutely any kind of business whatsoever.
Certainly, you don’t see Scotdisc in record shops, just as you don’t see Scotbloc being stacked in Hotel Chocolat.
Scotdisc used to sell albums direct, on television. Today it displays its DVD and CD wares in tourist shops, because it’s a brand that mystifies most Scots.
Am I being unkind? Put it this way: do you know anyone who has Sydney Devine’s Big Country Karaoke Line Dance Party on their DVD shelf?