A day at Hiroshima
Found out that, somewhere in the last five years, the favourite second-hand CD store had been replaced by a multi-floor electronic goods store. Got angry. Found out that Tower Records in town had moved a little bit, maintained the same level of astonishing attention (hand-written notes to attract customer attention to new items, carefully composed listening stations), but wouldn’t let visitors (customers, blah, blah) listen to CDs they picked from the shelves. Besides, new CDs, copy-protection, urghs, uggaugga. Blah. Got angrier and made some angry-old-men-gestures, at noone but myself, in the elevator downstairs, where they played Franz Ferdinand (which, at that moment, came as relief).
Found out that one of the main crossroads in Hiroshima had been furnished with a basement, shopping mall and all. Saw that Groovin’, a second-hand CD & DVD & Video & LP seller, had a sale right in the middle of that basement. Old people sitting around that middle on benches, watching how younger people dug up material within.
Spent some time there. Got enthusiastic. A DVD of Ichikawa Kon’s “Ana” (“Hole in One”), some Patti Smith, Gil Evans’ Individualism, and Manu Dibango’s African Soul. Finally, “The Legendary Sir Lancelot”. Calypso of the West Indies and Ballads of the Carribean. Digitally recorded directly from original analog tapes.
Went to Mac’s bar. T’was around seven. Displayed the prey to barman B. and a few other early birds. What of the prey would I want to hear, barman B. asked kindly. Sir Lancelot, please. So the other early birds at the bar and me listened to some uplifting tunes, while barman B. instantly came forward with a CD done by Robert Mitchum. Robert Mitchum sings Calypso. Hot-diggedidooo, or something of the kind Grampa Simpson would say, and I said it, right there, cheerio, and I’ll say it again, as many times as these people will continue to amaze me (endlessly, endlessly).