Song, by Toad

[Next in the series is Dylan, resident Toad photographer and beer-guzzler extraordinaire. Needless to say, he's being a smart arse about the whole thing,]

To a certain degree, an aptitude for lateral thought has to be a good thing.

However, I often find myself worrying about my lateral-thinking skills. I’m concerned that I think too laterally on times, and I often find it hard to think in normal straight ahead lines.

So, when we were asked to think about independent record shops; those dark little crypts full of racks of musty-smelling vinyl, with posters for the Pixies and The Jesus And Mary Chain on the wall and a long-haired youth behind the counter, dressed in black and wearing an array of motorcycle components in his face, my mind inevitably went off on a bizarre tangent.

I found myself idly wondering where the biggest independent record store in the world would be, and what it would be like. Such a place would surely be a significant force for good in the arena of independent music which we all hold dear, wouldn’t it?

Then, in a genuine moment of epiphany, I figured out exactly where it was, and with that, exactly what I was going to write about.

I’ll give you a clue: you’re staring at it right now.

Yep, you got it. The dusty ol’ information superhighway. The undisputed, undeniable, unquestionable biggest independent record store in the world, and by a country mile.

So I’ve completely missed the point of this little project, right?

Wrong.

I’m not going to go on about bit torrents and iTunes and downloading MP3s, and I’m not going to go on about ordering the latest Celine Dion live DVD for special delivery gift-wrapped from Amazon. I’m going to talk about the spirit of the independent record store, and where that spirit resides now that the shop on the street is closing down.

I achieved my epiphany when answering a simple question I’d asked myself: where did I buy my last CD? And the one before that? Where do I go when I’m hunting for a long-deleted limited-edition single just because I want to hear the b-side?

Right here. Online.

You might remember the review I did here for Slinky by the Milltown Brothers. Well, that’s where my story of using the internet as an independent record store starts.

I’d bought Slinky on CD when it came out from a regular record store. It was more than likely the Chelmsford branch of Our Price records; a small chain that’s long since been swallowed whole by one of the industry behemoths. Slinky was the first Milltown Brothers record I had heard of; and following that I dutifully visited Our Price on a regular basis in the subsequent few years to pick up each new Milltown Brothers release as it came out.

Then, some time later, I was living in Wales and my interest in the band was rekindled by a flurry of activity surrounding them on a website and chat forum set up by a fan and endorsed by the band themselves. Through chatting to the other fans online I discovered there were loads of pre-Slinky singles, EPs and special-editions that I’d missed out on. Many of these included bonus tracks, b-sides and alternative versions that weren’t on any albums. I was desperate to hear these long-lost songs – everyone online was saying they were great – but I was reluctant to ask anyone to stick them all on a TDK C90 and put it in the post when the Milltown Brothers themselves were regularly reading the site. It was a simple question of etiquette.

This is where the internet came to my rescue. Ebay, to be precise.

Over a few months, and with regular tip-offs from my cohorts on the website, I managed to amass the complete Milltown Brothers back catalogue on either CD or vinyl. Every note of recorded music they’d ever released to the general public. It was quite an adventure, and to this day it strikes me as being what the trade in independent music is all about: enthusiasm.

Whether it’s the guy in Germany running a bootleg record store online, or the bloke in Kettering whose putting all his old vinyl up for sale, or the rabid fan in Cardiff tracking down every last morsel offered by his favourite band, it’s driven by enthusiasm (along with the noble pursuit of a quick buck – I’m not disregarding that)!

And it’s that same enthusiasm that used to be the lifeblood of the independent record stores. A love of great music shared by a shop owner and his knowledgable clientele. It’s the same enthusiasm that breeds the collectives that have nurtured and developed popular music since its inception; the groups of people sharing an experience, cults if you like – in the nicest possible interpretation of that word. The record stores were the shrines of this religion, the places of worship, and faithful fans like us would make our pilgrimages to these holy churches to hear the sermons and teachings of our gods and prophets.

While some independent stores remain and they are to be cherished, things have undeniably shifted to the virtual world we’re sharing now. For example, when Matthew decided to start selling CDs through Song, By Toad Records he didn’t go out looking for a vacant store on the high street to let. Instead he bought a URL.

Nevertheless, the spirit’s the same, that spirit of enthusiasm. As long as there are talented musicians who want to write and record their songs, music fans who want to hear and engage with the music, and people like Matthew and many more like him – keen to take on the role of the shopkeepers in this new ‘virtual’ era – and put one group in touch with the other; then the enthusiasm and the spirit of the independent record store will live on.

Here are a couple of those long-lost tracks I would never have found without the internet; both from The Milltown Brothers’ debut EP, released in 1989 before they were signed, and two years before Slinky came out:

Milltown Brothers – Roses

Milltown Brothers – Something On My Mind