Vinyl memories

Stiles Road Clontarf, Rainy Friday night, a Parent-free house
has been invaded by hoards of hairy heathens (the HHH). Some
occupy landing, some occupy kitchen; Powers and Pernod abound,
instant squalor. 3 experts charge the living room and descend
on the inadequate stereo like crows on a Big Mac. With a certain
apprehension, one tugs open the cabinet doors to reveal the
vinyl motherload within. There is instant horror! There within
stands the Pope; the greatest selling LP of the year. This is
a bad bad sign, but with a quick heave-ho, the first armful of
33s (vinyl LPs, yung'uns) are removed for examination. Majors
and Rothmans light up; 'let's see what we've got' says one.

Jeezezzz ephh! Grease, A Star is Born, Neil Diamond, Kenny Rogers.
What alternate universe is this! Next bundle please. Aw man...
ABBA, Leo Sayer, Shoowaddywaddy. Clearly this cabinet is just
some sorta ephing gateway to hell. Try the cupboard to the right.

Clouds of smoke, some grunting, followed by the soothing words
'Thank Jeeeeez'. Out comes Physical Graffiti, quickly removed
disk 1, and the needle is religiously dropped on track 6. The
mystical Kashmir consumes the room. Keep thumbing through the
collection grunting out the discoveries. Tubular Bells, Meddle,
and Fragile all get passed around for examination. Without question,
the room progresses to Devil music, screeching seagulls, and slamming
doors. Floyd's Animals (grunts of approval), Rush 2112, and Purple
In Rock all get stacked on the left (into the hopper); Rumours,
Aladdin Sane, and Gordon Giltrap get stacked to the right (the
"iffy" stack). On and on it goes. Deja Vu right, Aqualung left,
Captain and Me right, Dark Side of the moon left, Tapestry right,
Foxtrot, Abraxas, Close to the edge - left, left left.

It's after midnight, the room is hazy, someone is lying in their own
vomit, everyone's breath is flammable. The experts are horizontal
all staring at the ceiling slurring the lyrics about 'He who had
white horses and ladies by the score'. Suddenly, the living room
door opens wildly and a panicky figure barges in. 'Yezir all gotta
leave; me parents are comin home'. Of course, this kind of information
needs to be mulled over, each word sampled for its tone and urgency.
The brain finally performs the math, and 3 experts strain to get to
their feet. It is like a squadron of cows attempting flight. A lampshade
goes over, it lands in the vomit. The windows are flung open and the
music is turned off (the other way around would be too sensible).

We were out in the rain and well up the street when the car passed us. We kept our heads down and moved as one, emerging at the Howth Road shivering and unsavoury. It was almost Christmas, and the 3 not-so-wise men headed East, drawn by the distant glow of the Saint Annes chipper. Tomorrow night was Grove night, but for now, the only vinyl that mattered was the yellow tarp over our heads.

 

Mr. Giltrap's Heartsong demonstrated his ability, as did Fear of the Dark, but there was always something not quite right about his image. He dressed like Barry Blue (of "Dancing on a Saturday Night" fame), and since he did appear on the Annihilator (TOTP), he got relegated to the "iffy" stack. Sorry Gordy; lose the moustache and get a pair of levis. Of course by now he's almost 60, and probably wouldn't recognize him if I ran into him.

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Pat/Peter,

One way of upping one's post count I suppose

Hey Peter83.....your a man of many words !!!!!!

Ah russ dont be giving out about peter sure u know some of us love him on this site.."giggles" (without opening my mouth dont want him looking at me pearly whites)

Shar

Yeah was a gas laff alright eh those were the days!!!!!!

I don't know enough of the story to tell it properly Bluebell but its def not nosey to ask - they'd tell everyone given half a chance!