Return to Wigan

The pre-Christmas ceasefire with my mother-in-law saw me up in Wigan earlier this week.  Normally I'm content to while away the duration out in the sticks, but on this occasion a re-tweet from Pete Paphides had me eager to brave central Wigan's baffling road traffic system. For you see, Static Records has reopened. I wrote a bit about the place once. Too often this blog has documented the closure of beloved eateries and ye olde record shops, so it's nice to see a slight reversal to the trend.

Situated just behind the bus station in what must be Wigan's bohemian quarter (we went to a vegetarian cafe across the road later on) I walked past it once, they haven't got a sign up yet.  I had hoped to be able to take a picture for the post, I just hope when they do get one it'll be as snazzy as the old one.

Anyway, I walked in and started to flip through the first box of records (Soundtracks). The owner emerged and after we'd exchanged hellos he gave me a little sideways look and said he thought he recognised me from the old shop.  Turns out that was ten years ago. Bloody hell. Very gratifying to be remembered. But maybe I need to update my haircut or something.  As I said in my previous post he's a really friendly bloke and we nattered away happily regardless of the ten year hiatus in our acquaintance.

But to business, what did I buy?  As always my wants list evaporated from memory the second I stepped over the shop's threshold so I resorted to looking at every single record in the shop.  I was tempted by a Shangri La's album (Charly reissue of Leader of the Pack) and by Chet Atkins picks on the Beatles whose fantastic sleeve warranted display on the shop's wall. By coincidence I'd given this album a quick listen on Spotify a few days earlier. It's not bad, but I'd have been buying it for the sleeve.

There were others but I'm writing this two days later recovering from the worst hangover I've had in months and my brain feels a bit damaged. I think there were some Jazz things, but they might have been a bit pricier (ie: a tenner each) and in fact they might even have been in a different shop. And an album entitled The Zither Goes Pop, that was definitely in there.

In the end I settled on the first Derek and Clive album and a recording of Old Possum's Book Of Practical Cats (taking in, as the bloke said, both ends of the comedy spectrum). I've never heard the latter, read by the man himself apparently so looking forward to getting that back to the turntable. I was drawn to it by the sleeve, which shows that picture of the Jellicle cats dancing. It freaks me out a bit, they look so weird.

So there you are, if you're a seeker-out of vinyl and you ever find yourself in Wigan now you know where to go.

Clap your hands say yeah

A few weeks ago I was searching through the stalls at my favourite junk market. It's all packed into a fairly large building that I imagine was once a factory or mill of some kind. I always try to give myself at least three hours or so - the amount of stuff in there is slightly mindblowing - it's like this is where they've stashed the twentieth century: Pickelhauben, sheet music, lawnmowers, so many books it makes my head spin. I've picked up a few things other than books or albums there but I confess it's the very cheap second hand vinyl that is the main draw for me.

On this occasion I had at last chased down "Tusk" and picked up "Skullfuck" by the Walkingseeds into the bargain (another of Julian Cope's hot tips, will I never learn?). As I stood in the exceptionally long queue waiting to pay a tune drifted down from an invisible tannoy. It was naggingly familiar and yet so good that had I heard it before I would have made a point of acquiring it. Anyway, it contained a pretty bold phrase so I knew it'd be no trouble to track as soon as I got to the internet. And so it proved. This is the track:

Tommy James and the Shondells: Crimson and Clover


When I looked it up the familiarity was explained - it's the same riff as "Sweet Jane". I'm hopeless at things like that, I could never hear the "Sympathy for the Devil" bassline in "Loaded" for instance. As well as this fascinating nugget I also found out Tommy and the Shondells were responsible for "Mony Mony". I was of course aware of this song through the Billy Idol version and I've even got the Celia and the Mutations version somewhere. I'd always assumed the original was an old Motown number.

Anyway I found this and was so struck by it I decided that it was going to be the first embedded thingy to grace the blog. I like Billy Idol as much as the next man, but the raucous funkiness of the original leaves him sounding very plastic in comparison. And check out Tommy's jacket - you've got to admire the man for carrying that off so well with the beads. And I love his jerky little dance - he's helped out slightly I think by some editing - like everybody looks like a good dancer under strobe lights. He comes over very Ian Svenonius, which is to say very cool indeed.

The Wigan Post

Wigan is a town I know quite well. I’m not mad on the place and, like most towns in England, I’ll try to avoid going into the centre if I can possibly help it. It has a slightly silly name – probably makes people think of wigs, which are intrinsically ridiculous. A far heavier millstone round its neck though is George Orwell’s well meaning survey of the utter poverty and degradation its inhabitants were enduring in the depression. Seventy years on and this remains Wigan’s calling card – unbudged by cultural colossi such as George Formby or The Verve. It’ll take a phenomenon of seismic proportions to shift the association.

“Pies & Prejudice” by Stuart Maconie probably lacks the necessary heft, but as a coffee slurping, pesto eating Northerner in exile I found it all quite amusing. I wouldn’t describe myself as a great pie aficionado but I was pleased to read that I had, with my unerring instinct, sussed out two of what Maconie deems the best pie shoppes in Wigan: The Old Pie Bakehouse in Orrell and Mr Muffin in Shevington. The former was my favourite and, typically, has now closed down. I remember going to fetch the papers one morning after about a foot of snow had fallen in the night. The Bakehouse was open and I returned to my hosts Wenceslas like, bearing pies for all. It did have a bit of a mouse problem though (possibly connected to its closure?).

In the days when I did still venture into the centre there was a very good record shop indeed by the name of Static, up a funny little street called the Wiend. Apart from the stock, which was excellent, the best thing about this shop was the guy who ran it. I’ve forgotten his name but he was dead friendly and I enjoyed talking to him about music. Something I never do in London record shops. Sadly the shop closed down a few years ago. I did my best, I always bought something when I went in. I think I bought the Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso UFO’s “Absolutely Freak Out (Zap Your Mind!!)” there (how could I resist?) – we certainly had a chat about it (conclusion: it’s a bit much).

The purchase that stands out in my mind though is Norma Tanega’s “Walking My Cat Named Dog”. I don’t know why I picked it out but I’m glad I did. It’s nothing earth-shattering – just some pretty catchy folk pop. I like it very much though and it’s one of those albums that I’ll stick on when I get in late, drunk and sing along to. I googled Norma (all my posts are extensively researched) and it turns out she was Dusty Springfield’s girlfriend for quite a while back in the Sixties. How about that.

Norma Tanega: You're Dead


Norma Tanega: I'm The Sky