Floor Moores
My teenage record buying was done in F L Moore Records in Dumpstable (not the sort of shop that has its own web site). It used to be in High Street North, below street level, a shop unit that frequently flooded, hence their later move to High Street South (though I don't recall ever entering the High Street South shop).
F L Moore's was poky, darkish, damp-smelling, and the staff there, typically, acted like some Royal Family in Exile, forced to mix with plebians. And of course there was a girl. I don't think I ever knew her name (so I'd be like the vast majority of Americans in The Onion piece), but I think she was a year or so older than me. She had, in the fashion of the time, long, curly, dirty blonde hair, an extremely pale face, fine bones.
The only time I ever spoke to her would have been when I had something on special order. Otherwise, they were silent transactions. I took the record from the bin, handed it to her at the counter, she rang it up, I handed her the money, she put it in a bag. I'd then cycle home, conceal the record on the front doorstep, walk in the back door empty handed, say hello to my old man, then grab it off the front step and run upstairs. It couldn't have been more sordid, had it been one of those other silent transactions.
Believe it or not, I had to special order several Beatles records, as well as The Doors, Who Live at Leeds, Velvet Underground and Nico, and other so-called classics.
The Beatles albums were, quite often, Greek imports, costing £2.76 to buy, and featuring slightly different cover art.
She never ventured to suggest that I had exquisite musical taste, though I obviously did. Records I purchased there included Exile on Main Street, Born to Run, Help! and Rubber Soul.
Roy once said to me, when I was slightly sweet on a girl in a coffee shop in Urbana, Illinois, "They're paid to be nice to you." This is often all too true, but in the case of the F L Moore's girl, she was paid not to be nice to anyone. She was like every snooty guitar shop casualty, or hi fi emporium dwarf, rolled into one, stunning, package.
As Dylan Thomas once wrote, even though I disagreed with everything she said and did, I knew I loved her.
F L Moore's was poky, darkish, damp-smelling, and the staff there, typically, acted like some Royal Family in Exile, forced to mix with plebians. And of course there was a girl. I don't think I ever knew her name (so I'd be like the vast majority of Americans in The Onion piece), but I think she was a year or so older than me. She had, in the fashion of the time, long, curly, dirty blonde hair, an extremely pale face, fine bones.
The only time I ever spoke to her would have been when I had something on special order. Otherwise, they were silent transactions. I took the record from the bin, handed it to her at the counter, she rang it up, I handed her the money, she put it in a bag. I'd then cycle home, conceal the record on the front doorstep, walk in the back door empty handed, say hello to my old man, then grab it off the front step and run upstairs. It couldn't have been more sordid, had it been one of those other silent transactions.
Believe it or not, I had to special order several Beatles records, as well as The Doors, Who Live at Leeds, Velvet Underground and Nico, and other so-called classics.
The Beatles albums were, quite often, Greek imports, costing £2.76 to buy, and featuring slightly different cover art.
She never ventured to suggest that I had exquisite musical taste, though I obviously did. Records I purchased there included Exile on Main Street, Born to Run, Help! and Rubber Soul.
Roy once said to me, when I was slightly sweet on a girl in a coffee shop in Urbana, Illinois, "They're paid to be nice to you." This is often all too true, but in the case of the F L Moore's girl, she was paid not to be nice to anyone. She was like every snooty guitar shop casualty, or hi fi emporium dwarf, rolled into one, stunning, package.
As Dylan Thomas once wrote, even though I disagreed with everything she said and did, I knew I loved her.
posted by Anonymous at
Friday, November 28, 2003
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