*The most expensive record shop in the world. *
The Who’s ‘epic’ double album, Quadrophenia, was first released in 1973, at which time it’s writer, Mr Peter Townshend, was a mere 28 years old. Admittedly, as I sit here typing and listening to that album again on my fairly decent stereo system, slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’m ‘almost’ twice that age now, 28 seems very young indeed. I brought my first copy in May 1981, I was nearly 13, which is young whatever way you look at it. The albums themes, as far as I can/could tell, deal with alienation, frustration, not fitting in, contempt for authority, love, loss and quite possibly, not wanting to be like anyone else, which ironically, actually makes some of the inherent themes/issues, quite tricky to resolve. The sum total of which, creates an overriding sense of youthful confusion, which due to the circumstances of my own life at this point, made perfect sense to me. Such was the trauma created by so much loss and the sinister goings-on at my school by the time I was exactly the same age as my own daughter is now, it’s no surprise that album became and remains my favourite of all time.
May 1981.
At roughly the same time as the Liverpool team were on their way to Paris, yours truly was also enroute to the city of light, although I suspect on a slightly different mode of transport.
The reds were on their way to take on Real Madrid in the European cup final, I was on a coach with my schoolmates on some dubious ‘field-trip’ to France, quite possibly meant to enhance interest in our gallic chums, and most certainly, also affording an opportunity for the teachers in charge to get pissed, go ‘shopping’ and stock up on cheap booze and fags on the way home. So, while the three-day dip into Parisian culture may well of afforded the staff the opportunity to let their hair/moustaches down for a bit, and perhaps visit the Louvre, or Montmartre, it also availed us lot to stumble through La Pigalle, staring at prostitutes while also getting drunk and buying flick knives and porno mags to sell when we got back home. Certainly, the more ‘business-minded’ amongst us anyway, which you may be surprised to know, wasn’t me, either way, It’s a win/win situation if ever there was one.
Whereas some of the older kids decided that a job-lot of cheap weaponry and European ‘niff mags’, was a worthwhile investment of their ‘holiday’ money, I decided to spend my entire weeks cash on some vinyl. When I say ‘some’, I mean one album, you know the one I’m talking about and I’d spied it at a record shop on the Champs Elysees on our first excursion out of the hostel we were staying at.
*Point of interest*
If I thought my kid would be allowed to stumble about in a foreign city, while still not even a teenager, only supervised by other kids still not old enough to actually be legally allowed to buy flick-knives and porn, I’d be a bit annoyed to say the least but obviously, things were different in the 80’s and it didn’t do me any harm did it?
As anyone who knows anything about English football will tell you, not only was the Liverpool team of that period, the greatest side to ever have played the beautiful game, before or since, when they went on their regular excursions to Europe, they took a lot of fans with them. Not only did the team return with silverware, but *some* of the fans also returned with, pretty much anything else they could get their hands on too.
Without meaning to sound too apologetic, (things were difficult for a lot of working-class communities back then, not just on Merseyside) but the maelstrom of mass unemployment, urban riots, a huge rise in heroin addiction and a government that was seriously considering the ‘managed decline’ of an entire city, created a backdrop to which the more entrepreneurial scousers found a bit of a solution to, by importing high-end leisurewear. You couldn’t buy Sergio Tacchini/Fila/Adidas/Lacoste tracksuits or trainers in your local shopping emporium, but after Liverpool retuned from an away game in Europe, you could ‘deffo buy that sort of stuff in your local pub.
The record shop on The Champ Elysees, was my destination on the afternoon of the final, as I went in pursuit of my own holy grail, it was also the destination for *some* Liverpool fans who knew that particular street was home to the huge department stores that stocked exactly what they were looking for too. I suspect I paid more for my copy of Quadrophenia, than they paid for their own retail-therapy.
I went back to the hostel to compare my purchase with those of my friends who’d also been out and about that afternoon and while my copy of Pete Townshend’s finest work was always going to be of more lasting benefit to me than a flick-knife or a copy of ‘Euro girls on heat’ I’m sure we all felt we’d had a satisfactory days ‘cultural exchange’ as we stashed our respective swag in the lockers by our beds.
Whether or not, we watched Liverpool claim their third European Cup (imagine that Man City fan(s)) under the supervision of any of the teachers that night in the lounge of our hostel, I can’t remember.
The following day, the victorious Liverpool team flew back home with their prize and the tens of thousands of fans began their own trek home with whatever braincells, they still had intact, to accompany the money spent and memories made. We’d been sharing the hostel with a large group of reds fans, *some* of whom, were now also returning home with the contents of the lockers in our hostel that had been emptied while me and my school chums were being dragged, reluctantly through Notre Damme cathedral by the teachers.
As we got back to the hostel after being bored to death with catholic bling all day, the manager was throwing his arms in the air, gesticulating as only the French can do as he tried to appease the remaining guests who’d also had their possessions transported to Merseyside without their prior consent. So, while various Scousers were also able to purchase a copy of ‘anal whores of Budapest’ at the same time as they tried on their new pair of Tacchini trainers over the following days, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to know, that a pristine and very expensive copy of Quadrophenia was actually not on offer too.
We’d all legged it upstairs immediately on discovering that our hosts arm-waving and clearly very angry shouting, probably translated into, “Those fucking scouse bastards have stolen everything* or something to that affect.
*Point of interest*
I had no idea what he was saying, I hated French and didn’t understand a word cos I never paid attention in class.
On reaching our dorm, the wannbe purveyors of cheap weapons and hardcore filth, soon discovered they were now out of business, each locker as barren as Manchester City’s trophy cabinet before they moved to Abu Dhabi, whereas my own locker still contained its treasure, with a note scribbled on the bag containing it, that simply said.
“Is right mate.”
Love Scousers me.
Aside from the fact, Quadrophenia is a work of genius, I can’t listen to it without remembering Liverpool winning the European cup (again) and a school trip to Paris that reminds me, that buying vinyl is always a better investment than buying flick-knives or porn.
Not that anyone pays for porn these days, just like music really, it’s become a bit disposable, or so I’m told.
I did the same on my french exchange, record store on the Champs-Élysées. Genesis Seconds Out. But do not judge me as I am a Pirate :)