Unfinished Project [Part Two] Getting There.

after the big new year clean up i opened up the the big vinyl cellar and got lost for a couple of day's and night's, i really, really tried to thin out the collection, i had all good intentions of thinning it out, getting some records on e-bay and trying to raise some fund's for a holiday/ the race project/ the drive being tarmaced/paying some bill's or any other of the boring, mundane, everyday thing's that life throw's up, i try and sort them out into stuff that i don't play, don't listen too, [enough] all the records fall into that category, i've got lazy, i listen to my music on my i-pod or from my i-tunes library, i'm a fat, lazy, bastard, i don't even play cd's anymore, why do i need these slabs of vinyl from a hundred years ago? i make five piles of stuff i won't play again, then, then, then, i put them back into the carefully marked boxes, fuck that, no way am i going to get rid of these gem's, my kids can do that when i'm dead, they will throw them in the bin, discarding them as 'that old shit music that dad used to jump around too, dance, cry, play imaginery sax/guitar/drums too' to them it's worthless, to me, it's my heritage, every disc hold's a memory, i can remember hearing them for the first time or buying them, you don't get that with clicking a button, the classic concerts, the wednesday night blues parties, the northern soul all-nighters, the early rave scene where everyone was your best mate, the edgy drum and bass scene, the reggae soundclashes at the carib club, the prog rock, glam rock and hardcore punk scene, all the new wave sounds, all the tunes that just give you goosebumps, nah, i can't get rid of any of this stuff, so, the first in the series, [not for any reason, i just closed my eyes and dug in deep], is this gem from 1977, the year of punk rock, i was eighteen years old and like a sponge, caught between two tribes, bang into the sweet soul music of northern and the complete 'fuck you' attitude of punk, it was a natural progression, i was travelling all around the country, i worked in the north and the south, i was travelling to away matches all over the country, it was exciting, i was a derby supporter, we lived for the weekend as our contemporaries before us had, the mod's the greb's and the skin's, we caused mayhem all over the place, it was all about having a laugh, beer fuelled and sometimes amphetamine driven, i'm not proud of it now, [as a nearly fifty-three year old], but, you know what?, i really don't give a fuck, when i listen to music like this, slaughter and the dog's, 'cranked up really high', apparently it's been voted into the punk top one hundred singles listing and loads of well respected music critic's, [who are probably aged about twenty five and know fuck-all about music apart from what they have googled to find out what they think they should like], don't know about that but i know it's an un-holy row and i love it, the pictures are mine, the sleeves are not in the best of condition, the vinyl is scratched, [not least by george peckham in the run out groove, he's the legendary master engineer, responsible for many, many, punk, post-punk and new wave recordings, also known as porky prime cut's] check out your local oxfam and charity shops, your local independent dealer, you can of course download them if you want, but you won't be buying something that means anything, when you buy vinyl you are buying the real-deal, something you can hold, pour over the artwork and the cover sleeve and imagine some eighteen year-old dancing around their bedroom too while their parent's are shouting 'turn-it-fucking-down,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,!'