(I wrote this in 2017, about a much missed shop. I've reposted it because a couple of people asked about the name of the blog...)
By the time I get round to writing this, Classical CD will have gone for good. The shop opened in 1987, on Heathcoat Street, in the Hockley area of Nottingham. Since then, it has moved several times, ending up in this more prominent spot on Goose Gate. It isn’t the first classical record shop to disappear in 2017 - Prelude in Norwich, The Outback in Hereford, McAlister Matheson in Edinburgh and London’s Harold Moores all closed their doors in the first six months of this year. These four will no doubt have faced the same pressures that finally did for Classical CD: sky-high city rents, steadily shrinking profit margins, and - of course - the internet. In truth, considering the huge growth in online shopping and streaming, coupled with the fact that many people simply don’t pay for recorded music at all, these shops did pretty well to make it to 2017.
Classical CD did a lot right. Prices were always in line with mail order companies and the internet, at least for new releases. The owners also maintained strong links with the live music scene in the area. Beyond simply stocking all the brochures (always useful), they ran stalls and signings at the Royal Concert Hall, and sold tickets for events at some other venues. More recently, they shared the shop space with a bookshop run by a local charity, Music For Everyone, presumably helping to bring in new customers.
This morning, I’m toasting Richard and Tom with a big cup of tea, and sampling my final purchases: The Palladian Ensemble playing Matteis, Volodos in Liszt, and a third version of Brumel’s fabulous Earthquake Mass I didn’t know I needed. Thanks for all the music, and see you at a concert somewhere soon.
Classical CD did a lot right. Prices were always in line with mail order companies and the internet, at least for new releases. The owners also maintained strong links with the live music scene in the area. Beyond simply stocking all the brochures (always useful), they ran stalls and signings at the Royal Concert Hall, and sold tickets for events at some other venues. More recently, they shared the shop space with a bookshop run by a local charity, Music For Everyone, presumably helping to bring in new customers.
.
Richard & Tom, Classical CD
Most importantly for me, they provided a place where a sometimes shy, awkward teenager could develop a love of classical music alongside like-minded anoraks. Both back then, and as a slightly more self-confident adult, I always knew I could spend ten minutes or two hours browsing, chatting and listening, with no obligation to buy - they knew I’d be back. If the conversation tended to return to the same old topics (typically Handel, Mahler, Shostakovich and misguided council arts policy), it was always stimulating, and often led me to something new.
Last Saturday, it hit home just how much I will miss the place. Ordinarily, I would have dropped in to see who had won that morning’s Radio 3 Building A Library, or to pick up a copy of a CD I’d read about in the week. That lovely ritual of finding out about a piece or performance, buying the disc, and then listening to it the same evening brings back lots of happy memories, the names and sounds of the pieces and players mingled in with thoughts of whatever else was going on at that time of my life.
I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t bought loads of CDs over the internet or that I don’t get a lot out of discussing music online, although the civilised disagreements in the shop suited me better than the sometimes bruising debates online. Plenty of people I know listen to pretty much all of their music via streaming services, but it’s not for me. I’m wedded to the outdated idea of selecting a disc, then sitting down to enjoy it. I like browsing my racks of CDs, making connections and planning programmes myself, rather than having it done for me by Spotify’s algorithms. I want to read all of the information in the CD booklet, and I want people to get paid at least a bit - those 0.00something pences can’t add up to very much.
Richard & Tom, Classical CD
Most importantly for me, they provided a place where a sometimes shy, awkward teenager could develop a love of classical music alongside like-minded anoraks. Both back then, and as a slightly more self-confident adult, I always knew I could spend ten minutes or two hours browsing, chatting and listening, with no obligation to buy - they knew I’d be back. If the conversation tended to return to the same old topics (typically Handel, Mahler, Shostakovich and misguided council arts policy), it was always stimulating, and often led me to something new.
Last Saturday, it hit home just how much I will miss the place. Ordinarily, I would have dropped in to see who had won that morning’s Radio 3 Building A Library, or to pick up a copy of a CD I’d read about in the week. That lovely ritual of finding out about a piece or performance, buying the disc, and then listening to it the same evening brings back lots of happy memories, the names and sounds of the pieces and players mingled in with thoughts of whatever else was going on at that time of my life.
I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t bought loads of CDs over the internet or that I don’t get a lot out of discussing music online, although the civilised disagreements in the shop suited me better than the sometimes bruising debates online. Plenty of people I know listen to pretty much all of their music via streaming services, but it’s not for me. I’m wedded to the outdated idea of selecting a disc, then sitting down to enjoy it. I like browsing my racks of CDs, making connections and planning programmes myself, rather than having it done for me by Spotify’s algorithms. I want to read all of the information in the CD booklet, and I want people to get paid at least a bit - those 0.00something pences can’t add up to very much.
This morning, I’m toasting Richard and Tom with a big cup of tea, and sampling my final purchases: The Palladian Ensemble playing Matteis, Volodos in Liszt, and a third version of Brumel’s fabulous Earthquake Mass I didn’t know I needed. Thanks for all the music, and see you at a concert somewhere soon.
(Music For Everyone kept the shop on, and it is now a very good second-hand bookshop that sells some second-hand CDs. Silver linings.)
