What's the point? Here was a shop that had been neglecting music for years, turning to games and DVDs and electronic hardware, compacting its music catalogue into an ever smaller space. The last time I went into the Oxford Street branch to buy a specific album was in November , when I wanted to buy Tusk by Fleetwood Mac after seeing them at Wembley.
The biggest record shop in Britain did not have a copy of a legendary album by one of the world's biggest bands even as they were on tour in the UK. Still, it's hard for me not to get sentimental about HMV's slide into administration. That Oxford Street store used to be one of my main destinations as a teenager, when I would save my holiday job money and make a couple of trips each summer to central London and spend the whole day working my way from Tottenham Court Road to Oxford Circus, visiting only record shops along the way.
I'd start at the Virgin Megastore — now a giant Primark — then cut up to Hanway Street, stopping in all the little shops there the best was the long-gone Vinyl Experience, my favourite London shop, but all that's left there now are a couple of secondhand shops , then finish off at HMV, amid that endless sea of vinyl.
The record shops that get celebrated tend to be the little independents, where people could chat with the assistants and get recommendations. That's where people learn the habit of loving music, and see new horizons opening up. It was never really that way for me: because most of my record buying has been done in cities, I've always had to deal with the snootier end of the record shop employee spectrum.
None of those people ever recommended something to me, though several have made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. And some — a bearded Bardo Pond fan behind the counter in the Soho branch of Selectadisc now gone, though at least replaced by Sister Ray sticks in the mind — could be actively rude. In HMV, though, no one was rude, and in the days before it became a corporate monolith, indivudual stores had their own character, with buyers ordering strange and quirky stock — the best HMVs were like giant independents.
I still love the music, atmosphere and knowledgeable and up-beat staff from my experiences anyways , as it creates a must-visit store whenever I venture to the high street. I think yes. However, they really need to change the way they sell to customers. My opinion is that HMV stores should become more of a showroom for customers. Perhaps they could showcase the latest speaker systems for people to try as they have been; show posters in all their glory; inviting musicians for live events however popular or well-known and maybe even serving drinks and nibbles!
The future for HMV is unclear, but by using its strengths of brand and store experience, I think it could survive and even thrive in this new chapter of evolution for the music and video industry. Do you also enjoy the atmosphere and feel of HMV stores?
What do you think could be done to help keep them alive on our high streets? Tell us at FactoringCentre. By being pro-active and seeking advice, you may be able to adapt for the future of business. Find An Accountant. Once I had bought the records, I was free to give or lend them to friends.
Under copyright law, I could even copy them, to audio tapes in the old days, and give those to my friends. All this without the state's knowing anything about it. You can't buy music that way on the internet. You are forced to identify yourself to the seller and to Big Brother, watching over his shoulder -- and if it's not a CD, you have to sign a restrictive contract which denies you the rights we all enjoyed.
I say "you" because I won't go there. For those who love both music and freedom, today's form of internet sales is out of the question, which leaves ever fewer opportunities for us to buy music. Aside from disks sold by musicians, and a few surviving large record stores such as Amoeba in San Francisco, the only way a self-respecting person should get copies of music is through digital sharing.
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