Veteran record fans made their pilgrimage to Soho. Berwick Street and its close surrounding areas were buzzing with eager customers wanting to get their hands on some of the days most exclusive releases.
“I saw Nicky Blackmarket and the Ragga Twins shut down D'Arblay street about 4-5 years back”, my partner tells me as we make our way down from Oxford Street. My first glimpse of Record Store Day (RSD) is of a tattoo parlour/streetwear shop with crowd of try-hards gathered outside it, obnoxiously blaring some crap by Future or Drake. He adds “but it ain’t what it used to be”.
Further along, and with a jaw-dropping queue, is Sister Ray. Named after a Velvet Underground song, it’s clearly the number one vinyl retailer today, and unfortunately, I’m not waiting to see what I’m missing. My boyfriend, the unpaid tour guide, tells me that Sister Ray used to occupy what is now Paper Chase located directly opposite the building before they went bust in 2008.
Itching to get a look in one of the shops by now, Reckless Records appeared just a few doors down. Another independent and opened in 1984, it was the first record store on Berwick Street. It even appeared on Oasis album cover What’s The Story Morning Glory. It’s bright orange shop front and a man holding a bunch of RSD balloons for a PR stunt outside it are like a magnet. Feet in the door, and the narrow shop is instantly a hive of activity. Vinyl fans are sifting through the enormous amount of stock. A basic line of dark experimental techno is playing overhead and I begin to notice the sweltering shop temperature. You wouldn’t see this in HMV.
A pitstop to Sounds of the Universe to capture it’s glossy tile work before a gander down to Phonica Records. Opened in 2003, Phonica has been one of the more successful retailers within the localised hub of Soho record stores. Specialising in emerging German pre-minimal sound of the moment, it is also a meeting point for DJs in town to secure those most wanted cuts. It’s shop front is the designated smoking area cut off by a crowd safety railing. “Are you buying or are you just here to take pictures?”, a staff member asks me at the door. I didn’t realise I was trying to get into Berghain.
Inside, the tills are busy and Mr G is playing soul and house. But the volume of “influencers” here to create some social media content are more than apparent. I’m starting to see what my partner means about how it’s not what it used to be. It all seems a bit tame, even lame.
Where are the street parties? Where are all the live DJs? Are the stories of Soho becoming just a memory true? Considering that vinyl sales are at a 25-year high, why does it seem Record Store Day has passed its prime?
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