As I fired off an e-mail this morning to try and reserve my next batch of nine number ones from the 1980s (plus 'Y.M.C.A' by the Village People, a chart-topper in 1979 – no collection of classic vinyl should be without it); I started to think about the concept of 'rare' records and limited editions.
As a teenager in the 1990s, I built up a small, disparate collection of picture discs, coloured vinyl and other limited editions of songs and albums that I liked, had found by chance in the plethora of record shops that existed at the time, and had no intention of ever selling. I still have them. Fast-forward twenty-odd years to today, and we have what music journalist David Hepworth calls the 'Fake Rarity Roadshow' that is Record Store Day. He notes Paul Weller's anger at those who managed to bag a copy of his limited edition 7" single and then sell it online at a huge profit. Was that not supposed to happen?
But on Record Store Day, I couldn't actually get into the one (count 'em) independent record shop in my hometown because the queue was so long and I couldn't spend the whole day waiting. So I missed out on the 7" picture disc of 'Altogether Now' by The Farm I'd had my eye on. And I certainly won't be paying up to £27 for a copy online! But someone else will. So if you release an event-led limited edition, you can't then complain about the market that this restricted availability creates!
Everything has its price. And in these days when anyone with an Internet connection and a camera can sell anything online to the highest bidder, the market can no longer be controlled by artists or record companies. I've seen this market in action even during my quest to find old 1980s vinyl. I've now collected about 75% of the 7"s I'm after. Everything is available online. As long as you're prepared to pay the asking price, nothing is truly 'rare' anymore. So my choice is to either 'cheat' and pay over the odds for the remaining songs on my list, or else carry on trawling the flea markets for gems that sellers will part with for less. My own impatience means I'm doing a mixture of both – at least up to the point where prices become exorbitant.
