Showing posts sorted by date for query plastic. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query plastic. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Wednesday, June 15, 2022

It's The Flattest Squarest Tube

Beware Humans!

We are about to encounter some disruptive reading ahead.

We can only approach if you have one of the following:

Time

Eyeballs

Interest

You might encounter several of the following emotions:

Anger

Disinterest

Joy

Sadness

Melancholia

All objections will of course be logged, but ultimately ignored as we are going this way anyway.

All set?

Za_0g*)! will take your names and hand out refreshments.

Our E.T.A. is 46.21zp (A8933347821bp time).

P.S. Our Editor [Mister K.R.Zong-k-kl] is currently on holiday and we haven't had time to do the washing up.



'Allo
'Allo
'Allo Tosh, Gotta Toshiba?
'Allo Tosh, Gotta Toshiba?
That's An FST
That's An FST
(Right)
Flattest Squarest Tube
It's The Flattest Squarest Tube
They Ain't 'Alf Built Well
They Ain't 'Alf Built Well
'Course Every Toshiba Component
Is Stronger To Last Longer.
Know What I Mean?
That's Good
Weeeey!
That's Good
Weeeeeey!
'Allo Tosh, Gotta Toshiba?
'Allo Tosh, Gotta Toshiba?

From another galaxy, though in reality only 37 years ago, here we have the brain-burrowing genius of great advertising. Even if you didn't want to buy one, you (well, certainly me) couldn't escape the fact that Toshiba was lodged in your brain for a considerable amount of time. 
Although there is some dubiety as to who sang it (some say Alexie Sayle [because of his great single "Hello John Got A New Motor" on which the ad was based] some say the late Ian Dury) personally I'll go with Dury - it actually sounds like him, albeit tarted up - Alexie was far too manic.

As for me (in a weirdly prescient move which pre-dated the advert by a few years) when I arrived in Dundee and got my College grant (yes, FREE Education - who could conceive of such a thing) I blew a small chunk of it on a Toshiba Ghetto Blaster (I think it was an RT-8155S). 
It was a fantastic machine, sounding great and taking an auxilliary input from my Akai 4000DS Reel-To-Reel (weird eh! but the majority of music I had, had been captured [or added] to reels of 7" tape - I wasn't going to lug my record collection to college, and I didn't have a cassette deck at home). 
The TOSH proved to be an all-round good egg of a buy for quite a number of years.

But what the hell has this got to do with photography you ask?
Aha, he said, fiendishly twirling his moustache, well, I could have entitled this "Ultimate Pano" or "Kamera Korner BARGINS" but didn't, simply because people would be rushing around and going crazy, creating alarms and looking for more ways to scalp us enthusiasts.
Y'see, at exactly the same time Toshiba (sic) were creating brain-burning ads and large lumps of plastic and metal that were ultimately bound for landfill, camera manufacturers were, I believe, reaching their peak.
It is easy to say that the peak had already been reached in the mid-70's and was tailing off, but I'll throw in the fact that, arguably, photography, and the ease of making good images (of which digital is the bastard child) really came into its own with supreme Japanese manufacturing techniques; universal camera automation and, above all, the sheer affordability that came in the 1980's.
My Olympus OM10, bought new with a 50mm f1.8 lens in 1980, cost me £105 (with a case!) - I took thousands of photographs with it - honestly, I did.
And more incredibly, apart from a lazy iris on the lens, it still works really well - the shutter blind auto-exposure system (sort of a checky effect) is still accurate; OK the foam has gone a tad, but a couple of new Silver Oxides and it is up and working, snappily, the way it should. 
That is astonishing VFM.
A 40 year old, reliable companion that helped educate my eye. 
It was an affordable investment to me at the time - one could say that it brought a whole new slant to life which is still with me.
And that affordability was the genius of economies of scale.

At the time, being a student, money was a BIG thing, as in you didn't really have any. You could though withdraw £15 in cash, old money, on a Friday, get really steamed on Friday and Saturday and still have ackers for the following week. 
So you can see from that even with the OM's £100 price mark (a not insignificant investment) the sheer reliability and simplicity and above all else relative affordability (for what was really a luxury item) made it a 'must have'.
If you were serious about trying this new-fangled thang on a student's budget, it was either the OM or a Pentax K1000 - they were both priced the same - but to me the OM felt futuristic whereas the K1000 felt decidedly old and clunky. So I bought it and fell in love with shutters.

From the start, I also knew that when the bug bit seriously, I had to get better cameras. 
I became totally enamoured by the square (courtesy of DOJCA's vast collection of student loan Mamiya 330s) so would consequently glue my nose against Jessop's windows staring at the lovely Zenza-Bronica SQs they had on display - they were gourgeous
Of course they weren't Hasselblads (as far as I was aware - though I hadn't even seen one in the flesh!) but they were their equal in my eyes. 
If only I could have got one, I could have lurched off into the blue yonder to take landscape photographs that would move people . . . sigh.
And then reality bit.
Who gave a damn about pictures of hills and weather and trees (well I did - it made up a chunk of my degree show); landscape was dreadfully unfashionable, and as is often the way of dreams and hope, my ambition was throttled by hard reality and the need to find employment.
No back up, no money and my aspirations of becoming a landscape photographer/"fine-art" printer died in the cocoon.

And then . . . . in a planetary orbit somewhere down the line . . . .

A piece of luck, magic and puntsmanship happened. 
I borrowed money from my son's Uni repayment fund and I found myself with a Hasselblad 500 C/M.
Made in 1985, it had belonged to a retiring professional who had bought it as back-up, and had had it regularly checked over by Hasselblad - the wonderful, tactile body cost me £335; my first lens (the 60mm Distagon) cost £439. 
The body (from pretty much the same era as my old Toshiba - still wearing a dayglo tracksuit with shoulder pads) hasn't gone to landfill, and in fact (based upon today's prices) would currently have been able to buy three versions of its secondhand self in old money; in other words sublime engineering doesn't seem to go out of fashion, it just seems to accrue more value.
When I received it, I knew I held something special, but more importantly, the ghost of that young landscape photographer in me was moved to eventually come alive again and I give thanks for that.


Hasselblad 500 C/M,Hasselblad 40mm CF/FLE Distagon,Ilford HP5+,Kodak HC 110 Dilution B,© Phil Rogers Dundee,
Homeless Encampment - Dundee 2022


However this is rambling off-piste on a grand scale - so I'll find the track again, let you have a breather and a wee, and we'll get cracking on.

I have a friend who collects antiquities and he always says (when asked [by me] about the cost of something he has bought):

"Well, they're not making them anymore . . . " 

To which I would add, with the way prices on pretty much any old film camera are looking these days, have we hit a sort of ceiling or are things going to continue rising in cost exponentially, given:

"they're not making them anymore . . . "

It's a thorny issue.
For instance, who would have thought the lowly (yet lovely) Olympus Trip 35, would be snapped up by newbies for the equivalent price of my old OM10 (or even more). 
It's a fine camera, but hardly the dog's wobblers.

And so it goes on - as someone who uses a 500 regularly, can I truly justify (on average) £120+ on a useful Bay 60 coloured filter? Or £350+ for a replacement waist level finder?
 
Has avarice and the ability to finance and then horde, turned what used to be a thoroughly enjoyable, egalitarian hobby into something that is starting to look like the art and investment world?
During WW II, they had a word for it: PROFITEERING.
 
I mean, c'mon, £1000+ for a Leica M2 body
£2500 for a M6?
Both great cameras, but that great?
Is marque valued over ergonomics?

Which begs the question, is it really time to act on all those Minolta Dynax' or Canon EOS, or Nikon prosumers?
Are the likes of the Canon Sureshot et al, tomorrow's Trips?

Maybe.
Knock yerself out  - snap 'em up now - they're decent, well made cameras; (currently) supremely cheap enough that if the electronics fail, you can nab another and carry on - you could probably buy nearly a hundred (or more!) of these old things for the current cost of a 500 C/M and 80mm Planar.
Much to my chagrin, a few years back I contributed to this madness by selling a Nikon AF600 (which I'd bought for a fiver) at a massively over-inflated price . . . it's a plastic auto-Nikon with a decent fixed focal length lens, but hardly LEGENDARY - an attribute you will find on the net . . . 

Given the recent selling price of an Andy Warhol screen print (not even the original photograph, that was by Eugene Kornman) when the world is awash with art, are we looking at certain of the great photographic manufacturing names entering into the realms of Raphael or Picasso, or even Rolex and Omega,  FabergĂ© and Tiffany etc etc.
It is a chilling (yet stupid) thought, because where does it stop?
All it needs f'rinstance for some net-twat to proclaim that the old giveaway red panoramic cameras are brilliant and the next thing you know everybody wants one, and, ahem:

"they're not making them anymore . . . "

In reality though, yer plastic fantastic is not the main monkey business.
It's the big jobs.
Though a Leica is a fine machine, does it handle any better than, say, a Canonet to justify the price difference? 
A Hasselblad is also a fine machine, but in reality (though you buy one because it is a system camera) does it handle any better than a Bronica SQ, or even a Rolleicord?
An X-Pan now goes for as much as a secondhand car . . . . yet, the red panoramics or indeed any 35mm compact with a panoramic setting will produce nearly the same format (though not the same square millimeterage - 1584 sq/mm if you need to know). 
In fact the above-mentioned Nikon AF600 had panoramic mode AND a fine lens . . . see what I mean,

I have a feeling the market is being dictated by wheelers and dealers who don't use film cameras on a regular basis, nor really know that much about what they are selling save the name (and all important net-reputation) - a case in point is the 40mm M-mount Minolta Rokkor lens originally made for the Leica CL. A startlingly sharp lens, yet (because it isn't German or even Canadian and an old bit of info that it won't focus as accurately on a M . . . though apparently it does) widely ignored by a chunk of the Leicaphile community. 
If it is an ideal focal length and incredibly sharp, who wouldn't buy one to go with their M? 
Oh wait a minute, it isn't one of The Pantheon. It's too cheap. Jap-Crap. Move on, move on.
The same goes for Canon L39 lenses - easily the equal of their Leitz equivalents, probably better in regard to age related issues, and yet . . . . 
I could slap a new/old Zuiko on my OM10 and go out taking photographs - I'd come back with results that were pretty damn good - those Zuiko wides were always lovely. 
I could buy a Nikkormat (still incredibly cheap for such a reliable machine) and take advantage of all those great pre-Ai lenses and arguably take as good (or better) photographs as I do with my M2.
At the sizes I enlarge negatives to, why not ditch the Hasselblad - a Rolleicord would probably do me fine.

What I am saying is:

Just because a camera has a legendary name, it doesn't mean it is imbued with magic.

It just means that the people who were fortunate enough to be able to make a living or a name from photography, chose the legendary brands because of availability/reliability/reputation, AND THEN, created magic.

It's like guitarists who buy their heroes guitars so they can sound like them.
It ain't going to happen. Not ever, not at all.
Guitar magic comes from the soul, your fingers and your heart. 
Add in physicality, stance, grip; the million minutiae that go to make a person AND THEN, that person's ability to put something of their self into the machine they are using.
It is as individualistic as your fingerprints.
Yet a whole decades-old industry has been built upon the premise of:

Certain instruments, if used correctly, might just make you:

a. AS GOOD AS

b. SOUND LIKE

c. BE

 your favourite player.

There are great parallels with photography.

The salient point is though, with guitars there are still cheaper instruments being made. And the thing about them is, they allow proto-musicians to find their own voice

When film cameras were cheap and plentiful, yep, they allowed the photographer to train their eyes and hone their craft - find their own voice within the world of traditional photography as it were. 
But that went with digital and the rise of the phone.

Jings, it must be really hard if, say, you are in your late teens, mad to take photos, want to try film, buy a Lomo, enjoy it but get frustrated, want to try something better and discover you have to mortgage your kidneys to get something that my generation took for granted.
Maybe though, at this moment in time (2022 for all you time travellers) it is time to kiss those kidneys goodbye, because, as I said:

"they're not making them anymore . . "

The film camera as style icon/fashion accessory/hero machine/investment piece . . . it is coming, if, indeed, it isn't here already.

Investors have already moved in and enthusiasts are being driven out.

There are parallels with the tech/housing crisis in the States (go on - look it up!) - what a strange world. Tom Joad must be spinning in his grave.

Please note:

We have now passed through the main turbulence and are about to enter an area of space known as "DEEP SADNESS".

Many come out of the other side in reflective mood but with mayonnaise stains on their ties.

Those sandwiches Za_0g*)! is handing out are a bit rank aren't they.

Photography has always been regarded as a bit of a "retired dentists'" hobby, as in you have enough money to fund something that has never been (and is now more than ever not) cheap
Vanishingly so these days, wouldn't you say?
There they were at dentists conventions (sic) wielding M6's, not because it necessarily meant anything, but because, like all good dental machinery, an M6 (et al) was a finely put together machine that (deservedly so) was to be admired.
Even Her Madge, Elizabeth II had a M6 ff's sake . . . 

However, at current prices, a Leica M6 is a thing that few film enthusiasts will ever be able to admire (let alone fondle.) 
They're now only touchable by 'serious' buyers. 
And as such, are you, the enthused enthusiast, being forced into an investment/speculate situation simply because of the movements in the market.

To draw parallels with the guitar trade, I certainly know now, that back in 1989/90 when I was offered a 1962 Fender Stratocaster for about £1200 (but turned it down because I didn't have the money and didn't like Strats [!!]; or even way back, mid-1970's [when hair and 'rock' were the thing so why on earth would anyone want a 'country orientated' early/mid-60's Fender Telecaster for about £150 - and believe me, Wardour Street and Charing Cross Road were awash with these things]) I wish I'd had the gumption (and the cash) to take a punt.

Hindsight is a rare thing:

Ten or Fifteen years back there were thousands of secondhand M6's around. They averaged around £700.
Now, as with all things Leica and film-based (though curiously NOT the old, L39s [in my opinion, the proper spirit of the Leica]) the market is as dry as a desert, unless of course you have a King's Ransom to spare
Weirdly this dearth doesn't apply to certain useful accessories, which says something.
As for the cameras and the likes of the close-range Summicron, or indeed the 35mm Summi, they appear to have all gone into collections, to have new hand-stitched Italian leather suits placed on them; to be oggled by one's friends; dusted and cleaned with balsams and balms on high days and holidays . . . 
A world far removed from their original intent as an intuitive, small, precise, window on the world.

The hunka-hunka chunk of Swedish engineering that is my 500, designed for professional use (imagine, some of those 1980's 500s that people are paying well over £1000 for, could have possibly been seeing hundreds of rolls of film a week through them in a big studio - they were after all a professional tool) is now a thing lusted over and I believe, being increasingly bought for its aesthetics and investment value rather than its original purpose as a maker of supreme quality images.

A sad old world where yet again, money is valued over art. Where, controversially, talent is possibly being held back by market forces.
A case in point, I met a lad a year or so back - totally enthused - photographing around the back of the Art College. We were both masked and careful. 
We chatted. 
He clearly had talent and an enthusiasm that was infectious - he named names from the Pantheon Of Greats and I mentioned a few he'd not heard of; he really wanted to use film on a regular basis.
He was using a cheap Digi-Canon, because he said he was unable to afford a decent film camera (and indeed all the extra stuff required to remain film-based.) 
I felt a little (shall we say) circumspect with a SWC/M on a carbon fibre Gitzo with Arca ballhead . . . .
I hope he finally managed to afford to get something, because you could tell, with the right tools this bloke would have flown. 
You don't get to talk with that much vim, without being in love with the thing.

I could go on, but I won't, I do however feel that we're entering a new age in camera use. 

Please could all passengers hand their litter to Za_0g*)!

Entertainment will commence in 3 minutes.

It was going to be a Space Cowboy adventure with James T.Kirk (Clone 4) riding into town and sorting out bandits, but unfortunately our Prime account has been increased to 4.2 Zongs per solar year and seeing as we are a budget operation we are no longer able to subscribe.

Za_0g*)! however has found an old Betamax machine and we have rigged it to show a Third Generation copy of Mork And Mindy.
Oh boy, I am looking forward to this!
Nano Nano!

A lot of these cameras are old (well, certainly ageing) yet serviceable machines, but the way things are going, in reality, and in an alternate universe, would you take your 1930's Frazer Nash out to Tescos, or your '60's Lamborghini to your local supermarket car park?

Are we getting to the point whereby (because of the likes of the red dot spotting camera snatchers - they do exist btw, ask Za_0g*)! ) you don't take your pride and joy out, simply because it is too valuable or precious?

In an era when the agricultural, reliable, metal and glass breeze-block that is the Mamiya RB67 is on the highway to £1000+ (!) and it's sibling the RZ has now gone stratospheric (though curiously nobody gives a shit about the Bronica GS1), do we have to rethink how we approach our hobby?

It is really hard to see further down the line - the future is far muddier than it was even 5 years ago. 
Will film become something manufactured in ever decreasing circles? 
I mean why, these days, would anyone bother using Kodak unless they are either vastly rich or mad? Sorry American cousins, no idea what it is like with you, but it is double the price of everything else over here and thus (to me eyes) they've totally written themselves out of the UK film-buying market.

If, because of current pressures on world commodities and resources, film, chemical and paper prices rise to the extent that for the average Joe, they are unviable, sic:

Eat?

Heat? 

Photography? 

Where does it go from there?
Despite the "Analog Revolution" maybe people will just think:

Fuck it - I never print anything anyway, why not just save money, go totally digital, view it onscreen and be done with it.

And yes, I haven't been living in a cupboard  - I do realise people use film and scan it - that's fine, but to be honest how many of those scans are ever printed? 
Made into a PHOTOGRAPH to be hung or passed around? 
I would estimate approximately 75% of all scanned film ends up as Flickr feeds and goes nowhere else.
Actually, when  you look at it like that, logically, apart from the process of using a film camera (which is always enjoyable) and processing film (which is always a voyage of discovery) scanning seems to be a largely pointless activity. You could get the same end result (images viewed only on screen) using a digital camera.
It's a controversial statement I know, and I am still not sure how I feel about it.

But if cost starts to factor more and more and people realise that they could achieve the same end result just purely digitally and film sales start to retract to the extent that it is no longer a viable medium . . . . where do your investment pieces go then?
It'd be like a gun without bullets.
Or a Lamborghini without petrol.
Beautiful to look at, but effectively as useless as an Instamatic.

I hope I am raising more questions than answers, as it has always been my intent to get people to think about this wonderful hobby. 
If it makes you question things, then good, but it'll do little to the current state of profiteering.

It's funny y'know but Bruce (from the Online Darkroom) and I have a sort of camera watch thing going on (he recently sent me a pic of a guy in St. Andrews carrying a Fuji GW690 f'rinstance). He's beating me though, because apart from a couple of Japanese girls in Dubrovnik and Rome; a bloke with a Trip in Jedburgh and a kid with a Minolta in Edinburgh, I have never spotted another film photographer in the wild in the past 15 years. 

WTF is going on?

For all the "Analog Revolution" is film photography dying on the vine?
Are we already in the raisin stage   - a few old wrinkled fruits left whilst the rest of the crop have dried beyond redemption?
Remember good old film is nothing more than oil, silver, chemicals and energy. 
Will it even exist when $100+ barrels of oil and Vlad's squeeze on minerals/resources/food/energy mean that it is no longer viable to produce?
In economies of scale terms (and I have no idea how Harman/Ilford do it these days, but I love them for their commitment and quality) everything is moving in tighter circles.

Could we (that's you and me!) be the last of the WET photographers?

It is a chilling thought, yet one which demands (in a nice way) that, for the moment, could the investment market please just piss off and leave the use of (and ability to afford) these working machines to people who can still appreciate them and practice their craft whilst there is still film left to use.
I think we're on a Razor's Edge with film. 
If it becomes too expensive, we stop using it. 
If cameras (tools, not toys) become unaffordable then we stop using it.
Simple as that. 
And when it is gone, it is gone.
It'll be as antiquated as glass plates.

Certainly there are still plenty of cameras out there, but remember you are dealing with a finite resource
OK you'll say, you can still buy new cameras. 
OK I'll say, thank you for the Alpa 12 (approximately £10,000 with lens - wonder how many they sell a year?) but feel free to keep the Lomo.
So the non-superstar photography enthusiast is left with what is left - see what I mean?

If you're like me and you have a few (!) cameras, look after them - they're treasures. 
Though even then, I wonder (50 years down the line) who there will be with the specialist skills to look after them. 
The madness of a Leica CLA (after all you can't have your pride and joy going around with soiled underpants) means that all the Leica specialists in the UK seem to be booked up all the time - there appears to be little headroom.
Are new guys and gals being trained?
Who knows.
If I was really young and mechanically-minded I think I know what I'd do . . . 

It would be nice if, in say 50 years time when I am pushing up the daisies, some young buck was OUT THERE with a remnant of my humble collection, taking images, feeling atmospheres and kicking the ball further down the field.
My rictus grin would be enormous, yet sadly I can't see it. 
There are too many people pissing in the pool and making it desperately unpleasant for us swimmers, and not only that, someone has taken the plug out . . . .
Looked at in terms like that, it is GRIM.


Hasselblad 500 C/M,Hasselblad 40mm CF/FLE Distagon,Ilford HP5+,Kodak HC 110 Dilution B,© Phil Rogers Dundee,
Sunshine As Grafitti - Dundee 2022


Don't you think it is a sobering thought (tinged with deep sadness) about what has been lost in the exodus to digital?
(F'rinstance 1506 separate parts, assembled by hand, in a Nikon F2!)
And what is still being lost in over-weighting the market (£3000 for a 500C/M and 80mm? . . . . on Ebay as of today from a well-known dealer . . . c'mon)
You're talking around £15,000 for a new Leica M/A and a 50mm Noctilux - hardly student money - see what I mean about retired dentists?
Where is the affordability in the market?
Is my current viewpoint terribly pessimistic? Maybe, but I would always say I am a pragmatist before anything. 

Looking at it another way, us seasoned old geezers and galzers, raised on Brownies, Instamatics and then proper toys, have probably got on average 25 years left.
Everything we've taken for granted is going to get worse from commodity prices to weather to over-population.
So unless we can get ourselves into the future that was always sold to us back in those days of yore: y'know, personal space ships, holidays on Mars, we're stuck on Planet Earth.
But What about the Neu-Philanthropists? I hear you cry . . . 
Well unless we can afford to buddy-up to Bezos or Musk [sic] and get ourselves cryogenically frozen and aboard the next ship outta here, then there's no hope. 
Remember "SPACE!" is currently being monetised and besides, can you imagine a generation of baby-boomers in space? All those weightless Zimmers and broken bones, and not only that, I can't really imagine nipping into a Jessops for a roll of HP5+ when you're orbiting PA-99-N2 and persuading your team mates that you really need that last supply of Java to make some Caffenol . . .

So if we're stuck here, dealing with two finite resources (cameras and film) then surely the logical thing would be for people to be able to afford both and keep the ball rolling.

Of course all this pontificating on my behalf will change nothing.
I know for certain that I will never pop my clogs with a Rollei 2.8F in my hands, or an Alpa, or an Ebony View, or a Linhof 617, the way things are going even the more modest machines are being priced way beyond the reach of most people.
Some Hasselblads are now nearly 150-200% more expensive than they were even a few years back.
And that's not just Ebay . . . dealers, we really are watching you.

What a fucking shame.

Some serious thinking needs to be done on this. 
Remember it is no longer the 1970's or even the '80's. 

Nothing is a surety any more - when it is gone it really is gone.

So, to all you enthusiasts out there, I salute you and your wallets - hope you can find (or have found) something affordable to fall in love with and more importantly can afford to feed your passion.
Please start talking about this.
I agree profits have to be made by everyone, that is after all the world we've sewn ourselves into, but there's no need for the way things are going.
Over and out.

We are going to be landing in a few minutes.

Please ensure the following are firmly fixed:

Seat Belts

Teeth

Eyeballs

Za_0g*)!is handing out sick bags.

Please ensure you know how to use one correctly.


Message from Herman:

I put the above thinking down to reading too many apocalyptic SF books when I was a youngster - it sets your brain in survival mode, and you have to think everything through down the line - in other words try and figure out all scenarios and the cost is just one of them. 

Regular readers will have spotted, the pics aren't square. That's right, they're 645 from an A16 back. Lens was a (cough cough, looks at shoes, cough) newly acquired 40mm Distagon. I sold some old guitar stuff and afforded it that way - it was a good price, and is a heck of a lens. Not quite the same as a Biogon - more modern looking - but certainly incredibly sharp and (more to the point) easier to compose with.
Over and oot.
H xx






Sunday, December 19, 2021

36 Not Out. Oops, He's Been Caught By A Googly

Morning folks - well the reindeers are coming and this years final FB was meant to be a traditional (well if you can call a handful of years traditional) Christmas Round Robin of "this is what I did this year . . blah blah blah." 
But as we all know the taste in the world isn't for "blah blah" any more, so without further ado we find ourselves cast adrift into a Dickensian world, of empty grates, fingerless gloves and "HUMBUG!".

Oh and there's NO Photography in it either.

Y'see, in this lovely, grey, arse-end of the year, I have found myself caught out. 

Back in 1985, after graduating, applying for bloody millions of jobs and being told on more than on occasion that I was "far too qualified for Scotland" (! - true answer to job application) and had to move to London for any chance of work etc etc.
"Blah blah."
I found myself faced with the prospect of penury.
However in a rather timeous manner (in those Thatcherian, "on yer bike" times) I was fortunate enough to be interviewed for a job by a bloke in a baked bean-stained Virgin Aberdeen tee-shirt and torn pixie boots; he looked a bit down-at-heel (literally) but had a demeanour, knowledge and humour that I found utterly charming. 
His name was Dougie Anderson (R. I. P.). 
He was the Scottish Regional Manager for Virgin Retail and there was something about the cut of my jib he liked, so he employed me.
Like a kid being given the keys to the sweet shop, I was excited because I was going to work in a Record Shop!

The only thing was, it wasn't what I really wanted to do.
Whether there was something in the water at Duncan Of Jordanstone, I don't know, but I graduated knowing that what I really wanted to do was 'fine art' printing. 
Not graphics (my Degree) no. 
Indeed the majority of my Degree show was landscape photography, not graphic design, much to the chagrin of my lecturers 
I'll blame Joe McKenzie for lighting a fire which still still burns bright over 40 years later.
However in line with Thatcherian Britain at the time, I was a poor ex-student with no financial backup or contacts; to become a printer would definitely have involved me getting on my bike and moving to London *** (see below).
It was a vicious circle with no way out.

So I was effectively stuck here, drowning if truth be told, until some bloke who looked a fair bit like Nigel Tufnel put out his hand and pulled me free . . . and so began 36 years of work in my other passion, MUSIC.
To-wit, Music Retail.


Virgin Dundee Circa 1987.
© DC Thompson.


That's me at the back, far left, rifling through the racks . . the one with the hair, and to the right at the far back you can see the door to my kingdom . . . the stockroom.

I think even in those hirsute days I was too hairy for public consumption, so like a troll in its lair, the stockroom it was.
But before we even got there, I shrink-wrapped pretty much the entire shop stock on a spare floor (where the concessions were) in the Glasgow Megastore. I travelled to Aberdeen for what seemed like ages, to learn stock control, filing, more wrapping, cataloguing etc.
When we moved into the Wellgate in Dundee I travelled in the back of a van from Glasgow, alongside some of my compadres, with stock, more stock, security tags and what must have been nearly a ton-and-a-bit of shrink-wrap machine. 
Try getting one of those up two flights of stairs with tight corners!
Once esconced, I estimate that I probably shrink-wrapped the best part of a million pieces of vinyl in my time there.
Having been brought up with the sanctity of handling records - y'know the drill: the open palm support, the gentle twist to the B-side, the careful cleaning with every single play - you quickly lose your awe at handling so much. 
Proprietry goes out of the window.

It was a real mill - roughly 35 boxes from suppliers A DAY.
Lugging THREE 100 size boxes of vinyl at a time (the most I could carry) up two flights of stairs - yes that's approximately 300 pieces of nice n'cheap old school vinyl with each journey up.
Then opening each box, checking the quantities on the advice note were correct, breaking it down into price points, and then writing that up on a SUP (never knew what that meant) sheet, before security tagging, price stickering and putting aside for shrink-wrapping.
When you had enough LPs sitting you got going:
Bend, pick up LP, slide it onto plattern between a sheet of 2-ply PVC wrap; pull forward with your right hand; bring down heated L-shaped 'cutter' to pinch off the PVC; use left hand to move LP onto rollers.
The rollers took the bag of plastic and sound into a heated tunnel (that didn't look too dissimilar to an airport security device) and out it came, shrink-wrap shrunk, to fall into a box, ready for collection and transport out onto the shop floor.
The PVC released really nasty fumes, and I operated like this for months until Virgin stumped up and got proper ventilation. 
This was a large electrostatic fan - the air moving through two charged grids and the floaty bits of loose plastic (from the L-shaped frame's heated cutting wires) collecting on the grids. 
It was a great system, except that said burning PVC had to pass by my head (and mouth and nostrils) before reaching the vents.
When we cleaned the vents, a thick grey sludge accumulated in the sink - it was the dickens to clean off.

All I can say is that I had a really fine lung-capacity when I started, and now I can't really puff for Puffins.

I eventually got an assistant (Hi Earl!) and between us we shifted tons and tons of 'product' in what sometimes approached 90 degrees of dry, smelly heat, in a small windowless room.
Earl eventually left to become a commando - I'll bet his basic training was on a par with working in a Virgin stockroom!

It was highly tough (OK, not like digging graves or shunting dustbins) work, but it was FUN. It stimulated the senses, both in sound, sight (all those classic 12" square covers!) and smell - all that burning acrid plastic. 
It kept you fitter than a butcher's dog, because the work was constant and heavy. It destroyed skin tone, concreted lungs, helped RSI, and was both physically and mentally exhausting,  but at the end of the day it got the ackers into the money-making machine that was Virgin Records, so that was all that mattered eh!
Sir Richard should think about his ex-employees when he is gadding about in space - if I am anything to go by, a lot of his ex-stockroom folk are either dead or pretty buggered health-wise.

But back to the FUN - in those halcyon days, you could buy a brand new chart LP for £4.99. 
Nowadays it's £19.99+. 
Back catalogue, the real grist to the mill, started at £3.49 for premium titles like Led Zeppelin, and so on and then worked down from there. 
The average 12" single was a strangely expensive £1.99.
7"'ers were around a pound. 
Cassettes were similarly priced to LPs. 
The new-fangled Compact Disc ran to around £10+ - they were expensive

Seeing as I have made my life's living off of selling them, I'll maybe write about them more.
They were initially the ground of the:
 
"Hey baby, wanna come back and listen to my new CD player" 

working man!

That's true, oh you tucked-in jumper, white-socked smoothies with your beefy pay-packets!
God bless you.
We stocked on opening approximately 350 CDs - that was just about it for UK production, but as their popularity quickly disseminated out into general use, manufacturers got on board pretty fast, and a tidal wave of both UK, European and the delightfully environmentally unfriendly American anti-pilfering long box came onboard. 
It still astounds me that in 1987, people were paying £20+ for Japanese imports of Pink Floyd albums on CD, because EMI over here hadn't really cottoned on yet.

Weird how the world changes when music becomes devalued by online retail and then streaming becomes the norm and people ditch CDs like they're anathema.
For all that the humble silver disc is slagged off as being hopeless these days, you know, these wonderful little 5"ers are still valid. 
Aside from the fact they've put a roof over my head and expanded my knowledge of the wonderful world of recorded music and catalogue, they're so fecking easy to deal with.

I find the 'vinyl revolution' very interesting - one drunken stumble with your favourite premium £35 copy of 'Are You Experienced' and you're stuffed. 
I know because I did it in 1974 with my copy of 'Mott' - I wasn't drunk, but it slipped, bounced off the edge of my Dansette and forever (even today) - I still hear that click during 'The Ballad of Mott the Hoople (26th March 1972, ZĂĽrich)'.

But back to Virgin - gosh I miss that shop (and I never thought I'd hear myself saying that). 
I was lucky enough to work with a fantasticly talented team of people - all of them PUMPED about the music they loved, all knowledgable (y'know, like the geeky assistant in Hi-Fidelity) in ways that probably wouldn't seem normal these days. 
We covered the breadth of music, from Be-bop and Swing (Hi Stuart!) through Punk (Hi Graham!) R&B and Funk (Hi Libby!) Disco (Hi Audrey!) Ghastly Chart Pop (Hi Jan!) ALL back catalogue (Hi Jim!) weird pre-Americana (Hi Brian!) standard stuff (Hi Jill!) through others and back to me and my love for rock, metal, and guitar instrumental music.
We worked bloody hard for Richard Branson and for a smaller Virgin shop (albeit on two floors) we sold a TON of stuff. 
We would rack out say every Iron Maiden 12" single available to that point (approximately 7 or 8 titles - most of them imports at around £6) 25 deep on a Friday and they'd be gone on a Monday. 
Dundee is a music town. 
At the time is was delineated by its tribes, and they mostly all bought music (some nicked it of course but that is another story).
When they excavate Tayside in 20,000 years time I am sure they'll find a layer of Talking Heads 12" singles, with sub-layers of The Mission and The Cult; pockets of Led Zeppelin and Neil Young and Van Morrison; a Smiths magma, Dirty Dancing Soundtrack shale and don't forget the Farley Jackmaster Funk sub-layer . . .

Then in 1988 disaster happened and the Virgin group, in their bid for world domination, sold off 67 smaller shops to Our Price to fund said operation.
Everything changed overnight
Goths sacked for making the place "look too dingy"; colleagues told on a Wednesday that they were starting in a different branch on the other side of the country on the following Monday; myself, banned from serving the public because my hair was long; managers placed under so much pressure that the Voddie bottle in the filing cabinet was de rigueur.
It was a Pogrom
Our Price only wanted their own people in charge and as such made it as difficult as possible for ex-Virgin staff who asked too many questions.
On the whole, to us seasoned vets, Our Price People seemed to know little about music save what they'd seen on Top Of The Pops, and they were consistently placed in charge of people who breathed, slept and ate at the broad table of The Gods that was Modern Music.
The Regional Manager for Scotland and his henchman were like the Batman and Robin of rules. 
They had precious little musical knowledge between them, but knew what to say (sound familiar?) and knew how to enforce the new house rules. 
Having engaged their ire (like the Eye Of Sauron) by standing up for a part-time Saturday girl (who was brilliant at her job but got sacked all the same) the pressure came to bear, and I found myself (after a period of great pressure and angst) in the position of having to resign.
Bastards.
It was difficult.
They call it Constructive Dismissal - being forced into a corner where your only option is to resign.

And then like a hand reaching down into the mire of despond, Rock City came along (Hi Graham!).
You've never heard of them, but they were a secondhand and new shop based in St. Andrews in Scotland in the late 80's/early 90's. 
And they gave me a job. 
I think the proto-KT Tunstall bought some records there.
It was a great little business - furiously busy at times, and then tumble-weed at 11am on a Winter's Tuesday morning. 
I really enjoyed my brief time there; discovered great new/old records; learned the ins and outs of the used vinyl trade; bought stuff; sold stuff; had big laughs with customers; cleared the shop with the then virtually unheard of  Nirvana's 'Negative Creep' and just generally had a good time that kept the wolf from the door.

Then one day I got a phone call:

"Are you Herman Sheephouse?"
"Yes."
"The same Sheephouse that worked for Virgin?"
"'Yes."
"Would you like a job?"

Well it paid more (and more importantly had access to all those luscious guitar import CDs that weren't available in the UK) and so I found myself in the longest stretch of my career.
Hello CDS!

For 31 years I have dealt with customers that are wonderful, weird, annoying, funny. knowledgable, kind, appreciative and generous. All of us linked by that one thing - music.
It has been the bread of my working life.
I have handled and processed boxes of stock from literally around the world.
I have dealt with and sold music to people from the UK through Europe to Turkey and into Asia, Japan, and Australia and New Zealand, and on into Polynesia, making the jump across the Pacific into the whole of the Americas from Alaska and Canada right the way down to Patagonia.
Every phone call has been a discovery, pretty much, from funny regulars through to people who were/are quite frankly cracked. 
We've had loonies, freaks, 'normal' people, passionate music fans, celebrities, musicians, all sorts.
I've fielded questions and sourced the impossibly rare.
It's been a blast actually.

Back at the start in CDS, pre-internet days, it was a brain and a bunch of catalogues that got you there; that and the ability to follow leads and jump, Sherlock-like, on a trail long-gone cold, in search of that elusive catalogue number. 
Wonderfully logical, cats (that's a 'trade' term) were Willie Wonka's Golden Ticket, so long as you could match them up to the correct distributor.
Once all the tumblers clicked into place, you then had to assume the item was actually still in stock - not always the case when dealing with catalogues that were out of date as soon as they were printed. 
This was the days before live computerised stock control too.
But like I said, you got your magnifying glass out and followed the bloodhound!
Navigating the seas of Asian catalogues, replete with Asian characters, transposed Ls and Rs (Yes, Beatres, Lolling Stones etc); through to Russian broadsheets printed on the thinnest paper ever; underground dance culture catalogues that arrived incognito through the post; home-made affairs cobbled up from a typewriter, photocopier and proper old school punk cut and paste; glossy corporate affairs through to the firm favourite single-sheet faxed over.
I saw it all, and reacted appropriately.
Ordered.
Imported.
Paid the MCPS sticker.
Sold the disc.

I was going to write a bit here about how massive online retailers, well one in particular, selling at cost or below cost have pretty much destroyed an industry I loved, but I won't because what I was going to write was so full of piss and vinegar and sheer bile, it frightened me, and was probably all too easily misinterpreted as the rantings of someone who is just about to lose their job (4 days and counting down folks!)
I will say one thing though to you, the buyer and your need to save a couple of quid with the easy lazy click - you're playing into some strange hands and you're dreaming yourselves into the most bizarre Dystopian future that nobody could have imagined.
I'm not criticising though, just pointing a few things out, because they're coming for you too.

So in the future, when you're in a lovely new care home, that was made possible because you released the equity in your house to a super-massive corporation, and you're currently having your drool wiped by a Care-bot, branded by the same, whilst shitting into a nappy branded by the same, you'll be able to watch a lovely drama, starring a holo-actor that used to be someone to do with Star Trek and laugh and point and remember a time when freedom and choice went hand in hand.

Y'see, unfortunately in the process of this worldwide application of megalomania, my beloved Music Industry has been hit and left at the side of the road like a squashed forgotten hedgehog.
In the UK, the small. local record shop? Pretty much gone. 
America - the Mom and Pops; the local emporium of joy and discovery? All gone.
Europe is a wasteland apart from a few small beacons of light - Hi Judith! Hi Ron!
Everywhere you look in the world something massive has taken place, and all because you the customer want the convenience of sitting on your bum and purchasing with the easy click, and more to the point, want to save money - no matter how little in real terms.

Like Isis firing missiles and lobbing grenades at Ancient Babylonian monuments, so a vital, collective culture, has been utterly destroyed.

Record shops were a right of passage. 
They held meaning. 
They were where you went and met people who weren't at all like you and you loved them, or people who were like you and you hated them.
They informed, annoyed, delighted, transported, captured, enthralled. 
In short, they gave meaning to people's lives. 
They brought joy.

And it's nearly all gone, courtesy of that easy click. 
And gee, you get that CD delivered, in a day or less. 
You don't go and rake. 
You don't go and ask to listen, or grab an opinion from another customer. 
You don't head home, wondering whether you've bought the right thing. 
You don't get that transition whereby you can't really tell if you like it or not, but you've bought it so you might as well give it a go. 
And that wonderful, slow, transition from strange taste to nectar, whereby your new purchase becomes the most important thing in your whole life
No, you send it back - done - not my taste man.
No wonder we're in a cultural maelstrom of shit and brilliance, that's more blended with shit than it is with brilliance.
Cultural discovery and curiosity have been poleaxed.

"Like this? You'll love this!"

As the Algorythms (yeah that is misspelled - so what!) judge your 'thing' and chance is largely by-passed, you are only fed stuff you like
Your whole DNA of taste is laid bare and open to what something thinks you'll like.
How fucking boring.
I've done this for long enough to know that I don't even know what I do and don't like.
That's the beauty of being a human.

You could take the super-highway to your destination and get there in double quick time, or you could go via the backways and maybe, just maybe, you'd find somewhere you liked even more.
I know which I prefer.

And that's what world-dominating online retail has done. 
I lay the blame firmly at someone well-known's feet.
Well I would except he is in space.
Saving mankind.
With an old guy.

And that as they say is that.
My work is now in the process of 'winding down'.
The future is cancelled and certainly more uncertain than I have ever known it.

To coin a phrase that weirdly and coincidentally I found pencilled on the wall of our house when redecorating a couple of years back (it is literally 3 yards away from me as I type this, buried for the future under wallpaper):


A Dickensian Requiem


"2 paid off, December (??) 1883."

God only knows what losing your job in 1883 must have been like.
My thoughts are entirely with the spirits in this, because to me it has felt like a death in the family.
And I'll draw a line under it there.

On the positive side, and to quote a meme that is entirely my own:

"Time is the most precious thing you don't own."

I'll see how things pan out - I have time to dedicate to photography and all the million things I've always meant to do, but have never had the time for.
I bless the day I met my wife - without her, things would be considerably darker.
I feel positive in the weirdest way.

So until the Solstice turns and the nights start drawing out again, this has been an unusual one and as always thank you for reading.
As you've no doubt realised there's no photography. 
Normal service will resume in the New Year - Winter is here - what better time to break out the 5x4!

To you and yours and to your attitude to the world in general, be kind to people.
Mankind needs to act now for the greater good of mankind.
I wish that the era of egotism and greed were coming to an end, but sadly I can't see that. 
As long as you keep buying and believing in these really very socially awkward people and their dominion over data and technology, then they'll continue to stamp their weirdness on our future.
Culture will start to feed on itself, instead of growing.
The future is branded and wants every last penny.

It's not the world my parent's fought for in WWII.

Nor is it the golden Space Age that my contemporaries and I foresaw back in the 60's and 70's.

It's something considerably darker; more akin to the Film Version of Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep.
And I really don't like that.

So on an end note, be good, take care and even if one of you starts thinking about how the world we're going to hand to our grandchildren is going to pan out, we can make it turn now.
For good.
We have to.

Be good and take care.
Merry Christmas

Herman XXX



*** Good buddy and long time FB commentator Bruce Robbins has told me that I was exactly the sort of guy that could have ended up in the photography department at DC Thompsons. Who knew!