What did you mean?

When I found you, you were ragged. So dusty. Sleeveless in the cold of your neglect. Though metal-rimmed. Built to last. Bumping through the decades, from storage to storage.   But what did you mean? You were and are a demo. So: Did you spark a tryst? Give words to some unspoken love? Why didn’t…

‘They look like mountains’

  I thought I knew my vinyl. Back to front and inside out. Then I saw what records look like beneath a microscope. All smoothness gone. Brittle Charcoal valleys. Scratched. Culverts- as if scoured by flash flooding. All arid in their dustiness.   I was lost for words, until another said, in reverential tones: “They look like…

Self Portrait

This is me. No grandiloquent celebration- Just a snapshot on a cold morning. Selfie? I loathe the word. No this is me making a record through a record through a mirror through a lens. This is me today. Right now. Hello.   © Tom Tide 2016  

Invention

Man and womankind   invented the wheel for a reason: Vinyl.   © Tom Tide 2016  

Sounding Board

How marvellous. To be the translator. To revivify breath and sound and life Captured with such joy, To feel, with tingling anticipation A crackle Then the unleashing of a moment in time That means so much To so many Now. © Tom Tide 2016

If it itches…

Records. They all itch-beneath their sleeves. All of them. All of the time. Always. Longing for relief. Yearning to be scratched on both sides. Those aren’t crackles that we hear. They are sighs. Gasps.  Sheer joy at being touched again. Once, in a spiral tease. Then returned. Sated. Shelved. Only to tickle until the next time. Dreaming…

Keep the Faith

I want  to time travel, right now. To drop in to an event, a gig, a scene  like a stone in a well, and immerse myself. Bathe in the moment, and only come up for air when sated.  Given the choice, the full gamut of happenings, I’d pick a Northern Soul event hands down. A…

The Vinyl fossil Record

Pressed in to layers they lie dormant. Waiting. They are a fossil record. I prise them gently apart like beach shale, and read the imprints within. A feathered brushing unveils the form, sweeping all grains and backfill away. Species become genres, and ages bleed in to spectrums of album art.   There is the Dark…

Heroes

There are very few individuals in this world who are both fascinating and mysterious, and even less of them riding the fame carousel. This world said farewell to one today. Obituary writers worldwide must have felt daunted when the news was first broadcast. I don’t envy anybody the behemoth of a task that is to…

Spirals

I am a treasure hunter. A pleasure-seeker. A record finder. Have been for over half of my life. An addict. Yet I am not a collector but a custodian, looking after what are literally records of time. I will pass them on. Records to me are sculptures, carved with meaning and framed by word and image,…