The Death of Rock(s)
So my mate 'Dangerous' Dave and I are walking uptown through Soho yesterday and I says to him, "Do you know about Rocks In Your Head? It's a record shop I just wrote a blog post about - let's go, you'll dig it."
Two blocks later and this is what we find.
Vultures picking over the carcass of my favourite neighbourhood shop. Bastards.
Turns out Rocks In Your Head had been here for 28 years! Now the name makes more sense; it's very 1978. More details were stuck on the front door behind flaking red bars.
So technically it's a case of 'RIYH is dead; Long live RIYH', but I had a big old swear about it at the time.
It made me think about the cold truth that while occasionally the Valley of Serendipity can bring us cats and monkeys and Japanese body art, it can also be a complete downer. Like when you write about a place you love and it closes down the next day.
Two blocks later and this is what we find.
Vultures picking over the carcass of my favourite neighbourhood shop. Bastards.
Turns out Rocks In Your Head had been here for 28 years! Now the name makes more sense; it's very 1978. More details were stuck on the front door behind flaking red bars.
So technically it's a case of 'RIYH is dead; Long live RIYH', but I had a big old swear about it at the time.
It made me think about the cold truth that while occasionally the Valley of Serendipity can bring us cats and monkeys and Japanese body art, it can also be a complete downer. Like when you write about a place you love and it closes down the next day.
posted by James B. Martini | 10:59 PM
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