What is it like working at HMV?

I was so desperate to leave the food factory that, when they offered voluntary redundancy, I was in the personnel department before you could

blink. After depositing my redundancy cheque in the bank I thought I would take a trip down to the local job-centre to see what else the world had

to offer.

After looking through endless requests for cleaners or dead-end jobs like

the one I had just left, something stood out like a diamond in a bag of nutty

slack. Amongst all the dross was a job that was perfect for me – HMV, the

UK’s top record retailer, was looking for a sales assistant in their Liverpool

branch. “Wow!” I thought. “What an opportunity!”

I was determined to show them that I was the perfect candidate and

promptly hurried home to write my CV, something I had never needed

in my previous job. I also completed and sent off my application form.

A few days later, a letter from HMV landed on my doormat inviting me

for an interview.

I did as much research as I could into Liverpool HMV and even popped

into the store and had a walk around to see if I had any ideas on how I could

contribute to improving it. On the day of the interview I was flummoxed.

What should I wear? A shirt and tie? But, as I had never seen anybody

working in a record shop wearing anything so formal, I decided on the

smart but casual approach.

The interview went well and the manager, Paul Johnson, was quite firm,

although I did seem to gel with him. He asked me to name all of the other

record stores in town, which was not a problem for somebody who bought

lots of vinyl and who would always shop around for the best value. Paul

then asked me to rate the stores in order of merit. It was a tricky question

and I bravely took the decision to be honest, rating HMV next to bottom of

my list. Paul was surprised and told me that most people rated HMV in the

top spot. I explained that my experience of the store was one of less than

great service and unsmiling staff. I also went on to say that if he employed

me all that would change, as I would be so happy you would not be able to remove the smile off my face with Ajax. Paul laughed, and I was later to learn that this had been an excellent answer, as the Liverpool store had not

been performing well and he had been brought in to turn things around. In

fact, in football terms, they were heading for the Nationwide Conference,

being third from bottom in the whole HMV chain.

The next question threw me, as I had never been asked this in any

previous interview, “Do you play football?”

“Yes” I replied. The questions then became more surreal.

“Do you play in the Wirral Sunday League?”

Again the answer was yes, and then it was, “Are you a goalkeeper?” Blimey, I thought, Paul must be psychic, or the HMV football team needed an injection of fresh blood. He then explained that he had been playing a match on the previous Sunday; the score was 2-2, and with one minute to go his team were awarded a corner. The ball was floated towards him; he met it good and true and headed the ball towards the top corner. Just as he turned to celebrate what he thought was the winner, the goalkeeper had leapt up and turned the ball over the bar. “You were that bloody goalkeeper, weren’t you? I knew I’d

seen you before.” He was correct. I was that goalkeeper, and we had a good

laugh about it.

I knew at that moment that I had the job, even though Paul told me over

300 people had applied. It was a good feeling – even though my football

skills had failed to land me employment in my preferred career, they had

helped me to secure a position in my second choice. Sure enough, two days

later Paul phoned to offer me the position of sales assistant at HMV

Liverpool. I was delighted.

Whilst working in the factory I had spent my life wishing it away. I

would look at the clock and think, “only an hour to break-time”, “only

three hours to lunch”, “only eight hours till I get home”, “only three days

to the weekend”, “only six months to my holiday”. I was constantly wishing

for the future. Working at HMV did not feel like a proper job and

each morning I could not wait to start – no more clock-watching for me.

Now I did not want the days to end. Although Paul worked us very hard I

enjoyed every second of it, and on most days we worked twelve hours,

making a big effort to lift our store up the HMV league table. Like me,

most of the staff were new, all brought in to replace the previous team. I

loved working on the counter and soon built up good relationships with

lots of the regular customers.

This was in the days when CDs had just come out. I lost count of the

number of customers who brought back CDs because they could not play

them on their record player. The music industry had marketed CDs so that

many people believed that you could eat your dinner off them and they

would still be playable. This was a blatant untruth.

One day, a chap came into the store demanding a refund. He had bought

a CD and decided to show his mate that you could do anything to it and it

would still play. He had stood on his and skated it around his carpet before

attempting to play it. Needless to say the disc did not play. He told me this

tale and then expected a full refund but, of course, he left empty-handed –

just another customer taken in by the CD hype.

One lady brought back a CD single by Kenny the Kangaroo,

complaining that it jumped. “What did she expect?” we asked. “That’s what

Kangaroos do!” The humour was lost on her and she demanded a refund.

Often you had to be a bit of a detective. People would come in and ask

for “that song off the radio”, and then look surprised that you required

more clues. “Well, it’s a woman” they would say and that normally improved my chances of success by 50 per cent. I recall a lady who asked

for “The Jogging Song” and, after numerous guesses, I realised it was

‘Running Up The Hill’ by Kate Bush. Another guy commented that he had

heard a great song on the radio, and though he didn’t know the title, he

thought the name of the band was something like diarrhoea. I soon deduced

that the band was in fact Dire Straits.

A few great characters worked at HMV, none more so than our two

security guards, Liverpool’s own version of the Keystone Cops, Eddie and

Paul. It never ceased to amaze me how few people they caught, although,

in Eddie’s case, it was easier to understand. He was particularly overweight.

I lost count of the times that someone ran past me whilst I was

serving on the counter with the whole of the Genesis section tucked under

his or her arm, pursued in vain by a wobbling Eddie.

One day a young scally zoomed past me carrying a batch of Bob Marley

LPs. “Quick, Graham, give me a hand!” Eddie shouted, and so we set off in

pursuit. It soon became obvious that we would never catch the young thief.

Suddenly Eddie had a brainwave, no doubt influenced by the American cop

shows he was so fond of. He cupped his hands around his mouth and

shouted in the loudest voice possible, “Hey, you with the Bob Marley

albums, freeze!” Much to Eddie’s surprise the youth failed to drop the

albums to the floor and put his hands on the nearest wall waiting to be

frisked, whilst an old lady standing a few feet away did drop her shopping

and nearly had a heart attack due to the shock.

Each time Eddie failed to catch somebody he would analyse the crime,

looking for reasons as to why the latest youth had escaped. By going on

about it all the time he did not realise that he was just confirming what we

all knew – we had the worst security guard in Liverpool. One day he asked

me if I had any suggestions to help him apprehend more people, but my

unsympathetic response of “lose weight and learn to run faster” was probably

unhelpful.

In hindsight, I don’t think I helped the situation with my choice of

music. Every time he returned, panting from another unsuccessful mission,

I would put the song ‘Something’s Wrong With Eddie’ by Wah! on the

turntable at full volume. Everybody laughed except Eddie. Due to Eddie’s

lack of success it turned out to be the most played record in HMV

Liverpool that year, and I lost count of the amount of copies of that record

I sold. One day Eddie politely stated, “Put that song on one more time and

I will f****** force it down your throat,” and at that point I thought it wise

to stop promoting Wah!

After returning from lunch one day I was advised by Eileen, one of the

young girls who worked at HMV, to go down to the basement because

we had a problem. It was a bit of a shock when I made my way downstairs

to be greeted by a foul-mouthed youth screaming abuse, surrounded by

all of the male members of HMV staff. “Quick, give us a hand,” Eddie bellowed

and I joined the circle, only for the psycho thief to lash out at me

with his feet. Apparently Eddie had somehow caught this guy stealing a

Pink Floyd CD.

It never ceased to amaze me that the same artists were always stolen;

Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Genesis and Frank Zappa. Hardly a week went

by without one of us noticing the whole section of one of these artists

was missing.

It was typical of Eddie – why could he not have caught a little old lady

with a Mozart CD stuck up her jumper, or a young kid? No, he had to

apprehend somebody who made Genghis Khan appear calm and peaceful.

I then made a real mistake – maybe it was nerves, but I smiled. ‘Psycho’

came within an inch of my face and asked what I was smiling about.

“Nothing,” I replied.

“When I get out of this I will track you down, it will be easy to find

where you live and I never forget a face,” said Psycho. “You’re dead,” he

shouted, but it was quite nice of him to offer me a choice. “Would you like

me to strangle you then stamp on your face or would you prefer for me to

slash your throat, behead you and kick your head around like a football?”

Although I was spoilt for choice, I felt silence was the best option, since

none of his suggestions for my imminent demise really appealed. After

what seemed like an age the police finally arrived, handcuffed him and took

him to their van. This didn’t discourage him, and he was still lashing out

and shouting abuse at the police. I felt safe in the knowledge that he would

be put away for a while.

That evening, five friends and I had bought tickets to see Julian Cope

perform at the Pyramid Club in Liverpool town centre – he was one of my

favourite performers and I had seen him play on many occasions. You could

also generally rely on him to do something odd.

When he played the Royal Court in Liverpool he got carried away

dancing, failed to notice the edge of the stage and tumbled into the

orchestra pit. It made no difference – he hardly missed a note as he leapt

back on stage as if nothing had happened. Also, at a gig in Manchester,

Julian noticed a trap door in the ceiling above the stage and thought it

would be a great idea to climb up. It was a surreal sight to see the band keep

playing whilst, out of sight to the crowd, Julian sang the next couple of

songs from somewhere above the ceiling of the stage. The next verse

reduced the crowd to tears of laughter. “Your singer’s stuck in the roof and

can’t get down,” he sang, whilst every now and again popping his head out

of the trap door. Eventually a couple of bouncers came to help him down,

but not before a batch of plaster had fallen from the ceiling, which resulted

in cheers from the crowd.

We were all anticipating another great gig that evening, including one of

my mates from HMV, Steve Wade, who had been part of the ‘ring of fear’

that had encircled ‘Psycho’ earlier in the day. After handing in our tickets

we made our way to the front of the stage where, to my horror, standing

with some equally psychotic-looking mates was the psycho who was unable

to decide whether to behead me or slash my throat. I made Steve aware of

the situation and told our mates we must leave quickly. One of them did

not agree and expressed his opinion in a voice so loud that everybody

including Psycho and his mates must have heard him. Steve and I scampered

off and sadly left our other mates to watch the concert without us.

During this period I was fortunate enough to be able to go to about three

gigs a week. I would spend most Fridays and Saturdays at a famous

Liverpool venue called Eric’s. These were exciting times, and I was able to

see bands like Joy Division, U2, The Jam and The Clash before they really

hit the big time.

The most memorable gig was a band called X-Ray Spex. The performance

was to be recorded by the BBC for a documentary show called Arena,

which was quite an arty show on BBC 2, a sort of South Bank Show for the

working class. The queue to gain admission that night was bigger than

usual. As we were waiting to get in, a lad in front of me was talking to his

girlfriend whilst leaning against a black door. Suddenly the door opened,

and he fell on his backside, which created much mirth amongst the queuing

punters. After the laughter had died down it became clear that this door led

into the club. Everybody waited to see who would be first to venture down

the stairs into the darkened gloom.

I was at the front, and we gradually edged our way down. Although it

was pitch black, we knew we were getting nearer because the noise

emanating from the club was getting louder. As we reached the bottom

we realised there was likely to be trouble, so we quickly went to the bar, bought a drink and drank half of it so it appeared that we had been in the club a while.

I  witnessed  violence one night at the club but sadly it was on me. When the Stranglers played the club. It was the hottest gig I had ever attended and I was at the front, jumping up and down. Halfway through the band’s set I became desperate for a drink to cool me down, but was reluctant to lose my place at the front. I compromised by taking off my T-shirt. So there I was,

topless, swinging my T-shirt over my head to create a welcome draught.

The bouncer at the front did not take too kindly to being showered with

my sweat. But, instead of saying to me, “Excuse me sir, will you please

refrain from swinging your T-shirt above your head?” he just smashed me

in the face. I did not fall back, as the crowd was so packed, but I thought he

had broken my jaw. I was stunned for a few seconds, and as I gathered my

senses, the first thing I noticed was the band’s bass player Jean Jacques

Burnel who was smiling at the incident. Needless to say, I went off The

Stranglers after that.

In comparison, Eddie, our own security man at HMV, was mildmannered

and in no way violent, but he was famous for not catching

thieves, whilst our other security guard Paul did, every now and again,

apprehend somebody. One day I took a phone call from his wife who had

the best excuse ever as to why he would not be coming in that day. “Sorry,

Paul won’t be in today. He’s been arrested for armed robbery on the

Liverpool to London train.” I always thought of him as a really pleasant

guy, and was taken aback to discover that he had been influenced by Ronnie

Biggs. It turned out that he was part of a gang who had attempted to hold

up the train. I never saw Paul again and he was jailed.

We were now down to just the one security guard, but Eddie continued

to show me why he was in the wrong job. During that period the IRA was

still active, and Eddie appointed me official bomb finder. When he asked

me I burst out laughing, but no, he was serious, so each day I had to get on

my hands and knees and search under the record racks for bombs. One day

I crawled out amongst a sea of legs and looked up to find a load of my mates

staring at me. “What are you doing?” they asked.

“I’m looking for bombs,” was my reply, and it must have been five

minutes before the laughter died down.

To help Eddie out, the manager asked Steve Wade if he would assist and

do some security work. This was a masterstroke. Steve just dressed like the

average student, which I suppose was badly, but he was soon rounding up

thieves at an astonishing rate, much to the annoyance of Eddie. As Steve did

not look like a security guard, people would thieve in front of him and, one

day, a potential thief asked Steve if he would keep a lookout for the security

guard whilst he was stuffing Beatles albums into a carrier bag.

Working at HMV you came across many celebrities. I will never forget

the day Cilla Black did a personal appearance. The rep for the record

company had arranged it with Dave, the assistant manager, who then

completely forgot about it. He also forgot to mention it to any other

member of staff. On the morning of the PA (personal appearance) the rep

phoned up to speak with Dave to finalise Cilla’s appearance. Dave did not

let on that we hadn’t promoted it and the rep was left with the impression

that an army of fans would greet Cilla. In a mad panic Dave informed us,

and we hastily scribbled on a white sheet of paper “Here today, signing

copies of her new album at 12pm – Cilla Black”, and put it in the shop

window. It was now 11am, so we had an hour to promote her visit.

When Cilla arrived, she was plonked next to me on the counter to sign

albums for the army of fans who had gathered. The army of fans turned out

to be two old ladies and Mr Adelphi, whose second home was HMV. He

was never out of the store. He was in his late 50s and had worked at the

famous Adelphi Hotel as a bellboy for years. He was delighted to meet

Cilla, and I laughed to myself as he engaged her in conversation about his

hero, Cliff Richard. Luckily, Cilla had stories to tell about Cliff, and it

temporarily kept her mind off the complete absence of a crowd.

My feeble attempts at humour did not go down well with Cilla as I said,

“Surprise, Surprise, I bet you would have thought more people would have

turned up.” She looked at me with a face like thunder – she was not turning

out to be a lorra lorra laughs.

I could see the rep from the record company was embarrassed for Cilla

but, luckily, Dave had a cunning plan. Suddenly six young people came to

the counter all holding copies of Cilla’s album. I recognised every one of

them as HMV staff who worked in the stockroom. Cilla was pleased to sign

the albums and have a chat, even though I think a couple of our YTS

trainees probably had no idea who she was. Whilst this was going on I

noticed Dave sneaking out of the store clutching a batch of albums. Just as

Cilla was signing the last of the albums another group of youngsters

suddenly turned up. Again, I recognised them. They were the staff from

Burger King, which was next to HMV, and two of them hadn’t bothered to

change out of their uniform. They were soon followed by yet another

bunch of youngsters brandishing Cilla albums and this time it was the staff

of TopShop, HMV’s other neighbours.

By the time she had finished I am sure Cilla had a completely distorted

view of what her fanbase was, and she was no doubt convinced that she was

appealing to a young audience. This PA caused endless headaches, as Dave

had given money to everybody to purchase Cilla’s album and then had to

get them all to bring the albums back so he could do a refund. The rep had

sold us Cilla’s album on sale or return for the PA, so after her appearance

we sent them all back. However, the record company refused to credit us,

saying they were damaged stock, as there was writing all over them. Sure

enough there was, but it was Cilla’s autograph and she had written things

like, “To John lorra lorra love Cilla xx”. We put the albums in our sale at

50p as damaged stock.

Another embarrassing incident occurred when a man approached the

counter clutching a batch of CDs and I immediately recognised him as

somebody I knew, but could not quite remember how I knew him. I soon

convinced myself that he was somebody I had played football against and

this was our conversation.

Me: “Hi mate, how is it going?”

“Fine.”

“Are you still playing?”

“Yes, I’m playing tonight.”

“Is it under floodlights?”

“No, at the Royal Court Theatre.”

At that moment I looked at his credit card, which said Declan

McManus, and the penny dropped. It was Elvis Costello, and I had not

recognised him as he was using contact lenses rather than wearing his

trademark glasses. My face was crimson! I couldn’t believe I had asked

him if he was still playing.

Even more embarrassing was the day I persuaded Billy Bragg to do a

personal appearance. Although I had seen him live a few times, he was still

unknown, as he had yet to have anything released. I noticed he was

supporting a Liverpool band called the Icicle Works and was also releasing

a mini-album titled Life’s A Riot. I felt that as he was going to be in town it

would help sales if he came in and signed copies of his LP.

I gave Billy a call but he did not think it would be a good idea, so, using

my persuasive powers, I convinced him it would be a success. I would put

a poster up and play his album constantly to attract interest. Billy came in

on a Saturday afternoon. He turned up and stood by me at the counter

whilst his album blasted out but, unfortunately, Billy was correct; nobody

was interested in his album.

He stood there for half an hour whilst the customers of HMV Liverpool

mistook him for a shop assistant, asking him where the Genesis section

was, or if we stocked classical? Billy took the embarrassment well and

laughed about the situation. Just as he was about to leave, a young lad came

bounding up to the counter and said to Billy “Hey mate – what’s this

playing?” I breathed a sigh of relief – at last, a fan. Billy replied “It’s the

brand new album from Billy Bragg called Life’s A Riot, would you like a

copy? “F*** off”, he replied, “it’s the biggest pile of shite I’ve ever heard”,

and with that he left the shop, leaving us stunned, though seconds later we

both burst out laughing.

That evening at the Icicle Works gig, Billy told the HMV story. Six

months later in an interview with NME he re-told it and one year later he

did an interview with Q magazine and told the story again, so I am glad he

got something out of that day. A year later, Billy’s career had taken off, so

I took a chance and gave him a call and he agreed to do another PA. This

time he turned up, along with Andy McDonald, MD of Go-Discs (Billy’s

record label), and Andy Kershaw from Radio 1. As well as doing a signing

he treated the crowd to an impromptu concert.

 

 

The books of Graham Jones are available in record shops or online. The latest book The Vinyl Revival and the Shops that Made it Happen has been turned in to a film. It has just been released on DVD and is available in record shops or online. Distributed by Proper Music.

I also record The Vinyl Revival Record Shop Podcast. It contains lots of funny tales from the crazy world of record retailing. It is also available on Spotify.

Twitter: @Revival_Vinyl

My blog has over 100 features on record shops and vinyl.

grahamjonesvinylrevival.blogspot.com

For film screenings and talks contact Graham.at graham@lastshopstanding.co.uk

As the person who has visited more record shops than any other human, I often get asked my advice on buying turntables. I always say do not purchase a budget model. What is the point of buying one that costs the price of a few albums? The sound will not do the recordings justice. For a long time, I have recommended Rega Turntables as they are superb quality at great prices. They got more brownie points for sponsoring 'Record Store Day' and manufacturing limited editions just for record shops.