"A man of taste!" I told the young man who had just bought The Russian Experiment In Art (Thames and Hudson) whilst saying how much he liked the music I was playing (Cannonball Adderley's Blue Note classic, Know What I Mean?). There was me thinking LJ and I were the only people in the world to appreciate both. That's not true, of course, I know there must be others, but how often do you meet them, eh?
Years ago, when I worried about such things, I'd sit moping in my room wondering where all the like-minded souls were, despite having met a few during various phases, such as the emergence of Jazz as a viable club soundtrack in 80s London...or drunken nights in Aylesbury's Green Man discussing fanzines to the sound of Punk. But most of my life has felt like a lonely one regarding finding fellow travellers. These days I care less. The internet may have created the potential for finding the types you wish to find, but guess what, they live on the other side of the world and just typing text as an act of mutual appreciation always feels empty compared to actual face-to-face encounters.
I've rarely complimented people on their taste in the shop, so far. Sometimes I've silently acknowledged to myself what a great choice they've made. Thursday provided two exceptions; first the young man mentioned above, second a girl who bought a copy of Burroughs' Naked Lunch and a picture-heavy book on Kandinsky - my kinda gal! I was even more pleased because I'd put the book out on the table that morning in a bid to force Art upon the masses. Surprise, surprise, putting books out does work, sometimes. I can put out what I think are the greatest books in the shop but you know, you can't make a horse drink. That said, displaying the Kandinsky book definitely sold it as opposed to leaving it on the shelves.
She, like all of us, enjoyed being complimented. She thanked me very much, beaming a youthful smile. Not for the first time since we've had fresh copies of Naked Lunch in did I wonder if the buyer knew what they were letting themselves in for. After Joyce's Ulysses, it may be the second-ranked unread-must-have on the shelves of the world. The day before, two girls in their early twenties cooed upon discovering the Sex Drugs and Rock'n'Roll section, one remarking on all the Hunter S. Thompson books. I overheard the words 'Beat Generation' mentioned as they talked. One of them had a copy of Naked Lunch in her hands. I ventured to offer any help if they needed it regarding Beat literature, which sparked the taller one into rambling about being inspired by the film, Kill Your Darlings, which I haven't seen. She said she had Naked Lunch but hadn't read it. Somehow I doubt that she ever will. Something about them suggested to me that if any glamour exists in the allure of the Beats these two had managed to find it and that, rather than the literary merits or cultural significance, is what they were focused on. Good luck to them! I won't pretend there wasn't glamour in those adventures on the road and all that Jazz to me as a teenager.
Meanwhile, back in the shop, the Constructivist/Jazz-loving chap had a friend who came in earlier and bought Miles: The Autobiography (Picador). I only found out they were friends upon seeing them together outside afterwards. He asked me what I was playing (the Adderley album). "Nice", he replied when I told him. I also told him that the book he'd bought was good. Seeing them together I wondered "Who are these young freaks?" They weren't dressed stylishly. One had a lot of curly hair, which means he was quite possibly studying music (ha-ha). I pondered them for some time afterwards since trade quietened down. They were anomalies. They could have eclectic taste, by which I mean one foot in the contemporary/obligatory 'street' music scene and the other in the Cool World of the past. There's no movement afoot, that I know of, which involves youngsters discovering Jazz. Whatever, it was a pleasing conundrum.
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