What's in a number?

I went cruising in the car yesterday. No, not doing that! I was looking for charity shops with an open door. Yes, I really really wanted to dig. And I found one! And I bought some records too! Get the bunting out.

It did feel a bit strange, as I walked up to the boxes of records – reassuringly in the same place as always - I wondered if I was just supposed to gaze at them from a distance of two metres? I felt like I was being a bit naughty as I dug in. I was almost waiting for a tap on the shoulder and a voice saying “should you really be doing that, sir?”. I mean, all this riffling through records, picking the occasional one up for a closer look. Can this be safe? The feeling soon eased as I found some records that were worth a punt!

This particular chain of charity shops always puts a week number on the price sticker, so you know how long it has been in the shop. Which can be quite helpful. My first post-lockdown real world find (presented to you here) had week number 4 on it meaning it was first put on the floor in late January. So it was a pre-lockdown veteran, it's charity shop life had entailed being passed over by I don't know how many diggers for about seven weeks, and then being hunkered down it its box - with the likes of Mozart and Johnny Cash for company - in an eerie silence for the last three months or so. As such it was sort of comforting to know that it would certainly be virus free. Or would it? When did this shop re-open? And it was three in the afternoon – how many, potentially infected, diggers had already riffled through it or, perish the thought, sneezed on the whole box of records it was sat in?! I couldn't resist a dip into the pocket for a reassuring touch of my own personal mini bottle of hand sanitiser.

Madness ultimately results from such thoughts of course. So. allowing the paranoia to take a back seat for a moment, let's talk about the record I found. First things first, it is probably quite rare, but rare doesn't always mean valuable. I am sure this album will never be described as a “holy grail”, and it will never grace the wall of a record shop. I was attracted to it because a) I had never seen a copy of it before; and b) it was obviously some form of jazz record; c) it had a rather nice multi page gatefold sleeve; and d) it was in great nick. Simple pleasures.

The sleeve contains extensive details by way of a track by track personnel breakdown and there are some notes too (with some slightly inaccurate English spellings resulting from what was evidently a “home made” translation from Dutch). From all this I got the distinct impression this was most probably going to be trad or swing jazz. Not my favourite jazz landscapes, but my hopes were raised somewhat as I read the words “[the group's] enthousiasm [sic] made it possible to 'cut in wax' this diversity of songs and styles”. That was the clincher, into the buy pile it went. A little nugget or two of something more adventurous in the jazz world may lie in the grooves, I thought.

Alas no. Zenja Damm and the various band ensembles here give us fairly faithful reproductions of early jazz idioms throughout, with a blues touch here and there. So, nothing arresting, but no matter, the bands are very competent, Zenja Damm sings well, and the whole thing swings well. The sleeve notes tell me it was recorded in Holland, January 3-10 1979.

Looking at the back cover I think the charity shop staff have actually gone the extra mile with this particular record. It looks to me like they have given Madam Zenja a face mask to wear (she is, of course, just “wearing” .. er .. wear), and have also allowed her to venture into a pretty (if rather chilly) park, but reminded her she needed to do some serious social distancing.

As you can see as I walked down the road clutching my purchases and the daylight shone on the front cover this caused Madam Zenja to awake and ask “Was It A Dream?”

The other records I found have week number 27 written on the price sticker, meaning they were fresh stock. A completely different kettle of fish from a virus potential point of view (and musically too as it happens). Had they had the 72 hours lay over treatment as the charity shops have promised? Who knows? I think for my protection and yours it is best I do not speak of them further right now. They will spend a few days in a hastily dug hole at the bottom of the garden and I will reveal them in my next post.

Zenja Damm with Wik's Big Band – Stop, You're Breaking My Heart 1979

Zenja Damm with Wik's Big Band – I'm Pulling Through  1979