grafik 174 June 2009
Music special edition
A month-or-so ago, the lovely Angharad at Grafik asked me to contribute to their special edition focussing on Music. The idea was to ask five Designers, from different generations, how design for music had impacted their design work, and introduce 3 peices as representations of this inspiration.
Of course I accepted and gave it a bash. And here they are, alone, without picture of my mush spoiling their beauty (although they were great shots Christoffer).
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Our Price Records Marque
As far as records stores go, Graphic Design will always play a supporting role—a simple sign-off for an experience. This makes perfect sense to me. Record shops are about records and the music, not the Design, so when the communication is ‘we are so-and-so and we sell records’ you’ll struggle to find any marque that can compete with that of Our Price, the famous record stores.
Designed by Nicholas Thirkell at CDT Design the logo works, for me, on various levels. An economic logo, the simple idea is stripped-down to it’s mandatory elements—three circular shapes—each their for reasons of relevance and serendipity as they illustrate Our Price’s product whilst utlising the initial of the brand’s name.
But it also does what all good design should: reward you. When decoded, the witty solution gives the viewer that “oh yeah” moment (or should I say the ‘O’ yeah moment) and once you’ve seen it, you’ve seen it. The experience of being involved with the marque will stay with you, just as it did myself.
As a young boy frequenting the stores with my older brother (against both of our wills) and having nothing else to do but muse on, I now realise that the thought of “That ‘O’ is a record.” being my first brush with visual wit and it’s importance. I dread to think my financial situation if all stores employed this kind of thinking on the high street.
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Casa-Disco, Barnsley
As a fidgeting five-year-old, uninterested in the ‘80s music of my Dad, being in a record store in Barnsley’s Peel Square on a Saturday afternoon wasn’t exactly the ideal activity, but not when the record store was Casa-Disco.
Casa-Disco had an ambiguous quality to it. Whilst the popular record stores and corporate chains were engaging in brand and price wars, their store windows filled with the hard-nosed messages like this much off that, half-price this, Out Now! Casa-Disco adopted a different form of communication. Their window was simply covered flush in promotional music posters of the records sold within—old and new, and in no particular order or method.
Thankfully this theme continued in-store. Almost every ceiling and wall was completely adorned in undirected fashion with music posters and popular culture. Michael Jackson, posing complete with white suit and tiger cub, was stuck up there with Rocky Balboa. Clockwork Orange rested uncomfortably with Iron Maiden’s Eddie the Head and Sgt. Pepper. Elvis and Johnny Cash had a Tennessee corner, whilst Deborah Harry beautifully represented the Punk scene, all creating a collage of musical culture. “People would come in and look at the ceiling for ages, but they were only put up as we had loads of posters lying around and had to do something with them” said Steve Bullock, the owner, “Everyone loved it—except the landlord.”
It was this disregard that I loved about Casa-Disco, that fact that it didn’t intend to pay any attention to design. It wasn’t fussed with which audience it targeted, its strategic positioning or brand architecture. It was apathetic to marketing, implementation, engagement, application and all the other convoluted terms we speak about. It was simply interested in music, and the people who liked it. Whatever their taste, it put them in touch with music through a personal experience and genuine interest—and nothing else.
And that’s what made it great, and what makes me miss it, along with every other independent record store.
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Mum and Dad’s 7-inch Custom Sleeve Design
I’ve always had a thought rattling around in the back-seat of my head. It’s not a held belief nor unconfirmed hypothesis, but I’ve always inclined to the view that I’m not so privileged to be able to come up with ideas—that everyone can do it. Given the chance, people can solve problems creatively.*
This belief has grown with me throughout my life. For some reason I’ve always been around people that ‘solved’ problems in the most creatively interesting ways. Never far from a Grandfather who kept junk because “you never know”, this creative do-it-yourself attitude has always been interesting to me, but in one instance more than any other.
As a first year student, wanting to abscond with anything of use or worth, I came across my parents’ dusty record collection filed away in a cupboard. Maybe it was the chance to glimpse into their enigmatic youth, or the simple hope that I’d discover some rare, first pressing, picture-disc in pristine condition to make the tuition-fee worries a thing of the past—but I delved in regardless. And I was shocked to find the latter, albeit in a different form.
Some of their more-played records had sleeves that had become completely worn-out. But rather than see their beloved vinyl scratched more than a sufferer of Chickenpox (also limited by money) they set about creating their own sleeves. Anything was used from paper bags to writing paper to wallpaper, all sealed on three sides with tape, staples or glue, creating a visually unconsidered yet functional collection of 7” sleeves.
But like any good ‘creative’ my Dad had seen an opportunity to give the idea that little something extra. A fan of The Beatles, his collection of their records—all on the Apple label—were packaged in a set of brown paper fruit bags he’d collected and kept aside especially. Like I said, creative problem solving.
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*And before anyone gets on their high horse, this doesn’t mean that they are good ideas or solutions, nor done for the right reasons. They’re simply engaging in a creative thought process.
See some more of the sleeves at the foot of this page.
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And now for an extra treat, to reward you for taking the time to slog down here. Here's the directors cut (I suppose special edition pressing would be more appropriate but doesn't quite work now does it?).
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Michael Jackson's Moonwalker
The 80’s. Rhinestone socks. Black, leather loafers. Tip-toe standing. Airbrush illustration. Fedora’s. Belts and Buckles. Stupid girls falling over, fainting and screaming at a man who, at this point, resembles Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters. Ghandi. Man In The Mirror. That white glove. More leather. A strange Mickey Mouse. Grammy Awards. Ronald Reagan. Quincy. MTV. Pinocchio. Keyboards in space with five afro’s on it. ABC. 123. Flares. Flying TV Sets. Blame it on the boogie. The robot. Mick Jagger. Can you feel it? Billie Jean and that amazing light-up floor. Diana’s dirty. You’re doing wrong. Dogs in suits. The elephant man. Shrines to Elizabeth Taylor. Bubbles in a Prince t-shirt. Look Granny, it’s M…M…M…. Plasticine rabbits. The Statue of Liberty. “Would you autograph my tummy? “I ask for a bad guy and he sends me Michael Jackson”. Tina Turner, Sylvester Stallone and Pee Wee Herman. Speed Demon. Flying newspapers. Anti-gravity furniture. Muscles. Chattering teeth. Pirates. Rotating brains. Red cardigans. Lucky stars. Skipper the dog. Playing football (soccer) without using your feet. Car-morphing, robot-turning, spaceship-shooting.Smooth Criminal and that lean. Joe Pesci and terrible acting. Michael Jackson. Moonwalker. ‘A Movie Like No Other’—he wasn’t kidding was he.
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This is an extension of an original article that appeared (with photographs) in the June issue of Grafik magazine in 2009.
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