Music is like a beach. You look under a lot of rocks, you find a lot of beach shit, sometimes you find something really special…
I’m getting ahead of myself. It was November, and I woke up with a strange feeling. This was because I was waking up in Hull and that’s not usually where I wake up. Not that I minded.
Hull was very good to me. I had a Subway sandwich, which was as reliably mediocre as any other I’ve had, and I spent some time admiring some very fetching architecture and dodging low-flying pigeons.
Ultimately, I found that I couldn’t really go into any shops because people were trying to buy Xboxes in them, so I left for York. On the way I got to see the Humber Bridge, which appears to stretch impossibly and infinitely. A truly awesome sight. I don’t even have anything flippant to say about it, it’s just amazing.
I sat outside York Minster, listening to Aztec Camera and thinking about Scotland. Then a glint caught my eye. Like any true Scotsman, I went over in case it was money.
It was a rip in space and time.
I was on a beach. A lot of people were listening to Mumford & Sons. It wasn’t very nice, so I went off for a bit of a mope.
I was having a bit of an explore when I saw something. It was like a rock, but it wasn’t a rock.
“It’s a rock lobster!” I shouted, feeling like an idiot but also a little pleased with myself.
I looked a little closer. It was actually a crab, and I was a crustacean racist. I thought it was dead for a while, but it started a-wrigglin’, then it started talking.
“You have awoken me from my crab coma – I hereby grant you three wishes,” he crabbled.
“Can I wish for more wishes?”
“You can fuck off.”
“There’s no need to be so crabby.”
“It’s one wish now.”
I thought about it for ages. I thought about all my regrets and near-misses. Then it came to me.
“I wish I could go back in time to the Adult Teeth showcase gig and interview Lewis Young, founder of The Adult Teeth Recording Company.”
“Your wish is my command.”
With that, the crab scuttled away to do crab stuff and I found myself somewhere a little more familiar.
I was back at the Adelphi Club, and there was Lewis Young sat opposite me.
“So, what’s it like running an independent record label?”