Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

6. LSD by Soffplaneten

AFTER ALL things Bolton Wanderers, Subbuteo, Shoot, Look-In and Match Weekly, seven-inch singles were the sixth love of my life, closely followed by Smash Hits. Because they were down my rankings, I rescued them from the bargain crates of Martins Newsagents and Woolworths. Hence, I played Meaning of Love and not my favourite, Just Can't Get Enough, Arabian Nights and not Spellbound, etc...

By 1983, all that changed, Bolton was in decline, and music became a more prevalent part of my life. Having younger sisters also meant Fame and Michael Jackson were clearly an influence on my earlier-self. All my mates with older brothers were banging on about the dreary Joy Division. Wham! was the game-changer. I loved my Wake Me Up seven, but when my father's friend professed loving follow-up single Freedom, they instantly became my sister's band. Although I was still privately in awe of Careless Whisper, I never bought it.

I still had the dilemma of what singles I could admit to owning and what singles I couldn't. Hence, You are my World resided in a hidden record box. I had soon gone from playing the Good Ship Venus seven crouched over my portable player so no one else could hear, to playing my sister's Something About You. 

At around this time, Loggers, the local reprobate, introduced himself by falling out of a tree and landing at my feet glue-bag first. He soon started turning up on my doorstep when I was bunking off school and had the audacity to nick my father's only big fat Cuban cigar that took pride of place. It wasn't all he nicked, as when I went around to his folk's, when they were away, he started dancing to his Soft Cell seven inches in my sister's bikini. 

 

Most folk would have read the warning signs, but I was a bit in awe of a part time punk lip-synching to Bedsitter and dropped out of school altogether. A few years later sat tripping in Rochdale with him. My nice watch went missing. Stolen in plain sight, no doubt. Thankfully, not longer after that, charged with indecent exposure, he disappeared. However, thanks to LSD, I openly embraced my feminine side and felt more whole through some all innocent self-discovery. Without Loggers, I wouldn't have had a clue how to buy it.

I was as loyal to LSD as seven inch singles, for a few years, until I became over sensitive and deeply paranoid. I still think small doses of the stuff are more preferable for teens not completely programmed by their parents than national service. And acknowledge that it did me more favours than the Stones. The A-side has more chugger credentials but this more clunky B-side number finds a better groove and repeats a cooler refrain. Mid-paced cosmic funk is great at the best of times but when the singer blurts out slowly L, then S, then D, it gets top marks by consigning the weedy Northside effort to the skip. The sleeve is nuts too, and as with all these crazy Scandinavian sevens that get brilliantly lost in translation, the irony police are off duty, so you can't tell if the OTT homage is tongue in cheek or not. 

Either way, this goofy record illustrates why after all these years I'm still as hooked as ever and totally lost in the ever surprising world of seven-inch singles. 

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