At least three possible solutions spring to mind:
a): Grandpa's died and the family are getting rid of his most treasured possessions.
b): Grandpa hasn't died yet but his kids have transferred them to his smartphone.
c): Grandson tells grandpa to 'get rid of all that shit and listen to it on YouTube. Oh and, btw, I hear that that record shop you used to hang out in looks like it's closing'.
Then again, perhaps there's some hope in that for every Clayderman, Reeves (Jim), South Pacific album etc it means that the ratio between them and 'us' (jazz albums) found in charity shops is so high it suggests that 'we' hang on to ours whilst 'they' discard theirs as quickly as the media tells them to.
In the case of Jim Reeves who, in fairness had a pleasant, albeit nondescript, irritating, watered down Nashville sound, the preponderance of his, and many other RCA albums, is not, at least in the north east, unrelated to the fact that RCA had a pressing plant in Washington, Co. Durham and, according to unsubstantiated rumour, the story is that 50% of the discs were shipped to the stores and the other 50% disappeared out of the back door...
Conjecture. More conjecture re a Bruce Turner album: The Dirty Bopper. I've mentioned this a couple of times but I'll do it again as it continues to intrigue me. I bought it from a market stall in South Shields for £4 back in 2007. Apart from the music by Bruce, Dave Cliff, Dave Green and Eddie Harvey which is superb, it is also signed by Bruce and dedicated to one Hilma. An unusual name that also just happens to be the name of fellow alto player Benny Carter's fifth wife (see graphic).
I haven't come across that many Hilmas in fact I haven't encountered any. However, given that Bruce Turner played in a style not unlike that of her husband, could this be more than mere coincidence and, if so, how did it end up on a market stall in South Shields? Lance
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