Fieldnotes from Record Store Day 2025: A savage journey into the heart of a vinyl lovers dream
It is 5am, and I am tired to the death. Drug pushers, gym rats, and nightshift workers: these are the only types of people who should be awake at this ungodly hour. Yet, here I – a man who has always coveted sleep more than most experiences in life – am. An hour away from sunrise in the city of Leeds, rubbing my bloodshot eyes and forcing a coffee down my throat before heading out into the brisk morning air to soak up Record Store Day 2025.
My first Record Store Day was back in 2016, and I still have fond memories of chasing a Trojan Records box set at Jumbo Records in Leeds. Much more than the records themselves, however, that day felt like a celebration of music and fandom. It is perhaps the only scenario in which a 14-year-old ska fan would end up conversing for hours with the saxophonist in a Roxy Music tribute band and somebody who restores Lambretta scooters, but that is what happened to me during those hours spent queueing outside Jumbo.
Despite my many years of attendance, I have never queued for Record Store Day earlier than a shop’s opening time. As previously mentioned, I have always held sleep in very high regard, and the prospect of disrupting that bliss on a Saturday morning of all times fills me with dread. This year, however, I was determined to get to the queue as early as possible, if only to discover the motives of these elusive figures who camp out all night for certain exclusive releases.
Admittedly, I picked a bad year to conduct this research. In the spirit of a true vinyl obsessive, I spent the night before Record Store Day performing an all-vinyl funk and soul DJ set at Sela Bar in the centre of Leeds. By the time I got home from that set, I was left with only one-and-a-half hours of potential sleep before heading back out into the festivities. Don Fardon’s ‘I’m Alive’ was a notable highlight of my set, and that irony was certainly not lost on me when dragging myself out of bed only an hour or two later.
Public transport is virtually non-existent at 5am, so my Record Store Day began with a two-mile walk into the city centre. It was during this walk that I began to notice the effects of my fatigue and paranoia. Every shadow was a mugger, every rustle in the bushes a rabid animal waiting to pounce, and even the birds seemed to sing their songs with more aggression than usual. I was completely on edge but, at the same time, fully aware that my sleep-deprived state meant I would be helpless to fend off any attacks. Thankfully, none came.
By the time I joined the queue at Jumbo Records – a return to my spiritual home – the time was 5:30am, my feet were covered in blisters, and my brain struggled to land upon coherent thoughts. The streets were still lined with the remnants of Friday night: dropped kebabs, broken glass, and a few stragglers drunkenly trying to make sense of bus timetables, but the queue outside Jumbo was already extensive and organised.
Just as I had made friends with the saxophonist and scooter boy during my first Record Store Day, I attempted to chat with the people around me in the queue, but my sleep-deprived brain was having none of it. Their want lists, along with their opinions on zeotrope records, scalpers, and their favourite artists, all blended into one homogenised noise. I could scarcely conjure up any response other than a nonsensical groan or the occasional yawn.
It did not help matters that I was the only person in the queue who seemed to have overlooked the benefits of foldable chairs and blankets. My walk, coupled with having stood up for hours DJing, and breaking in some new leather boots, rendered my feet a source of constant pain. A camping chair might as well have been a throne.
Time seems to move differently on Record Store Day. I stood for what felt like an eternity, only to check my watch and discover it had only been five minutes since last checking. I watched the sunrise over Jumbo, and I wish I could pretend it mustered up some deep-rooted emotion, harking back to my first visits to the shop as a young boy discovering his music taste, but in reality, my main emotion was one of tiredness.
Then, as if recognising my anguish and fatigue, a guiding light of hope emerged from Jumbo, about half an hour before opening. It was Spike, a long-serving staff member at the shop, and somebody I am pleased to call a personal friend. I was particularly pleased in this instance, as a result of the free cups of tea he was offering out to the queue. Never have I been so acutely aware of the power of a cup of tea as on that occasion.
Shortly after polishing off that beloved brown liquid, my watch struck 8am and the doors of Jumbo were opened for business. There were about 30 people ahead of me in the queue, so it would be another hour before I was able to relieve the tension felt by each and every Record Store Day attendee: Will they still have a copy of my most wanted record? What if the person in front of me buys the last copy? What if everyone at the front of the queue is buying in bulk to flog on eBay?
At the top of my want list was 4AM (LA LA LA), a collection of four remixes of tracks from the latest Confidence Man Record, followed closely by Poly Styrene’s Flower Aeroplane, which marks the first time that the X-Ray Spex vocalist’s DIY solo album has been released on vinyl. Thankfully, the team at Jumbo were able to fulfil my wishlist, and I walked out of the shop exhausted but also elated to be in possession of these coveted discs.
Jumbo Records is set for a packed Record Store Day, including live sets from Pulled Apart by Horses and The Oidz, as well as DJ sets from Yard Act. Regretfully, though, I simply did not have the energy to stick around for six further hours to catch the live music, instead choosing to return home on the bus; a broken man, but a broken man with some new records – every cloud…
So, what did I learn from my first Record Store Day joining in with the overnight campers and early risers? Essentially, my findings were that the day is much more a celebration of community and music than it is coveting these plastic discs of arbitrary rarity.
Getting up at the crack of dawn to secure you most wanted release is understandable – although, as I write this article while slipping in and out of consciousness, that understandability is becoming increasingly difficult to see – but, in the future, I think I can be content with rolling out of bed around midday, picking through the leftovers, and soaking up the celebratory events held every year by iconic independent record stores like Jumbo.
