SO I guess I can say I’ve always been into music. My early memories include sitting cross-legged on the brown carpet in front of the family Hi-Fi making mixtapes after observing how my older brothers did it. Turning over record after record, getting the track order right and having the correct time between songs populated my afternoons. I know this sounds pretentious and drenched in the vivid colours of any childhood memory, but from an early age music became my thing and part of my ID. The first album I bought was the Clueless soundtrack, sitting in a dark cinema, my twelve year old self heard the acoustic version of Radiohead’s ‘Fake Plastic Trees’. The song changed my life as the first time I broke away from what my older siblings were listening to and came to realize what I can get out of music and the emotional strings it can pull in a person.

My teenage years mostly stuck to the same theme, songs from bands like Sparklehorse, PJ Harvey and REM (Pre Green Album) became the thoroughfare to my impending adult life. Music made me aware of the moments of my life that were important at the time, the first time I held my at the time forever-to-be-together-sweetheart’s hand, time with friends, getting drunk for the first time – the first kiss. It has the capability to render every moment magnified.

When I arrived in London (after a three month stint working as a Kitchen porter in the Bull Hotel in Buckinghamshire) I felt the need to interact with and be exposed to anything outside of my usual remit of crockery and dirt on dinner plates. My first job was in a bar. Every Sunday night a group of people came in that seemed to have longer hair and a bit of fuzz on the chin, I became friends with Guinness and Stella (by that stage I knew what people drank) and found out that they were working in the HMV. I thought if I could get a job at HMV that would be my ultimate scenario. I was ambitious, but truthfully being around records and talking to people about music seemed like the dream. I managed to secure myself a position as a Christmas temp in 2002 for a four week period.

The best thing was the staff discount, at this stage my pockets weren’t very deep and that year, after the Christmas eve shift I bought the Interpol debut album ‘Turn On The Bright Lights’ – my French girlfriend went back to France and the company I kept over that festive year was their sublime first offering.

After Christmas I had to go back to a real job and started working for Thames Water, checking empty properties. Heavy Snowfall that January in London made the whole experience pretty tricky. If you are that stuck and at such a loose end you would do anything to get yourself into a better position. I sent CV’s out to each and every HMV in London. Three interviews later I managed to get a full time position at the Covent Garden branch. By the summer I made loads of friends, plenty of them Canadian tourists and fresh faced indie kids in polka dot dresses. One day a guy approached my checkout in HMV, with him a collection of God awful chart poo. As I went through it I commented on his purchases: ‘Put that Darkness record back and get Led Zep IV instead, forget Coldplay’s new album and get Radiohead’s Hail To The Thief, No to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – Yes to Brian Jonestown Massacre’ and so forth.

He came in week after week making the same mistake. Once I asked him , ’so why do you buy so many bad records, I mean what is it that you do?’ I learned that his name was Simon and he put music to films. As a starry-eyed 18 year old I said ‘Well you are in luck, I know everything about music’. This was obviously not true, no one does, but when you are 18 you are prone to say things like that. We agreed that I would ‘help them out on my off days’. What actually happened is I became friends with them. My first black cab ride was taken with those guys and trust, I was pretty struck out about that! I would get drunk with them and go to shows. Bottom line, it was just building a relationship. Up and until that point, I had no ambition to work in the music industry. I knew records were made and that people were involved with it but it was enough for me to just listen to music. It was almost too important to me to imagine being involved with it.

What happened then is almost thunder & lighting and three witches stirring a cauldron, mad man stuff. One day in HMV, someone changes the music on the PA. says ‘DO NOT CHANGE THE MUSIC’ on their system. It was changed to Radiohead’s ‘Hail To The Thief’. The manager comes darting down the stairs and almost breaks an ankle pole vaulting over the check out desk to inquire what it is I took out and how dare I do so. I had to leave. Being trigger happy, young and green left me without the ability to think things over and take it on the chin. I signed off the till and took my jacket.

That was it, I am back to pouring pints or having my hand bitten off by rabid dogs. I didn’t go to university so I was always going to do that sort of thing, maybe top of the tree would be branch manager for the Gap. I walked around Covent Garden for a bit and decided to go and see Simon. I rang the bell and was let in from the cold. Four stories of stairs later and I’m sitting down shaking, thinking ‘What am I doing here’? I told the story with a plastic cup in hand when he asked me ‘What are you going to do now?’ My response was ‘I will start working there, I will start tomorrow, for three months to see how it goes and you can pay me x amount Pro rata.’ I started the next day and spent two years there doing supervision for films.

Now – eight years later, the kick is still strong and every day is pretty genius. I am not washing dishes, or selling life insurance – I get to listen to records every day and try and find things that work with moving pictures. I can’t imagine ever doing anything else. My view now – if you love music, you have an opinion about music, you know why things to do don’t matter. It’s always an emotional exercise. It’s not a product, it’s not a life style, it’s not about being seen or being cool. It is so much more than that.

Arnold Hattingh, Platinum Rye