First, some background. My late aunt Diana was a hippy. She went travelling around Afghanistan, India and Pakistan in the 60s and even lived in a cave for a while with some tribesmen. She loved music, particularly Bob Dylan and all kinds of African sounds.

When I was a small boy in the mid-70s I didn't see that much of her as she was often away. She had a room in my grandad's house which I used to stay in when my parents and I visited him. I always remember being intrigued by what I thought was a strange kind of lamp which had a big glass bowl with lots of tubes coming out of it. Then years later at the age of 16 or so I was staying and suddenly realized that it was in fact a very elaborate bong. This revelation was accompanied by my discovering a copy of Dr. John's Gris Gris album amidst her excellent record collection. The cover absolutely fascinated me and I knew I had to hear this music. Then Diana came in the room and saw me looking at the record and the bong. "Would you like to hear that?" she asked, before adding "Have you ever used one of those before?" I replied "No" to both questions and my aunt proceeded to rectify that. I sat on the floor listening to the most bizarre sounds I'd ever heard whilst having my mind blown by some sweet herb.

When she died a few years ago she hadn't made a will. My mum had to go over and sort through her papers and possessions. She asked me if I'd like something to remember Diana by. My answer was instantaneous... "If you can find it, there's a Dr. John album I'd really like to have." It's sitting on my bookshelf.

This one may run and run....I'm currently out, but will contribute to this thread when I get home....

....got great press in the mid 70s but noone I knew had any of their albums. Eventually I acquired "The last record album" which I quite liked but struggled with - all those funny structures and odd changes of direction, and little crisp guitar solos rather than the great wailothons I was used to. Then my mate Pete agreed to cat sit for a mate of his in Liverpool for a long weekend, and left us a large chunk of something herbal smelling as payment. And a copy of "Feats don't fail me now" was on the turntable....needless to say by the end of the weekend I had found my favourite band for life.

I was at a fairground in Stockholm, and having failed dismally at one of the stalls, a coconut shy or something, I was given a consolation prize of a CD single of The Certainty of Chance by The Divine Comedy. I had never previously heard even one song by them but absolutely loved this.

Subsequently bought all their stuff and have seen them live many times.

My love affair began with the purchase of an issue of Melody Maker a decade ago. They were running a list of the top 50 albums of the year, and whilst perusing the list, one piece of cover art made an impression - not that I knew it at the time.

About a month or so later I was making my way from a training course at the top of Northumberland Street in Newcastle, down to catch the train back to Hartlepool - when I looked at the watch on my left wrist and thought 'I've got about 20 minutes to spare - I'll pop into Virgin for a quick look around'.

Nothing much had caught my eye, and decided to carry on to my train. As I made my way to the exit, I spotted the distinctive number '69' writ large in black on a white background.

My mind flicked back to that issue of Melody Maker, so I wandered over to the rack on which the album was placed.

I picked it up, realised it was a triple album for £13 and thought 'Why not give it a go...'

When I got home, and was ready to relax for the evening - I opened the CD case and placed the first disc into the Hi-Fi.

I was taken aback by the opening track, 'Absolutely Cuckoo' and will admit to being a little unsure of what I'd bought. But I carried on....

10 years later, this album remains the best thing I've ever heard and I cannot imagine anything else taking it's place in my heart.

All I can say is this....

Stephin Merritt, thank you from the bottom of my heart for making 69 Love Songs. I will treasure it for the rest of my days.

record collection once again.
Used to visit my Gran most Sundays and Joseph would tolorate me sitting in his room while he read The Observer, Sunday Times and played: Caravan, Tull, Blodwyn Pig, Audience, The Nice, Escalator Over the Hill but the two that really stuck were - Genesis and Frank/Mothers, my Nice/ELP infatuation came a few years later.
Genesis from Trespass till Selling were the band I had waited for, I think we found each other.

a few drinks and a couple of smokes later and someone put on 'Grace and Danger' - John Martyn - it was a revelation to me - I went on to listen to and collect all his albums and see him live on 20 or so occasions ......and only once was he too drunk to play... and on another occasion played guitar fantastically, to make up for his lost voice!!
G&D is still my favourite, along with 'Inside Out' and 'One World'.

... I'd been living in Cheltenham for a few months with my dad, my new step mother, two step sisters and a step brother. And a spaniel. An art student named Malcolm (who went on to bigger & better things in a couple of big 80s bands) was renting the basement flat and we quickly became friends, mostly due to our similar tastes in music. One day Malcolm handed me a brand new LP he'd just bought featuring this geeky looking bloke on the cover and he said "try this one - you might like it." I took it upstairs to my room wondering what on earth this Buddy Holly look-a-like was going to sound like. I played the record 3 times all the way through that night, and several more times over the next few days.

That was when I fell in love (in a manly way) with Elvis Costello and My Aim Is True.

I'm 11, and it's the day before I'm due to start secondary school. Although I'm supposed to be asleep, I can hear the muffled sounds of the grown-ups playing records in the living room across the hall. Suddenly my 30-year-old uncle's voice pipes up: "Please... take this away. I can't listen to this anymore."

There came the sound of an LP being fired up. Then a voice, such a voice, brandy-soaked and nicotine-rusty:

"That religious singing reminded me of something. Did you see that TV coverage of the Pope when he was lying in state? The last Pope, you know, John Paul? Lying in state, on that catafalque? In those robes. It didn't half give me the 'orn."

I listened, enraptured for the next 35 minutes, scarely crediting what I was hearing. On my first day at school I was thrown in detention for reciting all I could remember of the sketch 'Sir' during assembly.

More importantly, it was my first real introduction to Cook and Moore (and Derek and Clive), God bless their wicked, wanking souls.

Tales of lost evenings, sundry hallucicogenetics, grand awakenings and the like.

I've not got any.

Well.. I have. But none of them involve me being introducd to a particular band or artist.

I did get introduced to Tangerine Dream on a geography field trip to the Brecon Beacons in 1983. Does that count?

I love your story Ola ... how a lovely bit of generosity from your mum shaped a lifelong obsession. Thanks for sharing!

but while living in a student house in the early 1980s the friend of a housemate stayed a few nights, probably in between moving from one house to another. With him he brought a clutch of LPs much Jazzier than music-press-promptings would have led me to hear. Not so much a case of bands finding me, but more a case of exposure to something quite different.

Jan Garbarek's "Dis" on a strange-to-me label (Nordic Jazz?Windharps? European Jazz Label?) and the Crusaders' "Chain Reaction" went on tape straight away, and I'm sure had a big hand in my decision to take up the saxophone a couple of years later. My own playing was always light-years away from what I'd heard on either album, but even today my ears can still pick out Jan Garbarek's unique tone at fifty paces, and the Crusaders album is still in my collection on vinyl. I'd heard most of the Crusaders players before in different combinations on Joni Mitchell albums, but never all playing together before.

A school pal had made me a tape of It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back. At that age I liked both kinds of music "heavy" and "metal" and as the only dance music I had heard was by annoying pillocks on Top Of The Pops I was not predisposed to like this. However as I only had a walkman and not a lot of tapes with me (and as I had probably already listened to "Ride The Lightning" twice that day) I decided to give this a go.

I remember that I lost myself in this album so much I walked past my house for about ten minutes. It had more rage in it than any thrash metal album I'd ever heard. But the words seemed to be about "actual stuff" as opposed to "satan." The music was violent but I could imagine dancing to it (dancing? Bloody hell, whats wrong with me?). I remember being especially taken by "Night Of The Living Bassheads" which appeared to be a lesser spotted not annoying anti drugs tirade, still a blooming rare occurrence.

I reckon that most of my subsequent musical loves (with the exception of the folky stuff) can be traced back to hearing this album. My musical life was never the same again.

but only as to how my love for Taj Mahal got started, and the same album was responsible for a lot of other discoverys for me and it also shaped the way I buy records.
My father is a ( now retired ) classical musician and most of the LP's in my home were of classical music, and all of my older siblings played the piano. In 1972 my father went on tour for a month in the USA with the Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra and came back bearing gifts. I was five years old, going on six.
I got a fantastically ugly toy dog that was wound up with a key in the dogs ass to make it bark, which it did two or three times before going into early retirement. You couldn't even cuddle it because of the giant steel key sticking out, I was bitterly disappointed.
Even more so when I saw my older brothers gift; a triple album.
It was called "The Music People" and was a collection from Columbia Records with one song from every ( ? ) album released on that label in 1971. An eclectic but mostly rock oriented collection of artists that I had for the most part never heard of before, but I got really excited seeing this treasure chest of new music.
My brother was never very interested in pop/rock music and never listened to this album more than once, so I confiscated it and started to delve into it's many pleasures.
Taj Mahal was the biggest revelation for me, but not the only one. Even the useless tracks has influenced my listening since then ( like staying well clear of Redbone... ).
It also tought me that good music comes in all shapes and sizes, you never know what you're going to like until you try. So since then I prefer buying my music unheard. These days I take my chances mostly through internet shopping, but in my LP buying youth I loved nothing better than going into a record shop to choose something new judging only from the design of the record sleeve, the band name, the song titles and the general vibe I got from these components together.
There is nothing better than the thrill of guessing right, when you come home with something completely unknown to you, put it on the turntable nervousley...and then these marvelous sounds hit you, making you feel like the first ( wo- )man on the moon.
To give you an idea of some of the directions "The Music People" took me ( or, in some cases, didn't ) over the years; here's the complete track list:

Santana-Para Los Rumberos
Poco-Hoe Down
New Riders Of The Purple Sage-Hello Mary Lou
Taj Mahal-Stealin'
Sweathog-Hallelujah
Genya Ravan-What Kind Of Man Are You
The Chamber Brothers-Celebration Of Life
R.E.O.Speedwagon-157 Riverside Avenue
Barry Mann-Too Many Mondays
Compost-Country Song
Bob Dylan-The Grand Coulee Dam
Johnny Winter And-Jumpin' Jack Flash
Jeff Beck Group-Situation
Chase-So Many People
The Byrds-Bugler
Dreams-Calico Baby
The Mahavishnu Orchestra with John McLauglin-Dawn
Blue Öyster Cult-I'm On The Lamb But I Ain't No Sheep
Mylon-Holy Smoke Doo Dah Band
Colin Blunstone-She Loves The Way They Love Her
Bell+Arc-High Priest Of Memphis
Blood, Sweat & Tears-Go Down Gamblin'
David Clayton-Thomas -Magnificent Sanctuary Band
Redbone-The Sun Never Shines On The Lonely
Spirit-Chelsea Girls
It's A Beautiful Day-No Word For Glad
Boz Scaggs & Band-Monkey Time
Jake Holmes-Silence
Jimmie Spheeris-The Nest
Dr. Hook And The Medicine Show-I Call That True Love
Blue Rose-My Impersonal Life
Ten Years After-Baby Won't You Let Me Rock'n Roll You
Kris Kristofferson-Little Girl Lost
Edgar Winter's White Trash-Cool Fool
Kenny Loggins with Jim Messina-To Make A Woman Feel Wanted
Grin ( Nils Lofgren )-White Lies
Pamela Pollard-Abalone Dream
Wayne Cochran & the C.C.Riders-Sleepless Nights
Grootna-I'm Funky
Fields-While The Sun Still Shines

The album sleeve had pictures of all the albums the songs were taken from, and a short text about the artist and song...I spent hours of reading these as if they were the Rosetta stone of popular music.
I also have a love for compilations since then. They can take you to places you didn't know you wanted to go to.

Never Mind The Bollocks, The Clash & Damned Damned Damned (the punk starter kit).
Now to expand the knowledge of all things Punk - purchased a £3 compilation (The Vinyl Solution) having recognised some of the names thereon (Generation X, Buzzcocks and The Stranglers).
Half way through side 1, something which sounded like a harder, angrier version of The Pogues shot out of the speaker.

Stiff Little Fingers - Straw Dogs

Next album purchase was All The Best. From the moment Track 1 started (Suspect Device) nothing would ever sound as good again (I still belive that)

Now own just about everything ever released (including several ropey Live albums)

Just spent an hour crafting a post on a blackberry (on a train) and then lost the lot! Can't bear to do it all again... Sheesh.

found me soon after I had moved in with a girlfriend in 1989. I heard "Nothing Ever Happens" on Radio 1 and thought it was Sting! Then I happened to hear "Kiss This Thing Goodbye" on the radio and it summed up exactly how I felt about the girlfriend, "Before it all turns sour, we'd better kiss this thing goodbye". I bought "Waking Hours" and every song spoke to the 24 year old me about where this relationship was going. "Opposite View", "Empty" god it was a cheery thing but I felt every word. I married the girl and am still with her 21 years later. I still love Del Amitri.

As a young teenager, I got hold of this single by Daniel Miller/The Normal and played it to death. This made me pay attention to anything subsequently coming from Miller's Mute label and that led to Depeche Mode.

Two similar experiences hooked me onto two of my most enduring loves.

Firstly I went along to the London Lyceum to see The Damned, this was 1981 or '82, can't remember the exact date, in fact one thing the current me would tell the spiky younger version would be - "always keep your ticket stubs young man, one day you will need them!".

Anyway, I was around 15 or 16, crushed up against the front of the stage, barely tall enough to see over the barrier. Surrounded by a crowd full of mean, menacing Punks - all studded leather jackets and mohicans - and skinheads, pushing and shoving and hugging each other in that very dubious "manly" way that professed hard men do.
It was a boisterous typical Damned audience all expectant for the main band to come on. Then a guy in nothing but a pair of black shorts comes on the stage, fiddles around with some amps and cables, he's covered in tattoos and looks pretty mean. Then a few more peopel take to the stage, scruffy jeans and T-Shirts, and start to plug in guitars, and I'm expecting the usual "1-2, 1-2" but instead this group of roadies suddely cranks out the most amazing noise. They are bouncing around the stage, riffs and thunderous basslines and the guy in the shorts leaps to the front of the stage, sceaming, sweat already dripping onto crazy-coloured hair of the audience.
He's pissed off, aggressive and takes no notice of the beer flying at him from a crowd who don't know how to react, as the music is so damn powerful. Henry Rollins revels in the charged atmosphere, confronting people trying to get onto the stage and I'm transfixed, slightly scared in a way as this band were like nothing I'd seen. They are real, that makes it more dangerous, not dressed up in leather jackets and bondage trousers, not bothered about what they should say or do.
I remember blood dripping from Rollins and me just cowering at the front of the stage as he pushed his microphone right into us and screamed away.

A similar situation occured when I first encountered the Pixies, I went to see Throwing Muses at the Town & County Club in London in 1987. What I thought were roadies turned out to be the support band Pixies, who I had never heard at that point. A chubby chap in baggy jeans and scruffy T-Shirts takes to the stage, again I am expecting him to start testing the mic, but then an oriental looking guy picks up a guitar, the others take their places and they are away! I am totally hooked, the screaming vocals, the strange lyrics and the guitar, the weird riffs that defy logic but somehow are packed full of melody. Both bands were total surprises to me, totally out of the blue but they found me alright.

I’m sure I’m not alone in having discovered Nick Drake following the Mojo cover story from the late 90s.

I only had a vague awareness of him prior to this. However, this one article encapsulated his appeal to such an extent that I decided that I had to buy Fruit Tree (the four CD complete works Boxset) without having heard a single track. I was mesmerised with this small body of work and listened to it constantly for the next year.

It was around 1995 and Mr. Jones had just recorded an album with Tammy Wynette, who was ill with cancer and sadly died a couple of years later. The lady who was destined to become Mrs. F has always been a keen C&W fan; I was not. Never the less, we put up with each others taste in music and so I took her along to a George and Tammy concert. Tammy, unfortunately, was not in the best of health but put on a heroic performance. George Jones was unbelievable: the man can sing. Really sing. As in hold a tune, control his voice, express the lyric and really, really sing.

I still find a lot of the George / Tammy stuff a little too syrupy but this evening prompted me to investigate his back catalogue: it's stunning. Guys like Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson et al are hailed as icons and good luck to them. This was the night George Jones went, IMHO, to the top of the list.

Remember those old black and white film clips they used to show on the Old Grey Whistle Test to accompany music tracks back before the advent of proper videos? Film Finders was the company that matched them to the music I think.

One day in early 1972 while watching the OGWT, a grainy piece of film showing a dust storm flickered on the screen while the most amazing guitar work I'd ever heard began to play. It instantly hit me in that special place where previously only The Beatles, Dylan and Zappa had been allowed in and it has lived there ever since.

The song was How Can You Keep Moving (Unless You Migrate Too) by Ry Cooder from his second album Into The Purple Valley. I went out and bought the LP the very next day.

It was the first time I'd heard his name and his music, but I subsequently bought and devoured every album (legit and bootleg) and 38 years later I revere Ry Cooder just as much as I did back in 1972. In fact I recently saw him on tour with Nick Lowe.

The love affair continues.

Thanks Whispering Bob and thanks OGWT.

I may have told it before. Sometime in 1982, I'd bought an Elvis cassette for my mum, but it had become rather unravelled in the car stereo. At the request of his rather precocious 8 year old son, my father had managed to get it out and spooled back into the case. I'd kept the receipt and on a trip to Dublin soon afterwards, reasoned that Golden Discs would refund me. I'd rather sadly realised that my mum wasn't as much into Elvis as I'd thought, and she told me that if I managed to exchange the tape, I could get something for myself.

I explained to the bloke behind the counter what had happened, and, rather amazingly, he took pity on me, took the tape from me and said to get something else. I'd no idea what I wanted. There was, at the back of my mind, a kind of medley in my head from the charts a few weeks or months back. I went to my new friend behind the till and very shyly asked if i hummed something, would he know the tape.

I managed a few notes from 'A Hard Days Night'. I'll never forget the look on his face as he smiled and hopped over to the B's and picked out the 20 Greatest Hits.

"You'll have all you want there"

I used to get car-sick at that age, and was allowed sit in the front of the car on the way home. Fiddling with the balance on the radio was something I used do, as my dad wasn't mad on the distraction of music as he drove, and the only tape player was in the car. It was another 4 months before I knew Yellow Submarine had more than a chorus after 2 and a bit minutes of instrumentals and sound effects...

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.