There are two distinct types of music listeners. There are people who listen to music, and then there are people who really listen to music. The distinction between the two groups is best examined through one specific habit in their record-buying activities – some stick to what they like, while others are desperate to find out what they might like.

You join us in the cavern-like basement office of Freebird records. Every available surface is stacked with uncountable CDs, vinyl and videos; there are no windows, no computer, and the ceiling is not high enough for me to stand up straight. I’m in the company of owner Brian Foley who this year celebrates his shop’s 25th birthday; 25 years, that is, of bringing music fans’ music to music fans, in the way we want to receive it. Such was Brian’s concept in 1978 when he found himself “a 25-year-old who didn’t know what to do with his life. All that I was interested in was music,” he recalls, “so I, y’know, made a go of it. I went in head first.”
Freebird’s first home, upstairs at 6 Grafton Street, developed a loyal customer base through its lovingly hand-picked record collection and high second-hand turnaround, attracting the ear of musicians such as Phil Lynott, Joe Jackson and U2. In 1986, the shop moved across the river to its present location beside O’Connell bridge where fans such as Elvis Colstello, Paul Weller and Sonic Youth have been known to stop by.
“All of U2 used to come in to us around ‘78, ‘79,” he adds. “But then Bono had to stop because he was getting mobbed in the street. But the others were able to come for another year or two after that. Sinead O’Connor was in one day; I saw these two big eyes coming in, that’s all I remember.”
Celebrity clientele aside, it’s Freebird’s eagerness to embrace all forms of good music, new and old, that has ensured its longevity, as well as its place in the hearts of the record buying populace.
“I was able to handle it up until the late ’80s, I could do all the buying here myself,” remembers Brian. “But then things started changing, music started changing, and hip-hop came along and dance and techno and rap and drum ’n’ bass and that’s when I lost track. I had to employ somebody else to help me do the buying. Chris out there does all the new stuff. He looks after the hip hop.”
Chris Golding is the gregarious shop manager (of sorts) – a genuinely passionate music lover and all-round-nice-bloke who spends the vast majority of his day listening to, talking about and getting excited over music, a personal obsession he has succeeded in turning into a professional skill.
“I’ve been working in Freebird officially since January, but I’ve been around and been a customer and helped out a lot for about 12 years now,” he beams. “It was always just the best store because, always, the kind of customers they had were the people who were selling the best things.”
These ‘best things’ being the kind of records you can’t find anywhere else in Ireland.
“Fifty per cent of our business is that nobody can touch us on second hand,” he says. “Still, after being there that long, it never ceases to amaze me the amount of stuff that comes through the place. You still have people coming down from Donegal going, `Oh, I haven’t been down here in ten years but I’m cleaning out all my stuff so there ya go’. That’s a thing that will always be there. And without being snobbish, it tends to be people who never really bought pop so you’ll get a lot of old amazing stuff.”
However, one of Freebird’s sustaining mantras is that they are not snobby about what they stock. Rifling through the racks, it’s no surprise to spot Christina and Justin (“‘Cry Me A River’ is the single of the year”, Chris adds) co-habiting the shelves with their musical antitheses.
“But you don’t have to be a brain surgeon to figure out how many copies of Kylie to stock,” Chris laughs. “And that’s not dissing Kylie, that’s just maths.”
But, ultimately, running a small independent record store is about much more than facts and figures.
“At the end of the day a record shop can only survive if people are tactile. You can’t touch a downloaded file. There’s no great experience in it. I used to tape songs, sit up listening to the radio making tapes, but the ultimate goal was to own the thing. Have the record, have the sleeve, have the notes, the artwork, read every word this person had to say. We can’t compete against shops that take a thousand CDs, because they get discounts but we’ll stock them and some of our customers will actually pay the euro or two more because they want to shop in a shop like ours. And it’s because you feel like you’re in a record shop. It’s not a supermarket with big bright lights and clean walls. There’s no identity there, but I don’t knock that. The fact is that life is very fast now and there’s a lot of people who do have to buy their music in Tesco.”
Freebird has enjoyed something of a new lease of life in the past twelve months. The change of staff has added considerable life blood to the store, not only in terms of stock, but also in terms of its day to day management and customer care.
“There was a big turnaround in how Freebird was being run this year and my number one rule for anybody I have in the place is that we have to give honest answers,” assures Chris. “It doesn’t mean anybody’s lying to you, it’s just that if somebody comes in and asks for a record we give an honest answer whether or not we can get it for you.”
Not only that, but Chris is more than willing to indulge in his favourite pastime and wax lyrical with the punters.
“I’ll always listen to anybody and talk to them and figure out what they could be looking for and make suggestions. I’ll talk ‘til I’m dead about music. I own an incredible number of records. Can you turn off the tape?” He informs me of the specific number, which cannot be recounted in public so as not to jeopardise its safety, but I can assure you that it is several times as big as Stuart Clark’s – no mean feat, I swear. “And I managed to buy 25 this week, and I’m still as excited as I was when I bought Laurel and Hardie’s Blue Mountains Of Virginia when I was three. And I can give you a list of 100 records I’m looking for. But if anybody walks in and wants to take a chance and asks what I’d recommend? I know every single thing in that shop. Tracklistings, everything. That’s not a problem!
“It’s happening a lot now, that you have people coming in and going, `Give me ten records’. Any ten records. They don’t care what genre it is, they just trust what you’re giving them. We are building up a steady base of that.”
Searching for quality music in the non-mainstream world can be a bit of a blind task – few column inches are devoted to such endeavours, as is so little radio airplay.
“The only way you’re going to find it is go into people who spend all their time listening to music and just happen to sell it as well. That’s what Freebird’s about. Brian’s just a guy who never got a real job and just knows a hell of a lot about cutting edge funk, soul, jazz and country, and he always takes chances. When he hears it, he goes with it. And that’s all we do. There’s this one record by Victor Vaughan that went from being an expensive import I was taking a chance on to now taking 25 copies on vinyl and CD, which is a lot. But that’s because I believe in the record.
“The last year has taught us that we can only survive on stock that we really believe in. All we can depend on is our ears. We will not pay the bills with Christina Aguilera. But to pay the bills and love arriving at my job, it’ll be the Louis Logics, the Beanie Mans, the CTI jazz reissues, Gene Clarks, the non-pop Lee Scratch Perry, Sepultura’s Beneath The Remains. You could argue that if it was exposed to more people it would be pop, because pop is equated with what you sell. But that’s the only way Freebird’s going to exist, it’s the only way we’ve ever existed: stocking records that we think are fucking great. It’s that simple. There are fucking great records that will change your life, whether it’s when you’re cycling or getting on the bus. And I love it, y’know what I mean?”