The quality of playback was naturally variable. I then transitioned to tapes, and then to CD’s and latterly to streaming and recording in mp3, flac etc.I decided 5 months ago that I would ditch the CD’s but would resurrect the vinyl, which had not been touched for 35+ years! I bought a new deck and started playing them. I started buying LP’s in the late 1960’s (in UK) and continued doing so here through till about the mid/late 70’s.
My story is probably not dissimilar to many other people’s in my age bracket. Also, up until 5 weeks ago, I had never met the company’s principal, Stephen, nor indeed anyone associated with him and/or his company. "I play some national songs, that is my way of resisting.Firstly, I must tell you that I have no commercial interest, financial or otherwise, in this product. "When there are clashes we have to close the shop, of course, but what can I say, I am still alive, thank God," he said. Plastered on its shutters are the images of Palestinian fighters killed in recent months. The shop bears reminders of the conflict. The street on which his shop sits has seen fierce battles during the last year, as Israeli forces conducted raids targeting a nascent militant group called "The Lions' Den", based in Nablus's Old City. "They tell me to turn it off, they don't want to listen." Hemmou said he has tried to bring his two sons, aged 26 and 27, into the business. "They come from all of Palestine to buy from me." "My customers are from all over the West Bank, from Jerusalem, from Nazareth, Bethlehem, Jenin, Qalqiliya," he said. Music enthusiasts will travel from afar to buy from him. Known throughout the old city as Abu Shaadi, he has developed a reputation beyond Nablus. The old singers, they summon what is deep within us and they revive our heritage," he said. "The modern singers do not know what they sing.
Hemmou said that today's artists do not match the emotion of the great Arab singers of the 20th century. "You listen to this music and you remember what it means to be an Arab or a Palestinian," he added. "When you play the record, you're transported back 50 years," he said. "We close all the shops when the Israeli raids kill someone in Nablus, especially the Old City," he said.įor Hemmou, the machines and the music they play are more than just songs, they are an essential part of Palestinian and Arab heritage. A surge in violence in 2022 made it the deadliest year in the West Bank since United Nations records began in 2005, with Nablus having been at the forefront of the bloodshed.īut Hemmou said it is not the military raids that hurt business, it is the strikes regularly called by local authorities in response to Israeli operations. Israel has occupied the West Bank since the Six-Day War in 1967. He estimated that he sells an average of five record players per month. There are even several gramophones from the 1940s. Strewn throughout his workshop, in various stages of repair, are record players from the 1960s and 1970s. "She sang from the heart, she sang with emotion, she told a story," he said. He said he enjoys Lebanon's Fairuz and Egyptian superstar Abdel Halim Hafez, but his favourite is Shadia, an Egyptian diva who released a string of hits between the 1940s and 1980s. almost everyone in my family is a musician," he said. "My father was a singer, he used to sing because he loved those old singers. "I have more experience than the people with the certificates," he joked, adding that he is entirely self-taught and acquired his passion for music from his father.
#VINYL RECORD PLAYER REPAIR NEAR ME HOW TO#
Hemmou began learning how to repair record players when he was 17, listening to the great Arab artists of the time as he worked. Like much of the world, Nablus is attuned to digital music, but Hemmou said working with vinyl was about preserving Palestinian "heritage."Įlderly people regularly pass by at the end of the day and, "when I turn on the record player, they start crying," he said. He runs the only shop in Nablus repairing and selling vinyl records and players. The 58-year-old is the last of his kind in the city. From Jamal Hemmou's ramshackle workshop in Nablus's Old City in the occupied West Bank, classic Arabic songs blare into the surrounding cobbled streets.
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