Goodbye EMI

EMI is swallowed up in 2012, just another once powerful name that goes from being a Google-wow name brand, to a Studebaker-antedilluvian who WERE they?

Given I don't follow stocks, I don't know why it happened. But given I dabble with collecting music that gets under my skin, I knew why. People like me. People who wanted--desperately wanted--the out-of-print CD that EMI had originally pressed that wasn't reissued. Even only a few years later. OOP as is known on Ebay, or out-of-print. I couldn't get a firsthand copy of that CD anywhere in the early 1990s.

Scouring secondhand markets, I came up empty handed. So i did what I always did when I had a problem with a company, wrote the CEO of EMI in the 1990s in the UK. Maybe they had one copy tucked away in a storeroom?

Got back the deadly sound of nothing. Not that unusual, the Japanese CEOs always ignored my letters, but the Brits? Poor form that. Bloody rude too.

With a friend in the business of licensing music, I had tried to be--respectful of the artists income. My friend was unhappy to hear of my secondhand music buying, since the artist didn't get a cut of that. Well, okay, I get that. But when the music companies won't let me buy what I wanted--had been in search of for 10 years-- all bets are off. What's a consumer to do?

So like water, I found a way. Ebay had copies that would come up and sell, $60 or so. Above my price, but I can be a patient person. So I waited till a copy appear for under $40 and ZAP, bought it.

Happily I played it, telling my daughter in the UK I no longer was on the hunt for the CD throughout the charity shops found on every High Street. The son had found another CD I was in search France. Amazing the Internet connected world opened up options new to me.

So perhaps that is why EMI was swallowed up, they stopped selling what we wanted.

And the CD I spent ten years searching for? The music from Cadfael, a detective series with Derek Jacobi. Really, it's under my skin still.

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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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