Monetarize

What have I done?

Whereas the likes of Dylan, Bowie and all sold off the rights to their own songs for millions, and I understand that Michael Jackson once owned Lennon-McCartney, all I've unloaded is other people's work printed onto plastic. I would surely never, ever sell off whatever rights accrue to my own work which, such as it is, isn't likely to pull in any income anyway.

There is, surely, no proper relationship between cash and art although you wouldn't bloody think so seeing what Banksy and Damien go for.

I have no use for a million quid. My three horses at Warwick today didn't do so bad but none of them won and it doesn't matter. The filthy cash I got today in exchange for all that long-gone record buying means I won't be going to a cash machine for a couple of weeks but, in exchange for that I can no longer say I'm the owner of Exile on Main Street, Desire, three memorable Chic albums, all those T. Rex label singles that were second-hand when I bought them, the Sex Pistols singles I rode into town to buy after school as soon as they were released, not even having heard them, the early Jesus & Mary Chain masterpieces, notwithstanding those items that were presents from other people, and such things that have been updated to CD like Blue, The Hissing of Summer Lawns, The Velvet Underground with Nico, and any amount of Yellowman and fondly remembered reggae that I was never going to play again in that format, at least.

But the angst and the agony will last for some time. Not so much whether I got the right price but whether there is a price at all that can be put on the historic artefacts that have been lying about unused for what is, by now, one third of my life so far.

I am no longer the owner of a copy of Do You Believe by Home T4 but I can still listen to it, like here, for instance,