THE MUSICAL BOX: LIVERPOOL’S TIMELESS RECORD STORE STILL SPINNING AFTER 77 YEARS

Here’s a doozy pop music question: who was the first woman to have a number one hit record in the UK? It’s a really tricky one, isn’t it? The answer is Lita Roza, from Liverpool, in 1952. This city is big on firsts.

Lita, a glamorous jazz-tinged balladeer from the Dingle, not only became the first woman to have a Number 1 UK hit, but was also the first person from Liverpool to get to ‘the toppermost of the poppermost’. That’s five years ahead of local lad made good Frankie Vaughan, six ahead of Kirkdale’s Michael Holliday, and a whole eleven years earlier than that four-piece folk ensemble from the south end. I can’t recall their name. The song Lita sang was (How Much Is) That Doggy In The Window? 

If you lived in the Tuebrook barrio and bought that record, there’s a pretty good chance that you purchased it at the Musical Box on West Derby Road. That’s the same Musical Box that’s still there today, in the same location – Number 457 – owned and run by the same family. It’s the oldest record shop in the city. What a fabulous story.

And it doesn’t end there. The shop is also the UK’s longest running independent record shop still operating out of the same premises. Just like Lita Roza, it’s a double record breaker. In the perilous, cutthroat world of music retail, that’s an achievement worth celebrating as if it was another Number 1 record. It’s a commitment to the redemptive powers of music, to the neighbourhood and community it serves, but, above all, to the Cain family who run it. 

This four-generation family love affair with music began in 1947, long before the UK charts, Lita Roza, and even rock and roll. But thankfully, before Cliff Richard too. Bomb scarred Liverpool was rebuilding after the war when Dorothy Cain took it upon herself to open her music shop. What a beautiful, uplifting way to look to the future. What the world needed then and still does, is love, sweet love. Music soothes everything. Apart from that Beastie Boys concert at the Royal Court in 1987.

Dorothy Cain started out stocking 78rpm records. As with all music shops of the time, they diversified. The Musical Box sold sheet music, harmonicas, guitar strings and occasional fancy goods. It also sold toys; Dinky cars and Meccano sets, courtesy of Mr Frank Hornby, another wonderful Liverpool success story. 

Some record shop names are fabulous, aren’t they? From the sublime to the ridiculous. I was particularly fond of The Vinyl Frontier, which has now sadly bitten the dust.  Collect And Survive – which should surely be a mantra – is another cracker of a shop and still going in Waterloo. But I don’t think I’ve heard a more enchanting and inviting name than the Musical Box. It just beckons you in to discover its curiosities and delights. I’d love to think they even had a little bell above the door, gently tinkling away as you entered its cornucopia of treasures.

The 1940s were very much the pioneering days of record stores. There were no guidebooks or manuals to show you the way. You used instinct and followed your heart, and thankfully, Dorothy Cain had a real flair for what to stock. Together with her daughter Diane, still at the time a schoolgirl at Holly Lodge, they introduced the music of unknowns Elvis Presley and Lonnie Donegan to the city’s youth in the 1950s. You could end it there and then, couldn’t you? No Elvis or skiffle, no beat groups.

There can’t be many who don’t remember the first record they bought; it’s such a rite of passage. Mine was Double Barrel by Dave and Ansil Collins in 1970. In one fell swoop, at the tender age of nine, I became part of the music industry. I was a consumer. I fell in love with music, vinyl, and the whole magical world of record shops. Like millions and millions of others, I became a record collector. The lowest rung on the industry ladder it may be, but I liked it so much I stayed there. A lifer. With no parole.

Record shops are as much a part of the city’s complex musical eco-system as artists, venues, and studios. In many ways, they are the crucible of all new music and the breeding ground for the countless future musicians the city produces. You enter a portal, another world full of unknown pleasures, yet to be discovered. The best shops have their own idiosyncratic personality. The Musical Box has that in spades and that’s why it’s still here. 

It is impossible to imagine a world without the Beatles. It’s even crazier to think that they probably wouldn’t have made it without the existence of North End Music Stores, or NEMS to you and me. A whole chain of events was set in motion that would eventually deliver Brian Epstein to the steps leading down to the Cavern basement in 1962, when he introduced himself to the Beatles and changed music forever. It began in Walton when his father, Clive Epstein, opened his first instrument and furniture store, North End Music Stores. That is the power of music shops. And the sound of the suburbs. Pete Best and John Lennon were no strangers to the Musical Box either. Clearly freelancing.

And it is hard to think of Eric’s club and that whole post-punk generation without acknowledging the influence of Probe Records, just spitting distance down the road. I had a huge fondness for Probe in its late ‘70s/early ‘80s heyday on Button Street. At times though, it felt more like going to an Everton away game than a shop – simmering aggression, occasional volleys of acerbic abuse, often going home empty-handed. Chastened and sometimes chased. 

The Musical Box took a vastly different approach. Here, the customers were the priority, and it was Dorothy’s daughter Diane, now skilfully managing the shop, who embraced the next phase. By the early 1960s, the shop was a bone fide record store focussing solely on LPs and the burgeoning singles market. Yeah, yeah, yeah!

It wasn’t just pop either. It sold different genres too. Folk and county, like local Country & Western pioneers Hank Walters And The Dusty Road Ramblers. I had the delightful pleasure of spending time in Hank’s entertaining company on several occasions. I once asked him about his choice of musical instrument, the accordion. “Well, my dad said, ‘son, guitars are like arseholes, everyone’s got one’”. A true maverick following his own destiny, exactly the way he wanted to. The Cain family is doing the same thing.

By the time I was twelve or thirteen, I’d earned a reputation amongst school mates as a bit of record collector. I felt I’d earned it. I did have three singles. By the late ‘70s, I did truly justify the title. It was during this era that the behemoth record shop chains became an established part of the city centre music scene, taking a major slice of the market. To survive in the suburbs, you need guile, commitment, and that extra special something. Once again, Diane Cain recognised the prevailing winds, and the Musical Box began specialising in finding old and new records for its customers. Diane’s reputation spread and for serious record collectors in the city, throughout the ‘80s, the shop became a magnet. 

The music retail market is always evolving. It must to survive. From sheet music to shellacs, 78s to 45s, vinyl to tapes to CDs (and back again), digital downloads to streaming. But progress is bitter-sweet. It’s hard to think of another industry that does so much to sabotage the very people that serve it, unwaveringly. A preoccupation with ever more inventive ways to sell you the same product you already have feels cynical and reductive too. It diminishes the opportunities for new music, new artists, and new audiences – that’s the lifeblood of music and record shops.

So many obstacles and hurdles are put in the way of making a living. The jeopardy must be heartbreaking. To keep going you need gritty resolve and a deep understanding of your market. The Musical Box, flying under the radar, even briefly expanded with another shop in Old Swan in the 1970s.

If you stick around long enough – and I can’t recommend this enough as a life choice – you are witness to incredible social and technological change. The lightning rod for this is the high street. Every part of every town and village in the UK used to have a bustling high street of shops that served the community and spoke of its sense of place. Now? Most have been obliterated or on a life-support machine; just how many nail bars and barbers does a place really need? 

To me, the sight of a record or book shop on a street says that it is a place with soul. A spirit still burns in Tuebrook. The Musical Box is a tribute to the Cain family’s indefatigable spirit, stubborn resolve, but unquenchable thirst and adoration for music. And a yearning to share it with the world.

There is nothing quite like physical music – that’s the latest term for records and CDs, apparently. Streaming is fabulous, but it’s not yours to own. You are given access to it. In 2024, a study revealed that there are now 466 independent record shops in the UK, up 122 on figures for 2014. Those independent shops made up just 3% of total music outlets in the UK, in 2014. Today it is 23%. But it’s a hollow victory, records sales are still depressingly low. 

It appears the carpet baggers – most notably the supermarkets – have retreated from the market. Yet independent record shops are still forced to find ever more inventive ways to compete with the bigger chains, and the latest and most existential threat, online sales. In a way, the Cain family were the trailblazers for this approach; constantly adapting, specialising, diversifying, offering that distinctive touch. 

So much of today’s life revolves around instant gratification. But does that really lead to deeper satisfaction? The best things in life are earned and that often requires patience. None more so than ‘putting a record on.’ Just embrace the process. It’s almost a religious experience; from purchasing it, to bringing it home and placing it on the turntable, then gingerly putting the needle in the groove. You enter state of grace, a level of mindful consciousness that George Harrison would be proud of. Then, maximum joy. Unless it’s Ed Sheeran.

It’s easy to fetishise records. For me, they are for playing and enjoying, not one-upmanship. Rare labels or first presses hold little interest. I couldn’t care less about coloured vinyl or limited editions either. But the sound of a record? That’s where the magic happens. It can’t be beaten. It’s alchemy.

Ask any collector and they will tell you that there is far more to records than just the vinyl. Music is utterly visual and the best album covers are pure works of art. Enter the Musical Box and you’ll see them festooned about. For many of us, it’s our first introduction to art and design. Perhaps the least underappreciated element are those precious inner sleeve notes too. They often hold the deepest, most delicious secrets. Another Porky Prime cut? 

Today, Tony, Diane’s son, is the custodian of the Musical Box. Born above the shop in 1961 and keenly aware of the family’s history and his responsibilities, in 2023, he converted those old living quarters upstairs into another shop floor. It’s jampacked with records and, unbelievably, a museum space too. Tony and his family lovingly fitted it out with original furniture, bought and owned by Dorothy. There’s even a beautiful wall of framed record shop sleeves – a homage to all those local record shops that introduced people to music but have now bitten the dust. It’s a celebration of the Cain family but equally the unadulterated pure joy of music and the cornerstone of the music industry itself, the humble record shop. That’s love, isn’t it?

I’ve often thought that I’d grow out of buying records. Thankfully, wisdom and maturity never came my way. Like a moth to a flame, I am still drawn to record shops. The excitement and anticipation haven’t diminished one iota since that first single I bought aged nine. Friends and I decidedly recently to visit the Musical Box. And there it was, where it’s always been, number 457, West Derby Road. Quietly going about its business but making an immeasurable difference to our lives. Maybe it should be on the NHS.

Most shops sell you what you need to get by. Record stores offer stuff you absolutely don’t need but just can’t live without. A world without music is an unbearable thought and thankfully, that won’t happen – it’s the best painkiller since hurting began. A world without music shops though? Well, that’s a constant threat. Your local record shops need you. Use them or lose them. We owe them our support. For me, their total loss will be the day the music really dies. 

The Cain family is keeping the musical flame alive in Tuebrook. They’ve borne witness to so much too; the city’s first number one record, the creation of the charts, the birth of rock and roll, the death of punk, Take That. They’ve shown pride and faith in their neighbourhood, had a ringside seat at the musical revolution of the ‘60s, watched the city survive the economic tsunami of the 70 and 80s – despite government determination to kill the place off with a callous ‘ managed decline’ – and more recently, the cultural renaissance around the European Capital of Culture in 2008. And a lot more besides. Take your pick. 

All through the history of the shop – from 1947 to today – Liverpool artists have been creating music that makes our hearts soar. Lifting the soul when, it appears, all else fails. And in the Musical Box, we’ve had a record shop to buy them. For that we have four generations of Cains to thank. Here’s to the fifth and the sixth…for what is the city but the people?

Words by Paul Gallagher.