Concluding Thoughts on Richard Green’s Records

Well, this has been a very interesting project. I’ve thought of Richard a lot while I’ve been working on it. Some of the albums have his name on (from the days when you’d take your records to parties, and then collect them at the end). I’m not sure when Dick Green became Richard Green. That’s just one of the many questions I have about Richard that will have to remain unanswered.

For some records, particularly the musical shows, I’ve gone back to the original New York Times reviews. That’s been fascinating. I’ve enjoyed finding out about people I’d never heard of, and reading about the less glamorous parts of their lives. It’s been a real education. The earliest records here are from the 1940s, and this selection ends in 1977 with the Stones. 

Final points - I’ve liked the fact that it’s such a mixed bunch of records. There’s been a lot to look into. I’ve also realised records aren’t easy things to review. What do you say about a jazz album when you hardly know the first thing about jazz? And yet, it’s worked out. 

A word on the man who inspired this project - Richard Green. Missed every day, thought about every day. A man whose true talent was in friendship, rather than intimate relationship. A funny bloke - ‘I still make you laugh!’ he would often say to me. A psychiatrist who once wanted to be an actor, and did summer stock theatre in America. And, because of his wide interests, his inveterate collecting, and the milieu in which he grew up (he went to the same high school as Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond), Richard had the quality of a living historical resource, something to be tapped. 

They say writers have to mine their histories to be able to keep producing new stuff. When I first met Richard (in 2014), I had over-mined myself. Then things got interesting. Richard - thank you, for the good times, and the bad. You helped me grow, and you made me laugh (often).

Richard Green, having a dance on Hampstead Heath, 2015.