Shamelessly nostalgic first paragraph: Its name was The Pop Inn. It was on Sinclair Road in Torry, Aberdeen. I would get to it by bike – a Chopper naturally, it was the 70s. And the first single I bought there – I assume the day was bright and sunny and hopeful – was Geno by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I also bought Adam Ant and The Jam and (admittedly) Bucks Fizz and Dollar. These are my memories, and I’m pleased I still have them.

But memories don’t keep shops open. The Pop Inn closed down for good in 1991. It is now a gents’ barber, but if you could get your hair cut on Twitter, the barber’s shop would be gone too. You also probably know of other record stores you loved in the 70s and 80s or 90s that closed down. That one. Then that one. Then that one. Now a barber shop. Or a betting shop. Or no shop.

I realise there’s a danger of me getting a bit maudlin here – that’s what happens when men in their 50s think about The Past and how far away it is from Now – but actually this column was supposed to be about the future. HMV – never the best of record shops, but still – has announced that it’s opening ten new stores. Opening. New. Stores. Now. After all that’s happened.

The good news does come with some caveats though. First, HMV is not what it once was. The chain has collapsed into administration twice in the last ten years and one of the reasons was the slump in the sale of DVDs. Not even the huge show-off store like the one in Oxford Street could survive the trend towards Netflix. And in 2018 not even Christmas could save the chain as a whole. So the good news is good news amid the ruins.

But you know: ten new stores. The announcement was made by the man who bought the remnants of the company, the Canadian music retail executive Doug Putman, and he insisted this week that the stores still have a future. "People obviously love going out shopping,” he said. “They like touching and feeling and that's something that online is not going to replace.” He also said he believed that more and different stores would be opening on the high street and was optimistic HMV had a place among them.

On the face of it, this is all good stuff and you might even think Mr Putman has somehow managed to reverse the trends of retail and defied the drift of music into places like Spotify. And in some ways he has. HMV has been helped a little in recent years by the small revival of vinyl among some young people who buy LPs to put on their walls, or to distinguish themselves from their lamer, more mainstream peers (that instinct has never gone away).

But the underlying trends haven’t disappeared and a few vinyl-lovers are not going to save HMV. Go into one of their stores now and you’ll also realise how much they’ve changed. Yes, there’s vinyl and yes, there are DVDs, but actually the store is mostly about computer games and T-shirts and pop-culture toys and memorabilia. In other words, the stores have tried to move with the times rather than let the times pull them under.

In the end, I think it’s this that’s the real lesson of HMV’s first death, then its second, and now its possible rebirth. Obviously, there’s still a chance – a serious chance – that the rescue will not work and HMV won’t survive for much longer. But if it does go on, it will be because they haven’t indulged in nostalgia for the past (which is what it would do if I was in charge). They’ve tried to adapt so that the kids do not ignore them, and then destroy them. Try to do anything else and you will go the way of The Pop Inn on Sinclair Road in Aberdeen.

And so now the shamelessly nostalgic last paragraph: I still have the copy of Geno by Dexy’s Midnight Runners that I bought in The Pop Inn. I’m looking at it now. Tattered corners. Lyrics on the back. “Back in '68 in a sweaty club. (Oh, Geno). Before Jimmy's Machine and The Rocksteady Rub. (Oh-oh-oh Geno).” You see. They were nostalgic back then too. Because we always are.

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