The Green Ball: Inside Gilles Peterson’s Vinyl Sanctum (Part.2)
A tour through the shelves, scenes and philosophies that animate Peterson’s vinyl life.
“My collection’s not the biggest or the rarest - but it’s alive,” Gilles says. “It’s grown alongside club culture, and I’ve never stopped buying. Every record has its own story, and every one is there to be shared.”
He calls it “organised confusion.” Records are spread across three addresses: Brownswood, his house, and the Green Ball. Some shelves are ordered, others chaotic. “People tell me, just get someone in to sort it out. But no one can touch my records. I need to find things myself. The surprises are part of it. Sometimes chaos leads you to the perfect connection.”
When news breaks of a passing - Hermeto Pascoal, for instance, Gilles becomes the one people expect to hear tributes from. That means diving through boxes, hunting for a stray 7-inch, spending hours tracing links. “Luckily, there’s Discogs. But you still need to find the object itself, the sleeve, the feel. It’s work, but I love it.”
How the shelves are stacked
On the main floor, the Green Ball holds an A–Z of American jazz, flanked by rows of vocal jazz and British players. French and German LPs spill across another wall; halfway along, the run turns Japanese. Lower boxes hold records currently in rotation, primed for gigs and radio.
Upstairs is hip-hop, Brownswood releases, and the labels Gilles has steered: Talkin’ Loud, Acid Jazz. Downstairs is a deep well of soul, Brazil, Latin, India, Colombia, Cuba, the Arab world. Drawers hold reggae LPs and 12s, Brit funk, UK street soul, Japanese 12s. Other drawers are marked by mood rather than geography: disco, boogie, Detroit techno, New York house. Still others are simply piles of recent arrivals — African LPs waiting to be heard.
The system may not be precise, but it reflects his life in sound: a map not just of genres but of scenes, friendships and movements. “Every record is there for a reason. I can tell you the story of why it’s here and how it connects.”
There are also personal corners: shelves of music he’s produced or released, acetates and test presses, boxes set aside for gigs. “It’s both archive and toolbox,” he says. “Things I can draw on for a BBC tribute, or pull out for a basement party.”
Dealers, shops and stories
For Gilles, records are inseparable from the people and stories behind them. “The best digging isn’t just pulling vinyl, it’s hearing how that Belarussian band ended up covering Fela’s Zombie. You need someone to tell you the story.” That’s where the private dealers matter: bespoke visits, hours of listening, context folded into each discovery.
Shops play a different role. In Japan, places like Disk Union and countless others don’t just put grail records on the wall, they add recommendations, context and stories that help you understand the music. “I keep telling Soul Jazz they should bring that approach back,” Gilles says.
In local London shops, the experience is different. Atlantis, Yo-Yo, Love Vinyl: spaces to spend hours flicking, talking, laughing. “I love Zaf at Love Vinyl. I always end up laughing there. I like Jelly Records on Chatsworth Road. Dave at The Little Record Shop is a character. Eldica has its own vibe too - that’s part of the character of the place. Shops where you get the personality along with the records.” Some he drops into quickly, others demand half a day. “Atlantis: John is brilliant. If I’ve got hours to spare, I’ll go there.” What matters most is the mix of curation and randomness: carefully chosen corners for rarities, cheap bins for discovery, and shops that combine both. “That’s why I like VDS London / Idle Moments. You can see the quality on the wall, but there are bargains down there too. That’s what makes a shop special.”
We Out Here and the festival of digging
At We Out Here Festival, the digging culture has become an event in itself. “People come prepared now. Everyone’s got incredible stocks every year! We had Human Head from New York last year, the Welsh crew - Diggers’ Club, the Dutch guys from Rotterdam Off Beat Record with the craziest selection. It’s a big feature of the festival. I didn’t think people would want to carry records around, but now you can even ship them home. It’s a dream.” Gilles himself buys early, before his radio slot. “I grabbed a nice Jean Adebambo album from Mr. Thing this year. That’s the joy.”
The marketplace atmosphere adds a new layer to the festival. “It’s like a mini-record fair built into the weekend. DJs come to play but also to shop. Collectors come for the music, but the digging is just as much a draw.” For Gilles, it’s proof that vinyl culture continues to thrive across generations.
The philosophy of records
In the end, what makes Gilles’ collection unique is not its size, but its vitality. “Every record here has a reason to be here. It’s all part of club culture, jazz and black music in all its forms, and all the strands that come with it. I’ve worked in the record business for forty years. There’s a strand for AOR, for pop, for emerging electronic scenes. All of it belongs.”
The Green Ball is the current vessel for this living archive. Chaotic, yes. Ordered in its own way, certainly. But alive. Constantly in dialogue with the clubs, radio shows and record shops that keep London’s music culture moving.
For Gilles, records are stories as much as sounds. “It’s not about the object as a fetish. It’s about what it connects to. A scene, a memory, a friendship, a night. That’s why it’s alive. That’s why it matters.”
The collection stays alive through use, records pulled for tributes, shows and nights that connect back to the city around it. The Green Ball is part archive, part workshop, always shifting with the music.
Read Part 1 to see where the story began.
The Green Ball: Inside Gilles Peterson’s Three-Level Listening House (Part.1)
At the back of his North London garden stands a new structure - three levels of wood, glass and shelves of vinyl. This is Gilles Peterson’s Emerald Ballroom also known as The Green Ball: part private retreat, part radio lab, part live room. More than just a studio, it’s a space built to listen.
Thanks for 📸 Will Tsukuda
Visit the Green Ball - https://gillespeterson.net
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