Fuck, I Miss Record Stores!

There is no death that I have mourned harder and for longer than that of the record store.

Sure, I know that there are still record stores in existence - some very good ones, in fact - but one could argue that there are but only a dozen truly great record stores left in the country.

This is a big fucking change considering that those of us who grew up in the fucking boonies were still within thirty miles of at least that many record stores. It wasn't just my location, but any location. Hell, there were hardware stores with a more lovingly curated music selection than the half-assed attempts being made by establishments that actually have the audacity to call themselves record stores.

Keep in mind that I've been to Wax Trax! Records back when it was located on N. Lincoln Avenue and hold that experience as the example by which all other record stores shall be judged. There were no football field-sized stretches of vinyl, just a makeshift two-storey house stuffed with a choice selection of records and clothing.

It was the first store to carry all those Velvet Underground, Alex Chilton, and Buzzcocks records I'd been reading about for ages. Imagine owning every issue of Trouser Press from 1980-1984, but none of the music.

Well, that changed the day I walked into Wax Trax!

Like in all great record stores, every person on-staff "lived music". This wasn't just a job to them. Hell, if they didn't work there, hey'd be in the store anyway. Their racket was getting paid to shop for records.

I type this having donated entire paychecks to the contents of the bulging "Hold For Darren" box 'neath record store counter. I may be one of the only people to ever quit a record clerk gig in order to save money.

Having been on both sides of the record store counter I can tell you these 5 truths:

1. If the owner of the store ain't there, who cares?

It didn't dawn on me until after the fact that all the best record stores were run by people who were THERE. If the owner wasn't the one actually ringing up your purchase, then he/she was either wandering around yanking on pipes, or on the phone with a label, a distributor, or a customer...

These stores always had a funky character to them no matter how hard they tried to put on a slick and professional demeanor. They were the stores that always seemed to care a little more, like buying multiple copies of some L.A. punk band's record when they came to the store even though they knew they'd only ever sell one copy. 

These were the first stores to be displaced by the Tower Records locations with the football field-sized retail floors and insanely wide selections. Somehow, they keep chugging along, putting on a happy face until one day, BOOM, it's a Bad Breath & Beyond.

2. Wanna know the secret to life? Get to know your regional label reps. 

Those cats and kitties were PAID TO SCHMOOZE AND PARTY! I turned a shitty minimum wage record store clerk gig into free concert tickets, free promos, and easy entry into all kinds of industry meet & greets FOR YEARS after I quit that gig. I dunno if there is such a thing as a regional label rep anymore, but if you see one, tell 'em I said "Hi!"

3. For a time, even the mall record stores were cool.

Man, it just wasn't payday in the '70s without the family piling into the wood panel station wagon with NO seat belts and puttering on down to the mall. Back then, brick & mortar retail was all we had. The mall enabled us to shop for long stretches of time IN JANUARY!

Some malls came darn close to making you feel like you were in some tropical paradise, complete with respectable Musicland location that carried an inordinate amount of new wave and power pop for the area.

If not for them, where would we have bought our first Tubes and Fabulous Poodles records? Better yet, where would we have scored the hundreds of cut-out 77s tapes that we, in turn, sold back to the band, who were then able to sell at shows for what we can only presume was a LARGE mark-up in price?

But we digress.

4. If the store sells video games, just keep on walkin'.

You know the drill: Strip mall location, a cutesy name relating to music (Second Spin, CD Side Of Town, etc.), but, once inside, you see a bunch of gamers and comic book nerds.

Maybe you're on a business trip, full stomach from the sushi buffet, and you're craving a new musical purchase for the flight home. Before you open that door and step inside, just remember that if this store had anything you wanted, you'd have bought it the last time you stepped into such an establishment where Toad The Wet Sprocket and Third Eye Blind CD's go to die.

Try that Goodwill store across the street, maybe.

"Dang, shoulda held onto mine." 

5. Keep everything.

I have a friend whose sole income is derived from selling defunct retail memorabilia online. Part of that income is derived from selling old branded shopping bags like those you'd take home from Tower Records, Kmart, Ayr-Way or Marshall Field's.

So imagine how much they're getting from the promotional displays that regional label reps gave to the stores for free and that the store would either give to customer or chuck in the dumpster? Those very same displays now sell for over $250 a pop!