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Saving independent record stores from the Evil Empire

By Ben Rubenstein
RAW STORY COLUMNIST

Think the world’s become one big corporation, and technology’s going to keep us all isolated in our homes for the rest of our lives? Take a walk down to your local independent record store, and you’ll find that human interaction and good old-fashioned consumerism are in full swing.

Despite the increases in free music downloading and the success of huge chain stores like Best Buy and Target, small establishments remain viable in the music market due to a mystique that simply cannot be replicated by online sites like Morpheus and Kazaa or any large retail chain. Plus, the selection of hard-to-find underground releases in addition to standard mainstream fare makes the independent record store a niche for the music lover that will be difficult to replace.

The regular customers of these stores are performing a thankless task; with every purchase, the store thought to be part of a dying breed helps to ward off what my favorite college professor termed the “Evil Empire” — that is, large retail stores that offer low prices and enhanced customer service at the expense of selection and knowledge. In times when large companies have strongholds on all major markets, small stores have reached dire straits.

So what is it that keeps the faithful coming back and (gasp) actually paying for music? The ambience of the place is one reason. As an old Joy Division album wafts into the air, customers can wander the store, comforted by the countless concert advertisements and promotional posters that cover every available surface.

Unlike the sanitary environments of download sites or the local Best Buy, the record store serves as a reminder that, despite popular sentiment, music is more than just a product to be bought and sold (or pirated); it is the embodiment of a culture, and the obsession of every generation. The best evidence of this is the employees, usually men in their 20s and 30s, variably identifiable by their ponytails, beards, and band T-shirts.

As each song plays over the store’s sound system, its notes inevitably are punctuated by the artistic arguments of the clerks, who discuss everything from live ska shows to overrated movie soundtracks. They do their work from a platform at least 2 feet above customers, as though they are musical pharmacists. In a way, they are just that, presiding over the doses of auditory enjoyment that customers need as much as any medication.

Unlike the subservient staff at large retail stores around the country, these employees are unafraid to share their opinions on anything and everything, similar to the workers at John Cusack’s record store in “High Fidelity.” You won’t find any Jack Blacks here, though there is a palpable sense of snobbery in the air every time someone attempts to sell back some of their old albums. But you won’t be yelled at for asking about the newest Dido CD, even if some of your fellow customers might cringe at the thought while perusing the extensive underground rock, hip-hop, or jazz sections.

The diverse selection is another selling point for independent stores. While the world of downloads is undoubtedly large and accommodating, sometimes even multiple searches can yield less-than-desirable results. From incomplete, misnamed songs to long queue lines for your favorite obscure recordings, downloading often can be more trouble than it is worth — even if it is free.

At the record store, there are no guarantees, but there’s always the possibility of something wonderful waiting among the rows. Some patrons arrive knowing exactly what they want, and quickly pluck it from the rack, plunk down their money, and leave satisfied. But for others, the journey is just beginning as they walk in the door. For the record store is a place of discovery unlike any other. It can be overwhelming being surrounded by so much music and not knowing what to dive into first. But there is all the time in the world (or at least on the parking meter) to find exactly the right thing, and the finality of the purchase can make it all the more exhilarating.

Whereas downloads can be quick transactions that meet instant gratification and budgetary needs, they can’t rival the feeling of ownership that comes with holding the plastic case of that rare Pixies album that has eluded your grasp for years. Finally having that disc in your hands and being able to gaze upon it in your collection every day brings more happiness to the music junkie than a burned CD ever could.

If you walk out of an independent record store empty-handed, chances are it won’t be from lack of guidance. You won’t be accosted by salivating employees asking, “Do you need help?” But you might encounter a few lurking regulars eager to give you advice on what music you should invest in. Whether they’re telling you that Superchunk’s second album is far better than the third, or enlightening you on the finer points of Portishead, these customers can provide that final nudge you need to make your decision.

As you hand your choices to the guy behind the counter, who is likely engaged in a philosophical discussion about the merits of “Donnie Darko,” you cross your fingers, hoping he approves. Because whether we admit it, it’s important for others to celebrate our musical tastes. Otherwise, we wouldn’t rush to play our favorite CDs at every party, or drag our friends to concerts on weekends.

The record store is a reminder that, despite the isolating luxuries of technology, music is best when shared. And as the clerk gives an encouraging nod, handing you your change and handwritten receipt, you can’t help but smile. The Evil Empire of chain stores has been held off for another day, and the weight of the purchase in your hand feels far better than the words “Download Complete” on a computer screen.