Black Circles (In And) Around My Eyes

Let's say you came to my house in a limousine driven by Hugh Laurie that was stocked with a kegger of Monty Python And The Holy Grail Ale. You hand me a briefcase of unmarked bills, under the condition I have to spend all the money during one of three trips: A tour of L.A. sushi bars, a circuit of record stores or an excursion to Sam's Club to buy cases of lemon Pledge to polish the stripper poles in Rock Of Love cast-off Farrah Sinclair's apartment... Well, that's a no-brainer: Tell Dr. House to step on it, we're going to Amoeba!

Yes, I know it's the modern world and we live in an internet culture where you can stay at home, park your carcass in front of your lappity-toppity box and grab music from sites all over the internet. But I simply cannot imagine a world without record stores. Period. I would rather have a universe without FOOD, if it meant I had to obtain/discover/enjoy music solely online. (Besides, I'm a morbidly obese jamoke; I could stand to lose 122 pounds.) If I hadn't become so utterly obsessed with music (and thereby record stores), my life would've turned out much differently. When I was in high school, I wanted to move to New York City and get in on the ground floor of punk. But I spent all my money buying the records made by all the bands I wanted to experience in the first place. In college, I relied on the kindness of strangers to foot the bill for assorted vices because I was too busy seeking out import LP pressings of the British bands kicking my ass at the time. On those days when my buds and I would plan a road trip to see the bands that made us thank Christ we were alive, we always, without fail, factored in a two-hour stopover to hit the local record emporiums.

Before there was an internet, the local Mom & Pop record stores were the only way punks/new wavers/alt-rockers could find about excellent new bands that weren't getting massive column inches in Rolling Stone, afternoon play on MTV or spins on radio between the Eagles and Journey. Local bands found a marketplace for their own DIY productions and if you were into discovering more, there would always be a stack of fanzines, small-run mags or British papers to help slake your thirst for more new stuff. You simply weren't going to immerse yourself into this culture by hanging out at corporate chains. The people who ran the stores were always into music and ready to recommend things to you. When he was working in the 7-inch vinyl department of the late great Rockville, Maryland-based store Yesterday & Today, Ian MacKaye played an old Hoodoo Gurus b-side, "Be My Guru," which I bought immediately. Hearing that track in a big store--surrounded by tons of vinyl, unpacked boxes, fliers for upcoming shows, promo posters for upcoming releases--makes mouse-clicking seem positively anti-climactic. I've been to stores all over the U.S., based my first trip to London on a story I read in a record-collecting magazine and have stuck my head inside shops in Denmark and Sweden. (Never enough time in Paris, though. That one still sets me off, 16 years after the fact...) I long to take eight weeks off and drive all over our great nation, rummaging through store bins and then reporting, cataloging and listening (duh) to my finds.

Because of the advent of technology, many record stores have closed up shop. This upsets me more than the deaths of some of my relatives. Indie record stores aren't just about commerce to me: They are about LIFE. I have made friendships with people I had met in record stores simply because they bought the same things I did or wore a badge or a t-shirt of a band I loved. I have memories of bored girlfriends holding stacks of wax while I scoured for more tunes, spending too much money and having to take them out for fast food (again). I don't own as many records as many collectors, but I'm pretty sure you can pull a record from my custom-built shelves and I can tell you where I got it.

Which brings me to today, three days before Record Store Day, a celebration of indie record hangouts happening this Saturday, April 18. This weekend, participating stores will be selling releases specially issued for the day, be they limited-edition vinyl (like that Gaslight Anthem live 10-inch Heisel's been clamoring for) or specially designed t-shirts sanctioned by the likes of Underoath and Paramore. Visit the RSD site and see what stores in your area are participating--if there are any left. And if there aren't, get your buddies in the car and take a road trip. Who knows what you'll find? Maybe it'll be something as cool as these sweet Clash platters I found in the used section of the store that's close to my house. (Seriously, "The Magnificent Seven" U.K. 12-inch with the original sticker set intact? Official Epic Records promo interview album? FTW!) Maybe it'll be the love of your life. (I met my wife at a wedding, but she prefers to see me hanging in a record store than a bar.) But really, friends, in my world, EVERY day is Record Store Day.