The smell of those new labels, the ink barely dry inside the plastic case, the tattered used bootlegs and rarities hidden among aisles and shelves of innumerable varieties of music, the fluorescent lights that glow from the inside this indistinct square building and bleed onto the street side until late into the night is what I love.
I am often the reason why friends wind up waiting, god knows how many times women become exasperated at the lack of attention they may receive while watching this furious perusal of beautiful music. Or maybe it’s because their drinks have worn off at the same time I’m just getting started.
The clicking of the plastic cases as people’s hands rummage through rows and rows of used cd’s, through random types of music that somehow find themselves aside each other, waiting to be bought, brought home and played at dangerous decibels.
Music nerds understand the import of a good bootleg, a rare single of a demo of some dead obscure rock god may fetch some astounding price and it all makes sense when they rush home and feed their record player this gem and lay back and listen until they become drooling messes.
Tattooed mechanics (Old 97’s), middle-aged lovers (Kitaro), suburban mothers and daughters (Gaga, of course), all strolling the same grounds looking for more reasons to not just download, but to actually add something tangible to their collection. Or perhaps just soaking up the colors and designs of the varied album covers and posters, sometimes music is as much visual as it is aural. Everyone from every level and dimension of society walking and rummaging for what fascinates them regardless of any other element outside the doors of the store, they all love their music and they’re all here for the that reason.
This wide open jungle of music that travels all over the universe is one of the most glorious places on the planet, part museum, gallery, amusement park, and a whole little bit of heaven. Open ’til midnight everyday. It says so on the door.