Sunday, July 16, 2006
Stores' closing diminishes the music experience
Ralph Berrier
Riffs, the regional music scene as heard by The Roanoke Times reporter Ralph Berrier, will appear weekly on Sundays.
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When the Record Exchange announced it was closing its Blacksburg store a few months ago, a music-savvy co-worker likened the store's demise to the passing of an elderly relative:
"At least they're not suffering anymore."
Signs of the Record Exchange's troubles had been evident for years. The inventory of new and used records dropped as perceptibly and strangely as Star Jones' weight. With the news that the rest of the chain is being put out of its misery, music fans in Roanoke and Blacksburg are left to wonder how the loss of the once-proud independent record stores affects us.
Badly, I think.
Much has been written about the Great Record Store Plague that has killed off many independent cool record shops in the past decade. Downloading, big-box retailers and a general disinterest in popular music has hastened the decline of the classic record store, that safe haven for music hounds, vinyl nerds and record geeks -- and those were just the employees.
The passing of the record store is for music fans like watching your best friends move out of town. The friends whose opinions you trusted, who would always point you toward the cool bands, are gone. You say you'll write, you'll keep in touch, but the bond is broken.
If you think that you can get all these trustworthy opinions on the Internet, on places like myspace.com or from bloggers, well, you can. It just isn't the same. You can also meet chicks, watch baseball games and go to the movies on the Net, but that's not the same thing as going to a club and dancing with a date, sitting in a ballpark with a cold one in your hand on a warm summer night or seeing a blockbuster on opening night with your best friends.
No one who ever knew Jack and Will, the former owners of Roanoke's long-gone Safe As Milk Records, thinks that clicking a mouse is more enjoyable than talking to those guys about the best bands in town or their latest vinyl discoveries.
No one who was ever told by Record Exchange employees Suzanne, Charlie or Michelle, "Hey, you'd really like the band" in reference to Beechwood Sparks, Dressy Bessy, Of Montreal, or some other group I had never heard of, will ever put that kind of faith into the grammatically challenged e-pinions of some anonymous blogger -- who, for all I know, might be some paid flack for a record label.
As much as I sympathize with the music fans, I know that we still have tons of biggie-sized options for our music choices. If you like the tactile sensation of having a CD in your hand, or if you're the type who is disappointed when bands skimp on liner notes, you can always buy a CD at Target, Kmart or Wal-Mart -- that is, if you really trust the kid who was just sent over from the dairy department to give you the lowdown on the new Destroyer or Gnarls Barkley.
The real loser during the final days of this era (besides record store owners, of course) isn't going to be the music fan or even the major labels who are still getting their cash, thanks to sweetheart deals with online music providers such as iTunes. The people who will suffer most will be the ones who always get stiffed when the entertainment business capriciously decides to take a hard turn. The artists.
The music biz has always been difficult for artists, even back when there were more clubs, more independent labels, more fans and more record stores. Even during the glory days of live bands, a period that extended from the 1950s until nearly the 1990s, most performers could never expect to earn their livelihoods from playing music. These days, it's even harder to do that.
Despite the opportunities afforded to independent artists on the Internet, the big companies with their massive hype machines will forever buy and bully their way to more exposure and bigger presence, just like they do in Wal-Mart displays. Downloads are no different than record sales: the biggest sellers are faceless rappers doing corporate hip-hop (which is little different from 1970s corporate rock), teen queens and the eyeliner-and-tattoo band of the week.
Now, there's no Jack or Will, no Suzanne, Charlie or Michelle to help guide you through the din of mediocrity that drowns out the good stuff.
