Record Store Day is almost here again. On April 21st, record stores across the country-across the world-will open their doors to both regulars and first timers, to hard core vinyl hound collectors and looky-loo newbies, and celebrate vinyl as an idea, an artifact, a culture and a commodity. Hundreds of limited edition special release records will be unveiled that day; some from the biggest artists in music, some from long forgotten esoteric names from yesteryear, and some from exciting up and comers. Music fans everywhere will rejoice, and in these dark and turbulent days, for a brief moment, all will be right in the world. I’ve always been fond of the Nick Hornby quote ‘record stores can’t save your life, but they can give you a better one.’ That’s true, in my experience.
At my shop, Tres Gatos in JP, we open at 9am. The store takes over our tapas and wine bar, with vinyl covering every barstool, every table, every inch of space. Whatever space is left is used for complimentary cookies, pastries, rice Krispy treats and coffee, to keep the people queuing in line happy and fed while they search out that perfect piece of wax. We’re a neighborhood shop, and we get by because of a group of a few hundred people who shop here once, twice, three times a week, know when new releases arrive and who run over whenever they hear about a great collection of used wax or bootlegs coming through. For one day, they are all in one place at one time, meeting each other: this is maybe my favorite part of the entire thing. Last year, we had people sharing headphones so they could listen to albums they’d never heard together; we had people pairing off and going to get a beer or breakfast together, people who had never met and whose unifying factor was a mutual love of Howlin’ Wolf, or Lucinda Williams, or J Dilla, or Mastadon. One person waited for almost an hour, looking for one particular record. We appeared to be sold out, and they sighed, found a few other items and got in line. It turns out the guy in front of them had the coveted disc they were looking for, and overhearing their dilemma, promptly turned around and handed it over. He had his arms full of other vinyl, and as they jumped up and down in celebration, he grinned big and wide. I thought this was the most touching thing I saw that day, but it was closely rivaled by the 4 year old whose parents decided it was time for him to get his first record; he searched and searched and ultimately landed on The Ramones, an album full of energy and pep and exactly the record a 4 year old should start with, in my mind. For some folks, RSD is the one day of the year that they visit a record shop, and they take to the occasion with the kind of attitude usually reserved for vacations or holiday parties—excitement, revelry and lots of pomp. Record stores are a vital part of any community, and on Record Store Day, the community comes out in full parade mode.
For me, and for the people I work with, every day is a record store day. Every day is a day to celebrate the love of discovering new music and meeting new people who share that passion, or have new bands, new songs and new styles to share. But Record Store Day truly is something special. From humble beginnings- it all started 11 years ago with an idea stemming from Bull Moose Music in Portland, Maine-RSD has become an international phenomenon, with thousands of stores in dozens of countries all participating in the fun. The individuality of the store, the neighborhood and their customers ranges from place to place, but the spirit is the same. If you’re in JP, stop on into Tres Gatos on RSD. Maybe you’ll find something new and exciting; maybe you’ll find something you’ve been looking to buy for years. Maybe you’ll find a friend. At the least, if you’ve never been record shopping before, you should find out what all the fuss is about.
