In Memory of Scarcity

[John P. Strohm]

Since my work directly involves delivery/distribution of music to listeners, I've given a great deal of thought over the past several years to the way things have changed and are continuing to change. We're quickly moving towards a new reality where all existing recorded music is available to everyone all the time, which has been more or less inevitable since the distribution of music via the Internet became possible. There are many issues that need to be resolved, such as compulsory licensing scenarios, how to charge consumers, and how to pay rightsholders; however, the bottom line is that this new access will be wonderful for music fans.

I woke up this morning with a burning desire to hear Double Nickels on the Dime by the Minutemen. I have the vinyl somewhere, maybe in the attic. Is it on my iPod? Nope, or rather just History Lesson Part II. I wanted to hear the whole album! Do I fire up the computer and purchase it from iTunes for $9.99? Nah, too much effort, and (ahem) ten bucks is a lot for an album these days, right? Do I go to Pirate Bay and find a torrent? No, of course not; I'm a copyright lawyer (but I do know that's an option). The point is that I could hear it without leaving the house if I wanted to take the time and/or spend the money. Nevertheless, in the very near future, it will just be a matter of picking up my phone, opening a web page, and typing in a search. And it will be legal and I'll have paid for it without feeling the slightest twinge of pain. And that is awesome.

But the changes that have led to this incredible new scenario (which is a full-blown reality in Europe thanks to Spotify) have me waxing nostalgic about how I used to consume music. I've been a music lover since early childhood, but the first time I became really excited about music - my music - was the American hardcore explosion in the early 80s. My friends and I became completely obsessed with sub-underground records - music that existed almost completely off the mass-meida grid.

Being in the middle of nowhere culturally, we found out about bands in two basic ways: by word of mouth and through photocopied fanzines. If someone in the "scene" (an extended group of twenty or thirty like-minded friends) managed to procure a coveted piece of vinyl, they dubbed cassettes for the rest of us. Of course we would have happily purchased the records with our allowances - if we could find them. But the cool record stores in town featured "punk" according to middle-aged (i.e. over twenty) sensibilities - lots of British punk, Iggy, a few popular hardcore titles such as the Dead Kennedys or Black Flag. We wanted to dig deeper.

I remember first reading about Minor Threat in 1982. Practically every 'zine I read proclaimed them the Best Hardcore Band on Earth, but I literally couldn't get my hands on a record, and therefore I couldn't hear a note. It sure as shit wasn't on the radio! By the time I received my mail-ordered copy of Out of Step and dropped the needle for the first time, my stenciled Minor Threat logo on my home-made T-shirt had already begun to fade. I'd never heard them, but I knew they were awesome. And guess what? They were awesome. Hearing that music for the first time was exciting beyond description.

By the time I began to lose interest in hardcore in favor of other, more obscure music, I'd gathered a collection of probably fifty or sixty hardcore albums on vinyl and a few dozen seven-inches. But I listened to many of those records obsessively. I felt enormous excitement in obtaining the records, and crushing disappointment when they did not live up to my expectations. The point is I ascribed enormous value to those recordings in part because they were difficult to obtain. My excitement and enthusiasm resulted at least in part from scarcity.

So, access to all music all the time? Kids won't have those sorts of experiences any more. That's a good thing for sure, but the danger is that it makes recorded music seem less significant - more disposable. Music will continue to drive the culture and it will continue to be enormously important to people, but I'm a little nervous how all the lack of scarcity will affect people's attitudes towards music and the way they listen.

[Bill Zink]

I checked out Landlocked when I was in Bloomington last year, and it's a great place. We have a couple good ones here - Ear X tacy and Underground Sounds . . . though I do believe Landlocked would have liberated even more money from my wallet, given their extensive selection of Family Vineyard titles.

[John P. Strohm]

Yeah, my town's lame for record stores. BUT speaking of double nickels, Amazon has it this month (download) for $5!

[Jeb Banner]

I agree with you on that Finn. Whenever I visit Chicago I leave at least 2-300 lighter in the wallet!
I've been really impressed with the stores in Hyde Park on recent visits. Scored some rare Camper Van Beethoven records for very fair prices. Also picked up a nice copy of "Come Together" by Ike and Tina there for $5. Probably one of the best records one can ever have, seriously, their best work hands down and pretty rare/never reissued. Check out "Contact High", Vess did a great cover and you can hear it on the Hoti page (very lo-fi)
http://www.musicalfamilytree.com/band/hoti

[steve schmidt]

Visit any college town here in the Northeast (except New Haven, sadly) and you'll find at least one record store. Amherst, Northampton, Cambridge (many!), Princeton, Saratoga Springs. Most are great for vinyl as well.

[FinnSwingley]

You would not believe how many (apparently solvent) record stores there are in Chicago. It's out of control. This has to be one of the best markets (for vinyl anyway) in the country.

[John P. Strohm]

Good to hear. I always look in at Grimey's in Nashville when I'm there. Your "cool" towns can support one or two good ones - that's enough.

[Jeb Banner]

I think the Record Store is making a real comeback. Visit Luna or Indy CD Vinyl here in Indy or TDs LPs and CDs and Landlocked in Bton and I think you see that the old school record store is alive and well!

[John P. Strohm]

I have the fondest of memories about Duroc, but Karma was really *my* store during the 70s and very early 80s - plus I used to buy a shit-ton of used vinyl at Ozarka. Ozarka had a dollar section for slightly damaged (or just plain sucky) LPs, and the section was huge - several thouasand at any given time. I used to go through that once a week or so looking for that rare quality record that wasn't too fucked. I would try stuff I didn't know out of that bin, since it was just a buck (there's a lesson there for the industry, btw). That's how I discovered the Buzzcocks and the Contortions, among others.

My typical Saturday during 5th - 8th grade had me walking downtown and hitting all the stores (but rarely buying anything). Schoolkids must have closed around '77, because that was where my dad would take me when I was really little - to get Kiss albums and stuff. Karma was great because the guys who worked there recognized me as a budding music obsessive, and they would save the old displays for me to take home. At one point around '79 I had my room all tricked out with Van Halen II swag - including a massive stand-up thing, all thanks to Karma. Just think what that would fetch on ebay at this point!

It's another, related speil (and possibly one I've already done), but I am so sad for the demise of the record store. They were so special and significant to me during my early life.

[mike whybark]

I got one more Karma thing: there was a Karma in downtown Lafayette in the early 70s. It was right next to a restaurant my family ate at fairly often. It being the early seventies, there were floor-spinner racks of underground comics (Freak Brothers, et al). I would go in and read these fine samples of American literature while we waited to go into the restaurant. Sine we moved to Bloomington when I was ten, my recollections of this must mean I was eight or nine. I would love to know what I made of that stuff at the time.

[Jeb Banner]

Bill- I worked at the Karma above Dagwoods in Bton for about a year c.1995. I have to say by the time I got there the owner and manager had completely removed any trace of the early blues of post hard core stuff. Too bad but the store had pretty much turned into Smashing Pumpkins Central/Everything Grateful Dead/Head Shop by the time I arrived.