Death Of A Salesman

I learned about music in a variety of ways.

The earliest and most obvious source was my father. He was a drummer and is into music from a creative standpoint. He understands changes, rhythm, tempo and everything else that goes into the blueprint of a song. Over countless afternoons and evenings of sitting in a soundproof room watching him bang the drums and explain when things happen and why they happen I slowly learned the vital parts of music. My father was the guy who would challenge me to guess the band on the radio after one lick... when I was five! He knows just about everything there is to know about 50s, 60s & 70s rock music. I remember him handing me Zeppelin's 2nd album when I was about thirteen saying, "Just go listen to it". That was his response to my question of what the best song on the album was. I intended to play that one song and chuck it under the bed. What better way is there to answer the question of what song to listen to on Zep II than to say, "Just go listen to it"? Oh, I listened to it. I stared at the album cover and listened to it until I knew every single sound on the record. My dad had other things too like "Swlabr" by Cream and "First I Look At the Purse" by the J. Geils Band ...

The next source of inspiration was my closest brother in age. He's nine years older than me. Some of my earliest memories are of flipping through his records in his room in the basement. He had things like The Psychedelic Furs, XTC, The Smiths and R.E.M. I used to just stare at the wild names and weird cover art wondering what they must have sounded like. When I got a bit older, his records moved into my room and the sounds of "Killing An Arab" could be heard from my room at any given hour of any given day. I was ten!

For several consecutive years during middle school he bought me new independent and underground music, which he called Progressive. The first thing he bought me was Smashing Pumpkins first album Gish. Say what you want about The Pumpkins these days, but when I first turned on that album it went from medium volume to full blast in a matter of milliseconds. "I Am One" starts in one ear and moves to the other then literally tears the skin off your face if you stand close enough to the speaker. It's arty, yet abrasive!

The other source is extremely important and one that has many faces and incarnations. It does not have one name. It does not live in one place. Depending on what part of the country you're from, It may know certain bands and not others. The one constant is that It has been there for me. It understands me. It will never leave me. This was something I used to know.

However, these days the places that were once my homes-away-from-home are all but gone. The ones that still remain are compromised to the point of ineffectiveness. Today, we're witnessing the slow, painful death of the independent music shops of North America.

For me, it's like losing a family member. A trusted, dependable, reliable source of inspiration, information, hope and glee. A place where I always felt comfortable whether I spoke to anyone else that was sharing that special space with me or not. A place where I could talk about things that mattered to me with people who, whether they agreed or not, would have a sensible discussion about it and provide useful commentary. A place where I actually wanted to speak to the salesperson.

I have come to associate the livability of a city by the access to eclectic music shops. I have been looking all over the country for the previous fifteen years for the perfect music shop. Or, at the very least, the city with the most near misses.

Upon visiting Portland, Oregon I could literally feel the music in the air. Upon moving here, I went straight to the yellow pages and tore out page 309 (Compact discs, tapes, records). One by one, I walked to the music shops listed. By the 2nd one, I was blown away! I had bought about eleven new cd's and decided that I'd had to have spent too much money. I went home and began drooling over the history yet to be learned that was now scattered all around me. I picked up a random album, carefully detached it from its plastic prongs and pushed play.

It wasn't until a few hours later that I realized I'd only spent about $40. $40 on eleven cd's! This wasn't just one-hit-wonder garbage! These were classic albums of significant historical importance. By the end of the week, I'd hit these two shops separately about twice each. When I decided I needed to begin to wean myself of of them, I asked the guy at the cash register why he sold tunes so cheap and he said, "Music is too important to be too expensive."

I heard that! I just hope the folks who make it can continue eating as our world goes digital. Technology has changed the nature of music and the nature of the music business. In some ways, it's enhanced it. In some ways, it's improved it. In some ways, it's marginalized it. In some ways, it's sucked the life out of it.

There's something to be said about learning about music from grungy, smoky old stores in crumbling buildings on the wrong side of town with odd pasty clerks who act like they wrote every seminal song in musical history. Because, in some ways... they did! Those types of folks have been instrumental in the success of the music industry and in many ways were the music industry.

The loss of independent music shops means the end of a unique type of storytelling that our country is famous for. Half of the music recorded prior to WWII was essentially American and British folklore being passed from one generation to the next. When it ceases to be recorded, it fades from view. This current path signals a new turning point in the constantly changing American cultural fabric.

As online shopping grows cheaper and becomes the knee-jerk reaction for retail needs, these special institutions - in many cases they really are institutions - begin to fade from the American landscape. Technology has its place and sometimes is quite cool, but I hope we can manage to hang onto the places that made us what we are.

I learned as much about our culture & history from independent music shops as I did from books. As they close their doors from coast to coast, a chapter in American history closes with them. I will be there to the end doing my part to keep a treasured American pastime functioning as best it can. This is an ode to the independent spirit of the musicians, fans and historians that have been haunting the creaky, dusty, rooms of these great shops for decades. Here's to having a place to haunt for decades to come!