Record Store Day: A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again

On Friday, April 18^th, The Electric Fetus—that “iconic” record store in Minneapolis—tweeted that people were already lining up for the next day, Saturday, April 19^th. Record Store Day.

I thought to myself, “Who would camp out in front of a record store, overnight? Don’t those people have families? Or lives?”

But then I realized that people who would camp out in front of a record store probably don’t have a family, or a life.

Last year, around this time, I wrote a thinkpiece on why I couldn’t get excited about Record Store Day—the annual holiday of sorts that occurs roughly the same weekend in April. In the wake of that, upon the arrival of this year’s festivities, I saw many more pieces online discussing the merit of the day, and if it’s worth it—specifically if the small, independent stores it is meant to benefit, can even financially handle the burden of buying into the merchandise, and more importantly, being able to unload it.

2014 marks the seventh year for RSD, and in trying to think back, I am having a difficult time remembering why I never tried going in the early years, back when I was much younger, did not have as crippling of anxiety, and maybe would have had a good time. I think part of the reason I didn’t go was because my wife was not interested in going; another reason being it would involve spending money (on records) that my wife didn’t want me spending (and bringing more of into the house.)

It also had to deal with location—we live roughly 45 minutes south of the Twin Cities, so it is kind of a hike to get up there for something like this.

In more recent years, it had to do more with the fact that I can’t handle crowds very well, and also, I just don’t care that much. I like records (obviously, from this blog) and I like supporting record stores. Why do that more than just once a year? Why go and wait in a line to try to get that one copy of some limited edition “Record Store Day Exclusive” LP, marked up to $40? As tempting as some of the special releases are, I know that deep down, my life will go on just fine without them.

This year, I found myself in an interesting position on Record Store Day. My wife went to Wisconsin to visit a friend of hers, and since my rabbits demand silence in the house during the daytime hours, I needed something to do.

Hymie’s Vintage Records is located on Lake Street in Minneapolis. The neighborhood that surrounds it is interesting because it’s one of the many half-gentrified, half-dodgy parts of the Twin Cities area. Across the street from Hymie’s is a brand new, very fancy grocery store, but also next to Hymie’s is a liquor store, where a woman without teeth asked me for spare change as I walked by.

I had been to Hymie’s once before, two years ago, to see the shoegaze band Brief Candles play an in-store set. The store itself has a charming dog, named Irene, that just chills out there, and it is really a “record” store. There’s the assortment of old cassette tapes, collecting dust on a wall shelf, and aside from releases by local artists, there are no CDs to be found anywhere. Just vinyl.

And while at a marquee name store like the Fetus, you have to queue up, can only buy 12(!) RSD releases, and only get a certain amount of time to browse them—a place like Hymie’s is a bit of a free for all.

I guess I didn’t know what to expect. I mean, they close off a street, and have bands playing outside, so my thinking that there would not be a gigantic mass of people was just wishful thinking on my part.

While a store like the Fetus, with its losers lined up overnight, opens at 9a, Hymie’s opens at 11. I arrived shortly after, and found it nearly impossible to maneuver around in the shop. I was paralyzed as I looked around and saw all of the people, flipping through the endless racks of vinyl, hoping to score that one thing they left their house for. There was a moment when I thought to myself, “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

But I did drive an hour to get here, so maybe I should try to look around?

Where do you begin, though, with the looking around, when there is a literal ocean of people that you are trying to swim through? Many of them clad in black leather jackets, or glasses similar to my own. Most of the men had some form of facial hair. These are supposed to be “my people”—men, who are my age, who are me.

Every year, the promoters behind Record Store Day make a big deal of releasing the list of the releases that will be available. And every year, there’s like, one or two things that I am like, “Oh that would be cool. Well I’m probably not going to go to that so I’ll just probably continue living my life without it.” This year, a vinyl reissue of Mark Mulcahy’s debut solo LP Fathering, limited to 1,000 copies, and the Songs: Ohia 7” singles boxed set Journey On, were the two releases that I wouldn’t have minded picking up.

The gamble with Record Store Day is that your store may not get what you want—in the case of Mulcahy’s Fathering, what 1,000 stores were lucky to get one copy? Hymie’s didn’t appear to have it, nor did they have Journey On, leaving me wondering if within the first twenty minutes the store was open, some die hard Jason Molina fans descended and bought what few copies they may have had.

Or maybe they were there, right under my nose, and I was too flummoxed by the constant stream of other shoppers around me to notice.

Some people lucked out better than I did. I kept seeing a mother and her daughter walking past me, making sure to say, “Excuse me,” each time, both of them clutching quite a few records, one of which happened to be Ice-T’s Greatest Hits. The daughter of this duo was also holding on to two hand written lists of what records to look for today—like this was akin to going grocery shopping for her and her mother.

I did not leave the store empty handed, however. After futilely browsing at records, I found a Hymie’s t-shirt with Irene the dog’s likeness on it—I had spotted it on their Facebook page a few weeks ago, and was glad they still had a few left in stock. Buying one $10 t-shirt on Record Store Day was a tad perplexing to the young women ringing people up at the cash register, however.

 Like many things in life, Record Store Day certainly started out as a good idea. I stop short of saying it’s become “too commercial” just because that sounds like a ridiculous thing to say, but the idea of supporting small businesses that are still selling physical media has gotten lost along the way, and now we’re left with things like a vinyl reissue of Collision Course by Jay Z and Linkin Park. I’m not kidding. This was a special release for Record Store Day. And I have no idea who the person is that needs an inessential and forgettable album like that on 180 gram vinyl, and probably paid $35 for it.

A literal sound investment.

I’m sure by now, the records that someone waited in line to procure have either: put up on Ebay for double or triple the actual cost; filed away, never to be listened to because the value will decrease as soon as the shrink wrap is broken; or, never to be listened to, because the person who bought them doesn’t own a turntable. This is a real thing that happens.

As long as people keep showing up to buy $140 LCD Soundsystem boxed sets, and as long as small businesses continue to fork over the capital to bring these records in with the hopes that they can move them, Record Store Day will continue to be a thing. Next year, I’m sure the list of “exclusive” releases will grow even longer. And unless some kind of black magic occurs between now and next April, I doubt that I will be in a better place, capable of giving a shit about much, especially this.