The Record Store Days Of My Life
The record store holds a deified placemark within the nostalgic memories of the 20th century. Record stores morphed, drastically, into the 21st century; most holding on as long as possible before CD’s gave way to the onslaught of the internet and eventually the roaring rivers of the streaming age belted them into oblivion. But, record stores never totally went away. Some withstood the inevitable, changing times by swaddling themselves in the cast off collections of aging generations and marking up those memories for others who remained eager to adopt them into their vinyl families. Some record stores simply grew from the dreams and lands fertilized by the unrecognizable remains of their predecessors. Now, in 2024, a century after recorded ‘records’ were created, record stores are revived; fully thriving in familiar territories for those of us old enough to remember their original hey days. Dust bins once relegated to irrelevancy in a digital age are now filled, not only with used or ‘pre-loved’ records from days gone by, but by glistening shrink-wrapped and sticker stamped 12 inch x 12 inch squares of beauty: New vinyl record releases. Generations who never knew the original days of record stores are experiencing the feelings associated with donning the doorways of music stores in order to find their favorite artists or a new, undiscovered slab of tunes to take home and play on their quite old technological wonder, the turntable.
My first ‘official’ record store visit was in the early 70’s, the newly launched Mid-State Mall in Salina, KS. Musicland held a spot in the southwest wing of the new, single-level concrete sanctuary that would be home to our 80’s video game addictions, the screenings of most of the films we would see in our ‘coming of age’, my first ‘real’ job at the Karmelkorn shop on the corner of the first turn right in the middle of the mall, and that funky little store by the Baskin-Robbins that always sold incense and mood rings and had ‘grab bags’ with God knows what within them. Prehistoric ‘big box’ stores, Woolco and Montgomery Ward anchored Mid-State Mall on the north and south ends, respectively, and Walgreens (complete with a restaurant attached to it) sat just north of Wards on the south end of the Mid-State neighborhood. There was Southern Comfort Water Beds, which would serve as the employer to two of my brothers at one point. Heck, my brother Jeff practically ran the Endicott Johnson shoe store just south of Southern Comfort. He even had a run at Woolco which resulted in my acquiring of the Evel Knievel Snake River Canyon rocket and R.V. Jeff’s Woolco tenure ended under mysterious circumstances, but he had bigger fish to fry. The Regis hair salon would be the place where I got that 80’s perm for my senior photos. The magazine/tobacco/book shop was the place we would sneak in to see if we could get a look at the latest Penthouse without getting caught. There was a t-shirt shop; the kind that had a huge wall of iron ons a person could choose from like the classic Keep On Truckin’ or my favorite: Makin’ Bacon (the one with two pigs doing the deed). As much as my friends and I threatened getting the Makin’ Bacon shirt over the years, none of us had the balls to actually do it. These were days we would walk to the mall, or ride our bikes with absolutely no locks. Never did we think someone might show up shooting the lights out, and I do not recall every seeing a security guard of any kind. If there was, we probably made fun of them and took off running.
And, Musicland. While I didn’t know it at the time, Musicland was owned by an outfit from Minnesota that would go on to purchase Sam Goody, eventually ending up in the dust pile of most record store chains. Musicland was the place we would go directly to the section with Ohio Players records just so we could see the steamy album covers. We found Dr. John 8-tracks in the discount bin and would buy them just because he looked like a freak. The bland middle-American white radio, AM or FM, didn’t give us any hint of diversity in music. The best we got was whatever artists were fortunate enough to break into the weekly Top 40. Musicland was where we could find the songs that were playing on the radio: “Loco-Motion” Grand Funk’s version, “What A Fool Believes” by The Doobie Brothers, “Seasons In The Son” by Terry Jacks. While I certainly got my fair share of 45 r.p.m. singles down at Montgomery Ward (That’s where I bought AC/DC’s “Back In Black” 45 with “Honey What Do You Do For Money?" on side two), it was Musicland that anchored the original record store experience for me. My first several full length albums were purchased there: Paul McCartney, “McCartney II”, The Knack, “Get The Knack”, Jackson Browne, “Hold Out” and a K-Tel compilation called, “Rock 80”. Musicland is where I purchased U2’s “War”. I remember getting Rush, “Moving Pictures” for $4.99. Also, Kool & The Gang, “Celebrate”: $4.99. The first new release cassette I purchased was Journey’s “Escape”: Musicland. When I began deejaying high school dances, I bought most of my singles from Musicland.
But, Musicland was corporate, and though these delineations were not active in my soul during those times, the independent record store experience would come into my life during my childhood and heavily impact me during late junior high and going into high school.
The House Of Sight & Sound, or simply, Sight & Sound was a historic landmark sitting at the corner of Santa Fe and West Ellsworth in the southern end of the main drag of Salina, Kansas. Nestled just north of Kansas Wesleyan University, it was a ‘tobacco’ and music store that also acted as a ticket outlet and car stereo shop. It was the only shop of its kind in Salina, a town of 40,000 right in the middle of the map of the U.S.A., nestled an hour and a half north of Wichita and a couple hours west of Kansas City. If you have ever been on the stretch of I-70 connecting the eastern half of the U.S. with Colorado, you have driven through Salina. As far as I know, there was nothing like Sight & Sound in either of those bigger towns, Wichita or K.C.. I remember in the early 70’s seeing promotions for shows related to Sight & Sound, especially an area band called ‘Shag Nasty’. The photos of ‘Shag Nasty’ were intriguing, they were hippies. They portrayed everything my less than ten year old generation X self was being told as qualifying for taboo: Long hair, which must mean they murdered people, probably didn’t go to church, and did pills. They definitely smoked. I didn’t need to hear a note of the music to know that I probably would learn more about these mysterious yet intriguing vices, soon. Possibly, I would be converted. The time came for me and my friends, a rite of passage, to don the doors of Sight & Sound. Visitors were greeted with the unmistakable waft of incense, which was the first sales effort that easily succeeded for them. Cones of incense instantly became a staple of my home scent repertoire. Once inside, the wall to the left, set beyond rows of record bins, was covered with the latest releases. These weren’t necessarily ‘Top 40’ releases, but covers from many artists that were new to us. They didn’t have the top ‘singles’ of the days like Musicland. This was something different, alternative. We weren’t seeing Barbara Streisand and Kenny Rogers on the wall at Sight & Sound. An irony not lost upon me was that the main Top 40 radio station, 99.9 KSKG-FM had studios right across the street from Sight & Sound. Just across the street from the behemoth mid-west FM station, there was a little store punching back at the man. Navigating the store meant stumbling upon the first punk records I ever saw. This is where I learned of the Dead Kennedy’s. I discovered 12” singles that were in a blank powder blue jacket with a candy cane label in the center: Grand Master Flash & The Furious Five on Sugar Hill Records. On that main wall was where I first saw Scorpions’ “Blackout”, adorned with the classic Gottfried Helnwein painting of a tortured man with bandaged head and forks ripping at his eyes. It was where Quiet Riot’s “Metal Health” displayed an equally tortured insanity with an iron mask and wrapped in a straight jacket. Do you sense a trend? I saw the first Motley Crue album at Sight & Sound, and also learned of the rock greats released years prior like Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Judas Priest. Sight & Sound was where I bought my first rock t-shirts. Those shirts were of The Beatles and Judas Priest. I wore that Judas Priest shirt to the first gym class of my freshman year of high school. The teacher called me out and told me it was inappropriate. I was definitely on the right track of living up to that Shag Nasty legacy.
Sight & Sound was where my friend Paul bought the first stereo for his car we simply called, “The Shitmobile”. I remember that used cassette deck. He didn’t buy speakers, but Kim (the guy who installed it) hooked up a couple crappy speakers anyway and just kind of tossed them on the back seat.
Then we dared go downstairs. You see, ‘tobacco’ was simply code for being a head shop. Sure, rumors abounded that they sold weed down there, but it was a paraphernalia shop; bongs, papers, smoking accessories. They also had other things down there, nefarious items that were of use to us at that time. Stinkbombs, low grade fireworks (i.e. snap n pops and smoke bombs) and other tools that would be of use to us in completing pranks upon our high school comrades. The sort of activities that would have the SWAT team called immediately these days. The House Of Sight & Sound was sanctuary. It left an indelible mark.
I may not be a historian, but I do have history, and my history is steeped in record stores. This past Saturday marked the 17th official Record Store Day. It is an annual event, begun in 2008, held in April to celebrate independent record stores. As of Saturday, I have attended 16 official Record Store Days, in a row. I have attended Record Store Day events in Memphis, Nashville, Wichita, Charlotte, Portland, Dallas, and my home of Birmingham, Alabama. My experiences have come in the form of stumbling upon punk bands playing in an alley beside Goner Records in Memphis, Steve Earle doing an instore concert in Dallas, picking up what has become one of my most valuable records, Stone Temple Pilots “Core” (Orange vinyl) in Portland, disorganization and assholes in Wichita during 2014, and many pre-sunrise awakenings to drive over to Seasick Records (now in its third different location) in Birmingham to join throngs of folks awaiting the treasure bins inside. Literally, hundreds at times, many camping overnight.
Record Store Day is a necessary holiday to me, higher on the list than many of our traditional holidays. Record Store day is about history, survival, rebirth; reckoning with one’s past and coming to terms with a current that is running so fast that you feel age may be the catalyst to being swept away into cultural nothingness. It can be intimidating standing in line with the very future that will be here when you are gone. There have been years that I brought home enough vinyl that my bank account took a noticeable hit and there have been times like this past Saturday when I brought home one record (It was Pearl Jam’s “Dark Matter”). Most years I have gone solo, but a few times I have gotten to take my daughter along or Shannon, who had the thrill of all the craziness of Record Store Day during our 2015 trip to Texas. She was there when Steve Earle did the show at Good Records that day. The crowds are much bigger now than the few characters drinking PBR tall boys in an alley by Goner Records back in the day. As with any successful venture, things are more organized, larger, word is out.
For me, Record Store Day began the first time I set foot in The House Of Sight & Sound in Salina, KS. The treks of Record Store Day continued out of Salina down to Nashville, TN where Great Escape existed during those languishing days of vinyl when CD’s were beginning to wreak annihilation upon turntables. Great Escape was, and still is, a used and new record store with multiple locations throughout the Nashville area. Grimey’s records came along and became one of the best known indie record stores throughout the country. My patronizing Grimey’s, which included one official Record Store Day event, came at their now gone location on 12th, right off of Wedgewood. They now occupy a former church in East Nashville as their anchor location. I have worshiped at the bins of Shangri-La and Goner Records in Memphis, TN. During a brief 2010 stay in Charlotte, it was Lunch Box Records. And, for years and what I hope to be many more, it is my hometown record shop of Seasick Records here in Birmingham.
The independent record store lives. It thrives. Sure, I don’t have to go ‘downstairs’ at Seasick. There are other places for those things. I do chuckle now and then when I see their Seasick themed ‘spice grinders’ for sale. It takes me back to Sight & Sound and that wonderful basement. Like a tape rewinding 40 years. There are no posters of Shag Nasty, but much better, deeper, wider bills of the vast array of artists traveling the circuits today. The walls, a bit differently arranged than Sight & Sound, offer the releases of the day. The wall directly to the right when you go into the store has the ‘rare’ vinyl for sale. It’s the wall I always look at first, hoping to see a copy of The Cult’s “Ceremony” which hasn’t happened yet. They don’t install car stereos, but there is a barbershop, right in the record store. Yes, I go there and will as long as possible.
I read this morning that people born the year I was, 1965, are the oldest of Generation X. I stood in line on Saturday, at Record Store Day, with many from Generation Alpha, a generation three or four removed from mine. Alphas are experiencing the 2024 version of what I imagine might be comparable to my first visits to Sight & Sound. While music is at the core and the central theme of all the activity and celebration, it is something far more. My hope is that when the crates of records get put away, and sometime way down the line when life has its way of challenging us to reckon with and dance with our past, that these souls just now digging the bins for relatability, something they can hold onto as they are about to go on the ride of their life, will look back with similar fondness as I do to all the Record Store Days of my life.
This story is dedicated to the legacy of The House Of Sight & Sound’s founder, Tom Headlee.
A fitting tribute to Tom Headlee, the founder and owner, from cradle to grave, of the House of Sight and Sound. He and wife Sherry had a major and positive impact on the regional culture; as much from the store offerings as their gentle, kind pace with customers. I worked with Tom and Sherry from the mid 90s to the early 2000s. Both had a profound and lasting impact on their customers. And on me.
Mr. Winchell has most accurately and meaningfully captured a time and place in elegant prose.