RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition. He does have an amazing PATREON, but also *normal* ARTIST WEBSITE too.

Friday, May 19

SONG OF THE DAY: I Know You Got Soul (kudzu'd)

I had the chance to wander into Piedmont North Carolina, and do a little record digging last weekend. I really miss the earlier heyday of record stores, before compact discs and digital realm killed them off, because the bulk of stores that have popped up afterwards are missing a certain level of joy, not only of discovery but just general demeanor. Many of the new school record stores seem like vanity boutique shops for somebody not dependent upon their success to maintain wealth, so it’s more of a “look at all that I’ve curated!” vibe than actual joy. Those types tend to be very dismissive if you want for anything that’s not in their wheelhouse, and they also tend to be pretty commonly expensive, as are a majority of boutique small businesses, because the owners’ tend to have an inflated sense of their need in the community, as well as an entitlement to support because they’re so damned proud of their weird little curation of some random physical ass shit in late capitalist America.
But really, the main thing is the joy. Too many record stores have miserable operators who get mad at the dumbest shit, even if you’re like, “Damn, this is expensive.” There’s no joy. I mean, much less the missing bins of shit nobody ever felt like going through and pricing according to globalist internet rates, where you have the actual joy of random discovery of either new to you shit you never knew about but looked cool, or finding things you know are amazing but nobody in charge of pricing had any clue. Just the actual joy of someone who loves the fun of music, and has ideas of what you might dig from what you bring up, and there’s a section where more of it might be for you to fuck around in. Too many of today’s record stores and dealers are so fucking white… sterilized of joy and with miserable anger just waiting to pop out at any perceived indignation. It fucking sucks.
Luckily, at a record show I went to last month, and a couple spots I found last weekend, there’s still joy to be found, as there always will be. The miserable tend to be mapped out well online, and have strong social media presences, because they know how to manipulate an algorithm and live in the world of technologically connected. But there’s still plenty of cracks in the digital map and spots you’ll only find out about by word of mouth or random ass chance. And the other great thing is good people who recognize and love good spots know not to tell random assholes about those spots, or else they get ruined. So if you know a good spot, don’t tell me… I’m confident if I’m living right and meant to see it, the Universe will guide me towards finding it on my own.
On the other side of things, if a bunch of people who seem sorta like assholes tell you how great a record store is, trust your lounge intuition and don’t waste your time at that spot, unless you’ve got a colored vinyl fetish. Those spots are chock full of colored vinyl options.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This speaks to me, because you have so accurately described the record store in my town (and more importantly its owners)