My recent acquisition of an iPod Nano has officially turned me
into an anti-social music-monger. With my headphones in my ears and
my eyes on the pavement in front of me, I can completely block out
the world and meander from class to class, creating my own personal
soundtrack as I go. I am willing to admit that this addiction to
easily downloadable and increasingly portable music is, in many
ways, responsible for my recent lack of sociability; I just never
realized that I might be partially responsible for the collective
death of the independently owned music store.
For the most part, all the music I own (legally or otherwise)
has been obtained through the Internet. I plunder and pillage my
way across the information superhighway like some sort of digital
bandito. On the rare occasion that I can’t find some obscure
title for immediate download, I can just log onto Amazon.com and
have it sent directly to my house for a relatively fair price.
Let’s face it people, the days of digging through dusty
record crates for that used Lynyrd Skynyrd LP are long gone, and
along with them the indie record stores of yore are fading away to
the land of 8-tracks.
The last few years have been rough for the music industry in
general, and Los Angeles has lost many of its independently owned
music stores in the online music explosion, as well as to the
corporate mega-store.
Among the most recent casualties is Rhino Records, the iconic
Westwood Boulevard music shop that shut its doors to the public on
Thursday after over 30 years in business. Its lease had expired,
and with the current decline in album sales, the retail location
became uneconomical.
Rhino Records founder Richard Foos has been effectively selling
records since 1973 and the closure of the Westwood store is
certainly a sad end to the independent-record-store legacy of which
Rhino Records was a major part.
Still, this closure was not altogether unexpected. The
incredible popularity of music downloading services like iTunes
have given music retailers a serious run for their money.
Furthermore, music mega-stores like Tower Records and Best Buy can
often offer better deals and a wider selection than the smaller mom
and pop operations. Even Starbucks has gotten into the music biz by
placing carefully selected CDs next to its cash registers for
impulse buyers ““ a cup of coffee and a new CD makes for quite
an enjoyable commute.
With all these convenient options for the consumer, it’s
easy to see why the indie record stores are being forced to close
their doors.
Of course, Rhino Records is not the only victim of these
industry changes. Los Angeles has seen many closures recently. In
November, Aron’s Records had to close down after 40 years of
service in the L.A. area. Closer to home, Westwood’s Penny
Lane shut down after doing business with the UCLA community for 18
years. They simply couldn’t compete with the larger chain
stores’ pricing, and noted that music purchases had been in a
slump due to an increase in online downloads. In previous years,
Westwood has lost many of its music retailers, including a Tower
Records store and two unsuccessful stores in Ackerman Union.
One juggernaut in the world of the independently owned music
stores is Amoeba Music, the largest indie record store in the
country . With thriving locations in San Francisco, Berkeley and
Hollywood, Amoeba is putting smaller shops out of business all over
California.
While many of the small, independently owned shops in Los
Angeles are closing, the larger stores ““ independent or not
““ are able to stay in business, at least for the moment. The
recent closures of Rhino and Aron’s seem to reflect a new
direction that consumers are forcing music retailers to take.
Consumers demand convenience and prefer the simplicity of a
one”“stop media shop such as Borders or Best Buy to the quirky
eccentricity of an indie shop like Rhino. This seems to be the
unfortunate consequence of the digital age we live in.
In a world where music piracy runs rampant, and legal
downloading is dominating the market, the friendly local record
store of yesteryear is teetering on the edge of extinction. The
physical marketplace is taking a backseat to the digital one and
through this change, we are losing the funky gems of music retail
that got us excited about music in the first place.
I have to realize that my iPod with its four gigs of digital
spoils is a big part of the reason why my beloved local record shop
is now closed down. In truth, I rarely went into Rhino, but when I
did, I was sure to have a good time. I’d dig through stacks
of CDs by bands I’d never heard of, and I’d check out
the kitschy trinkets for sale in glass cases. I’d think about
buying one of the vintage arcade games they had in the back and if
they weren’t too busy, I’d chat about music with the
staff.
My new source for music is less personable and far less
exciting. I can try to smile and chat up my computer screen, but it
only responds with a dull blue glow and a slowly crawling
download-bar.
Bombard Deitchman with your own tales of record store
nostalgia at jdeitchman@media.ucla.edu.
Send general comments to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.