MY CAREER IN RECORD STORES - Part 4

Magnolia Thunderpussy. The name alone was enough to make you want to walk to Columbus backwards on your hands. Just one of many Columbus, Ohio record stores that blossomed on High Street in the '80s, Magnolia's was the centerpiece of many Cincinnati record geeks' road trips to the Buckeye State capital back in the day. Yes, I worked in a record store. But even the riches I had at arm's length in a suburban Cincinnati shopping mall did not include everything a serious collector might desire. My days off and indeed even my lunch breaks were often spent in other record stores around town. Just across the street from the mall was Record & Tape Outlet, whose cut-out bin yielded more Zappa titles than one might expect. That was a regular stop on my lunch break. The Clifton area near the University of Cincinnati had half a dozen record stores at one time or another. Wizard's had the highest profile thanks to their location near Bogart's and an advertising budget the other stores lacked. But both Mole's Record Exchange (the city's oldest and still going strong) and Ozarka Records easily beat the pants off of Wizard's with their funky old world charm and gregarious characters behind the counter.

Record Bar counter area adorned with Rolling Stones Tattoo You display materials circa 1981

In those days all the major labels had local representatives in every city. They would stop by or call the store every week or so. They always had promotional materials for their new releases, posters large and small, buttons, hats, t-shirts, and promo copies of all the latest LPs. Often they'd drop off a stack of tickets to a movie premiere or a concert. Or they might call the store and ask, "Do any of you guys wanna go see Howard Jones at Timberwolf tomorrow night? I can put you on the guest list." None of us gave a fuck about Howard Jones. But you never said no to free tickets to a concert at Timberwolf because they got you into the Kings Island amusement park for a whole day of roller coasters and other thrill rides before the show. Sandy at Polygram. Mike at MCA. These guys were solid gold, down to earth working stiffs just like us who lived for the music and some of them became real friends over the years. My high school friend Bill worked at Record Bar for a hot minute in the heady Hair Metal daze, played drums in my teenage Punk band the Speed Hickeys during our prime, then moved on to a gig with Geffen Records as natural as a game of hopscotch. 1-2-3. Marilyn at CBS was the best. As I recall, we liked many of the same bands from the minute we met. Her aim was true and her taste impeccable. "I'll be in town to see Living Colour next week and I wanna take you guys up to Mount Adams for a burrito before the show because your store has been selling the shit out of that record!" Some years later when I’d moved on to another record store, and then another, Marilyn and I remained friends. Her office was in Cleveland, I think, but she got down to Cincinnati quite a lot and never let me miss out on a promising new artist. G. Love & Special Sauce at Sudsy Malone’s on their very first tour comes to mind. Maybe 20 people in the bar when they started their first set but we all called up friends in the neighborhood to say, “Get up here! You gotta see this band!” No exaggeration, there was well over a hundred people in the club by the end of the show. Thanks to Marilyn, I also caught Jeff Buckley at Sudsy’s. That dude was some kind of shaman. Had the whole place under a spell. I had only the briefest exchange with Jeff that night when Marilyn introduced us, but our paths would cross again a couple years later, in yet another record store.

Having a working relationship with label reps all over the country kept us informed on upcoming releases and tour dates. This was years before the internet when that kind of info was scarce. Many touring bands would skip Cincinnati altogether. It still happens a lot, frankly. I took countless road trips in those days to catch concerts in Louisville, Lexington, Indianapolis, Dayton, Columbus and sometimes as far as Cleveland or Nashville. Sometimes a label rep would call you directly. “Hey Ric! You’re a KISS fan, right? Do you wanna see them in Columbus or Dayton or both?” Working for minimum wage, all of us to a man driving smoke-belching lemons on their last legs. But we were the boots on the ground where these artists’ records were selling (or not!) based on our relationships with regular customers. Label reps knew us counter jockeys and concert junkies were the gas that made the whole engine run. A rough looking bunch, unshaven, hungover and drinking in the afternoons, often sneaking a joint on lunch break. There was one place where we were treated like royalty and that was at the will call window. It’s not bragging. It was one of the very few perks of that lifestyle. If the Red Hot Chili Peppers' new album was selling like crazy at your store, the label reps knew it was largely due to the guys and gals at the store blasting the record day in and day out, turning countless customers into fans and believers with a sales pitch glowing with genuine enthusiasm. So you got into the show for free 99% of the time. Occasional drink tickets too. Many of us wax nostalgic about our teenage years. In my case I was blessed with the opportunity to attend some of the most memorable concerts of my entire life between the years of 1984 and 1988 when I was working at Record Bar: Prince, The Cramps, Iron Maiden, Stevie Ray Vaughan, The Ramones, Bob Dylan, Motorhead, Fishbone, Iggy Pop, The Replacements, U2, Ace Frehley, Oingo Boingo, Jonathan Richman and many more. Just being in the company of the elder statesmen and -women of record retail on a daily basis was a priceless education. Looking back on those days I wonder: How do you thank someone for turning you on to the music of Robert Johnson, Roky Erickson, or The Sonics? It's life- changing stuff.