I love record stores. In the decade or so that I’ve been collecting vinyl, I’ve spent countless hours digging through dusty crates from Toronto to London to New York to Tokyo, often walking out with a stack of wax under my arm. I love the musty smell, the miles of crates, the music, the paraphernalia, my fingers getting grimy from flipping, and the endorphin rush of finding something cool or rare or new to take home and spin.
Record Store Day has always been the exemplification of that dig culture, only with a bounty of rare and unique finds available for the taking. Or at least that’s the aim. But it’s not always as simple as that, which is why I haven’t been to an RSD in five years … until now.
The glory of RSD
First, though, I wan’t to say that I love what Record Store Day is all about and I support it. I love that it’s a positive community event that draws like-minded music lovers and vinyl nerds from far and wide. I love that it puts money in the pockets of independent record store owners struggling to compete with streaming services and online retail giants — every self-respecting vinyl lover should consider their local store first before launching that sideways-smiling app.
RSD not only offers a sweet reward for fans looking for something special from their favorite artists, but even if you don’t walk out with that limited RSD pressing you stood in line for, maybe you’ll just have a fun time and leave with other titles and goodies under your arm. If you’re new to vinyl, go — it’s a blast.
The heartbreak
But, and how to put this gently — try not to get your hopes too high. Maybe I’m just getting older and less enthusiastic about crowds, but I’ve stood in a few too many rainy RSD lineups at six in the morning and walked away empty-handed to get as excited as I once did.
Let me set the scene: The last RSD I got up early for, I was second in line for my favorite record store’s only copy of Pearl Jam’s RSD exclusive of its MTV Unplugged. OK, so not the rarest of RSD releases, but it was the only record on that year’s list I really wanted. After waiting in the cold (it was a Black Friday RSD, and I live in Toronto) for two hours, which record do you think the one guy in front of me beelined it for? I’ll give you a hint — it wasn’t Taylor Swift, and there isn’t a revenge song in her catalog that could have eased my pain.
I know, I know, with limited copies to go around to each store, the odds are stacked against zealots like me. But that wasn’t the first time that had happened, and even though I walked out of there with some consolation records in tow (I did find a nice used UK pressing of New Order’s Substance), I decided that would be my last Record Store Day.
Never say never
It would take a lot to get me up at the crack of dawn to stand in a RSD queue again (maybe for a sweet Radiohead box set or something — never say never). Plus, there are ways to do Record Store Day right to increase our chances of success. Now, though, my motivations for participating in RSD have more to do with my 13-year-old daughter who, for better or for worse, has picked up her old man’s love for vinyl (having a dad that reviews turntables and speakers for a living has helped, too).
Having seen the RSD release list and all the social media promotion, this year she started asking what the whole thing’s about and told me that she wanted to go. Instead of rehashing the angst over my lost Pearl Jam record (I actually ended up finding it in the leftover RSD bin of a mall Sunrise Records, so…), I found myself actually excited to check it out. My daughter’s enthusiasm reminds me of my own, and bonding over records with her has become one of the joys of my life. For her I’d brave a cold, rainy RSD lineup any day.
