I went to the Princeton Record Exchange today at lunch, though I probably could have gotten the the Charlie Brown DVD by the register and Starbucks and gotten a good solid cup of coffee too. My thinking was to patronize a local establishment, and deny Amazon some portion of my media wallet share.
As I strolled through the shop, I passed records of days gone by: the Descendents, Dinosaur Jr. It was dim and dusty. Ornette Coleman was a blaring. The black clad staff were a glaring. Especially the guy who still looks like he's still cheesed off for not getting cast in Spinal Tap. Time had stopped, just like it does in some diners, but in a different place.
And I found myself thinking: are indie record stores valuable archives of musical diversity, great centers of resistence to relentless corporatization, or are they just mouldering relics of a great moment in cultural history which has passed?
nb. Got the Peanuts. Natalie has taken to track 8, the wonderfully naive "Hark the Herald Angels Sing."
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