2008-03-26 - 7:14 p.m.
I�m writing this for my book, but I�m not sure I want to use it. Let me know what you think of it. My guestbook is down, so please email me directly with the button on the left. Here it is:
The neighborhood of the West Fenway did seem quite wonderful to me. It was like my call for the most underappreciated area in Boston. All the residences were low-rise apartment buildings like ours. But there was also a lot of commercial stuff mixed in. There were a bunch of restaurants around, including a really good Thai one right around the corner that Artemisia and I used to go to sometimes on �date night�.
There was a supermarket a few blocks away and a convenience store and a coffee shop and even a local elementary school. Everything you�d need in a live-able community. There were a few businesses around the block from us, including a store called �The King of Records�. I noticed that despite the name they always seemed to have piles of used furniture out front. Hmm.
But I nonetheless got very excited, figuring they still must be a record store at heart. I had never really indulged in the fetishization of vinyl and the amassing of a huge LP collection, like many of my fellow radio DJs and music geeks. But maybe now would be a good time to start, being so close to a source. When I went in after a few weeks of living nearby however, how very wrong my assumption turned out to be.
On entering, I was disappointed to find that they actually had no records, just a handful of compact discs. The interior was largely unfinished and was full of dusty second-hand goods. Apparently, if you wanted to outfit your home with shag rugs and mauve Leatherette furniture, this was the place for you. I shook my head and flipped through the small number of actual CDs, gracefully ensconced in a shoebox.
�Can I help you find something?� asked the middle-aged guy working the cash register.
I shook my head. �Not really. Although I guess I actually am wondering why this place is called �The King of Records� when you don�t have any vinyl records, only a few CDs.�
�Oh, well I own this store. For years I used to work at this music place in Cambridge. Loony Tunes, have you heard of it?�
I nodded. That store was near Harvard Square, only a few blocks from my old radio station. I remember I used to go there sometimes to sell albums the station had gotten in promotional copies of in the mail and we didn�t want. From my recollection, they never gave us a good price for stuff and we eventually only sold music there as a last resort when the half-dozen or so other music stores nearby had passed up on buying certain material.
�Well, I live near here now,� said the proprietor. �I opened this store as a sort of semi-retirement gig.�
�Okay. So why is it called �The King of Records� if there aren�t any?� I asked. Then I realized that, in his mind, this man was the King of Records. Shit, I really didn�t need to hear him expound on that. �Wait, never mind...�
I went back to browsing the box of CDs. Hmm, I saw one from a band a guy I vaguely knew had been in. They weren�t bad, as I recalled. There were far worse things I could spend the few dollars this was priced at on. I brought it up to the counter.
�I�ll take this one, please.�
The owner scrutinized the album. �Is this a Boston band?�
�Yeah, I was actually friends with one of the guys in it. He used to also DJ at the radio station where I spun.�
�Oh,� he said disappointedly. �I should have recognized it as local. I could have marked up the price some.�
As I handed over the money to buy it, I thought of how sad his comment made me. This was a man who used to work in a pop record shop, presumably because he loved rock and thought of himself as the King of Records. Now he was fretting that he could have gotten a few more dollars from a sale. Apparently, being a store owner had sapped all the joy in music out of his life.
I shook my head sadly and left. Before I went home to play the CD, I wanted to get a coffee at the place next door. Hopefully, the King of Records did that regularly. Because if you can no longer take pleasure in music, you should at least be able to enjoy caffeine�
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