A Death In The Family: Mourning The Loss of Record Castle

written by Jackson Brody

Whenever the diligent hard-working writers here at Indigo Retina's Site O' Stuff had a hard week at the office or weren't getting along especially well with their emotionally distant wives and judgmental, scarily precocious children, they knew some socializin' would certainly bring back their lost smiles. Since Fuv, Indigo, Odephius and I aren't the party animals you might expect us to be, our social options were usually pretty limited. On the few occasions we weren't in the mood to race our yachts, heckle an opera, or have our servants fight to the death, we typically fell back on the old standby: a visit to our local musty record store, the appropriately named Record Castle.

To those readers who have never experienced the transcendent wonder of visiting Record Castle, I shall attempt to describe it to you. Nestled between a vacuum store and a barbershop called Classic Cuts, the exterior of Record Castle was noble yet unpretentious. A sign hung over the door, usually advertising a sale or paying tribute to whatever rock icon had died that week. As you enter the humble shop, immediately to your left and right are what was commonly referred to as the "budget bins." Although the contents of these boxes never cost more than a dollar or two, there were untold treasures lurking in there. Filled to the brim with really cheap vinyl records, we all spent untold hours greedily shuffling through the box looking for great finds. Most of our record recollections grew quite fat off the budget bins, especially Fuv's.

The walls past the budget bins were lined with discount CDs. Although the discounts CDs in $.99-$5 price range were mostly unsellable crap (there was a wide selection of Freddy Got Fingered soundtracks), there were excellent CDs in the $6-$10 price range. The prices were so low and the selection was so great that I'm sure that the corporate fat cats of the music industry would have had this place shut down if they ever found out. Towards the back of the store was vinyl country. Endless amounts of classic records filled the shelves, harkening back to the days when rock was still king and mindless rap had not yet taken over the radio airwaves. Those shelves were a haven for those who never made the transition from records to CDs. A friend of mine was able to collect all of the Beatles' albums on vinyl, and I doubt he ever could have if not for the amicable presence of Record Castle.

Almost as colorful as the music selection at Record Castle were the kindly shopkeepers who worked there. The king of this "Castle" was the friendly and lively Barry. Record Castle was Barry's baby, and I sincerely doubt he could ever love another human being as much he loved the store. Despite his enthusiasm, Barry was a very guarded person. Even though we made semi-regular visits to the store, he never invited us to see "the back room" of the store as he often did with preferred customers. He was not a man of impressive stature, and my sharpest recollection of him is hunched over at the cash register. He probably had a large mane of long black hair in his younger days, but his receding hairline forced him to cut it short. Barry gave hope to all the music fans out there who still believed in the power of vinyl.

When we first started visiting Record Castle, the only other clerk we saw besides Barry was "Medical Scrubs Guy," who had a scruffy beard and looked more like an escaped mental patient than anything else. During my last few visits, I never saw Medical Scrubs Guy but I often recall my fondest memory of him. One sweltering day in August, Fuv, Odephius, and I were innocently browsing the racks when he approached us and said "Hey guys, do you want some free records?" He then led us to the side of the building where we found approximately 400 records stuffed into brown shopping bags. We giddily took every single one, and trekked back to Odephius' house in nearly 100 degree weather carrying more records than we knew what to do with. We ended up giving about half of them to a security guard at Acme (DJ by night) who was incredibly impressed with our haul ("You're killing me, you're killing me"). After the records were divvied up, we only ended up with a few good ones each, and my personal favorite was the soundtrack to Frank Sinatra's Pal Joey.

Even though there are no hilarious anecdotes to attach to him, I might as well mention the guy we affectionately referred to as the "Red-Haired Fat Guy Who Sweats Regardless of the Temperature." As I write it out for the first time, it occurs to me that his nickname may seem a little cold-hearted but I can't for the life of me think of any other way to describe him. Seriously, one day last September when we were in the store it was so cold that my nipples were so hard that they could have poked someone's day out and there was Red-Headed Fat Guy, sweatin' bullets. Despite his humorous appearance, I wish that guy infinite luck in whatever path he chooses to take in life (although I hope he doesn't pass out along the way. that's horrible, I wonder what circle of Hell I'll end up in).

The Robin to Barry's Batman was a mysterious boy we identified simply as "the Metal Kid." Little is known of the Metal Kid. He couldn't have been more than 17 or 18, but there was some spark inside him led Barry to offer him not only friendship, but a job as a clerk. From snippets of conversation I picked up between him and Barry, I learned that the Metal Kid had a strained relationship with his mother, which prohibited him from attending the many musical festivals Barry invited him to. During the past year, we all witnessed the Metal Kid grow up from a reckless teen in an Ozzy shirt into a respectable young gentleman wearing a collared shirt and vest. The transformation was remarkable, and so were his manners.

If my article so far has intrigued you and convinced you of the absolute fantasticalness of Record Castle, I must sadly inform you that your excitement is in vain. Record Castle closed its doors forever on July 23, 2003. I grew worried this summer when Barry started advertising 40% off sales, and my suspicions were confirmed during one of our next visits. The store would soon close, and we were unclear whether it would resurface at another location. The store's closing was made more painful by the news that it would be replaced by a cell phone store. If humanity isn't careful, this planet is going to overrun with Starbucks and cell phone stores sometime in the next decade ("Can't talk to you on my new cell phone now, I'm drinking COFFEE!!!"). We don't know whether Record Castle closed because Barry wanted to start a new chapter in his life, if he was under pressure from Corporate Fat Cats, or if it was part of some sort of elaborate plan to symbolically represent the end of our adolescence.

Jonas Salk contemplates
the loss of Record Castle...
through science!

Whatever the reason behind the store closing is, never again shall the four of us hang out at Record Castle, have supper at Joseph's Pizza, and then retreat to Fuv's basement to watch taped episodes of our favorite cancelled FOX shows. That's not to say the other elements will never occur again (I'm sure they will), but a crucial part of our careless summer days has faded into memory. The last CD I bought there was the Smashing Pumpkins' "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness." The CD's title seemed appropriate in light of the loss I would soon face. Seeing as there are probably hundreds of sources for music in our fair city, this might not seem like such a loss to the average reader. I ask you though, will FYE ever possess such a commanding selection of vinyl? Will Coconuts ever employ such a quirky and eccentric staff? Tower Records may be open until midnight on Saturdays, but our love for Record Castle will be forever open in our hearts. Bomb voyage, Barry!