January 8–15, 1998

yeah sherr|yeah, sherr

music

Positively Third Street

The closing of a Philadelphia institution;

a new column by Sara Sherr

"Records are made for people who weren't there." -liner notes from Syd Straw's War and Peace

Do you remember when we used to go to Third Street Jazz every Sunday? You know, the Sunday Thing. We'd go to Olde City Coffee and turn into caffeinated freaks, eat those big muffins, read the Sunday Times and argue about stuff. And then we'd go into Third Street, all coffeed-up, run down to the basement to see what came out that week. Remember all the bands we heard for the first time in there? Jon Spencer. Pavement. Royal Trux. Unrest.

Third Street sales clerk Jackie Zahn would say to us, "You haven't heard that? You really need to hear this." And then afterwards, we'd walk over to The Philadelphia Record Exchange and flip through all the racks, hangout with whoever was there, discussing all those '60s garage bands. It was always the perfect end to a perfect day.

I went back to Third Street last Sunday looking for I don't know what. All the racks were empty. Posters for shows from three months ago were curling up dejectedly on the walls. It was like a big shrug, like someone just gave up. The clerks looked like bag check guys at the Greyhound Station, just waiting around for the next bus.

Record stores like Third Street Jazz always die undignified deaths. Bands get farewell shows and people get going away parties, but stores just empty out, close the doors, and shut out the lights forever. Later on, people walk by it on the street and all they see is darkness, never knowing the life that was inside it. When it turns into another gallery, another restaurant, or maybe even a supplier of vacuum cleaner parts, the people who think they remember what was inside wonder if it really existed at all.

You don't need to be a Wharton student to tell the difference between a chain store and a Mom-and-Pop. Chain stores have a particular smell. They smell like plastic. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go stand in the Barbie aisle of the Kay-Bee toy store in The Gallery. Chain stores might be playing a record that you might like but you can't hear it over the din of the cash registers and your own heartbeat. There's music music everywhere but not a drop to be heard. There's a whole rack filled with 400 copies of a band you heard for five minutes that will be gone in the next five minutes. There's no one in the mile-long aisles to actually help you and if you happen to fall over, other customers will walk right over you because they are so nervous they have to buy something and get out quick. If you actually find what you are looking for, the clerk rings you up without really looking at you. Chances are, after they ring you up, they will walk out the door, smoke a cigarette and never come back.

Jackie Zahn, now working the taps at McGlinchey's, said the one thing she misses about Third Street is turning people onto stuff that she likes.

"People come in and say, 'I want to buy some music,'" she said. "And I say, 'What do you like?' Then I can recommend something. It's a more hands-on approach. It's an interaction with another human being and you both care about the same thing. I never wanted to sell someone something just to sell it. I wanted them to like it."

Although she was hesitant to talk about how and when things went wrong at Third Street, Jackie admitted she saw the writing on the wall when Pier Platters in Hoboken closed.

"I knew we were next," she said. Another big factor was that unlike the mall stores of yore, places like HMV and Tower stock many of the titles that a Third Street or a Pier Platters was known for, not to mention the Internet where everyone from CDNow to Joe Record Collector sets up cyber shop.

When I stopped in at the Record Exchange, owner Chris Simpson commiserated with the various shoppers (most of whom we both knew by first name) about the loss of Third Street, while playing a drum 'n' bass CD for one guy, trying out a rap album for another guy and trading for used CDs with another. In Third Street's heyday, Chris used to drive 45 minutes from King of Prussia to shop there, which is unfathomable in the age of the Internet with a Tower or a Best Buy nearby.

"The decline of Third Street is actually tied in with a lot of things that are wrong," he said. "One of the big problems is, fundamentally, I don't think this economy is doing as well as everyone says it is. There's sort of this huge will to believe that everything is booming but the average person's disposable income is not what it used to be. A business like us or Third Street depends on disposable income. Now there's other entertainment options to consider and what's a new movie cost?"

As he talked, the little daughter of the guy with the trade stood on tiptoe tracing her finger over the Guitar Wolf and Strapping Fieldhands stickers that cover the register, the same one that's probably been there since they opened over 10 years ago. It made me wonder what record stores would be like by the time she is my age.

"The whole industry's changing," said Chris. "Eventually people will be able to download whatever they want. It's like the whole concept of records and CDs will be obsolete, except as devices to record stuff off of your computer."

It also doesn't help matters that the major labels are raising the prices of CDs, which are pocket change to make but a fistful of dollars for an independent record store to stock. "A place like Third Street as an independent doesn't get the kind of volume price breaks that a place like Tower gets," he said. "The list price is seventeen or sixteen dollars but they'll sell it for $11.98, which is pretty close to what it costs for an independent guy to buy." Don't even talk about imports, which are expensive as well as risky to bring in. If they stiff, they're yours forever.

There's also the public's perception of urban mom-and-pop stores to contend with.

"Psychologically, most people view independent record stores with suspicion," he said. "We're not a brand name."

But by creating a niche in the marketplace, stores like Record Exchange have been able to compete. The Record Exchange specializes in rare and used vinyl. There's also 611 Records (dance music), Digital Underground, (industrial, goth, electronic) and Footwork (hip-hop). And they're more than just stores, they're centers of those scenes. 611—which is in the same building as Ovum Records off South Street—also sells clothes and tickets to various DJ events as well as being the information center for all that is electronica. Digital Underground, also off South, is the home of Metropolis, one of the largest record labels in the country for industrial music. Footwork—which is right across the street from Third Street—hosts a monthly performance series for hip-hop and poetry. Because it's a unique venue, they are undeterred by the cursed location. Classical Choice sells new and used classical, jazz, and soundtracks on a Web site (www.cdchoice.com), as well as offering listening and trades in their University City location.

Sound of Market is an anomaly in the '90s: an independent store specializing in just about everything. It's not just "the hip-hop store" anymore. The 11th and Ludlow location recently expanded to three floors, where former Third Street employee Craig Baylor stocks the records that jazz fans want, or "deep catalog." Rock Buyer Caesar Warrington stocks everything from Thrill Jockey and Cuneiform artists to illbient and classic rock. Now Sound of Market is one of the last independent record stores where you can get every style of music under one roof.

Still, losing Third Street is like losing a kind of cultural institution -a funny position to take on a store, since people don't think of stores as being the centerpiece for culture anymore. When people talk about culture, it doesn't have to be the orchestra or the ballet. It's just a place or thing that makes your world bigger every time you experience it because you heard something you never heard before and maybe it changed your life, or just gave you something to bounce off the walls to at 4 a.m.

I'm not just talking about music that nine people like. The important thing is, do you remember where you bought it and when, what was the person like who sold it to you, and how did you feel when you bought it? What posters were hanging on the walls and what were you wearing and what was playing in the background?

Now that we've lost Third Street, there's a part of us that is lost too. Like drive-ins, soda fountains and general stores, Third Street Jazz was a neighborhood meeting spot for like-minded folk.

A musical town hall, you might say.

I'll miss the records—the ones we used to play together and the ones we never will. Mostly, I'll miss having a place like Third Street to buy those records with the people we all used to be.