WPL.A. graphic by Vivian Martinez
“Waxing Philosophical, L.A.” is DUM DUM’s monthly column written by Christina Gubala, co-founder of L.A.’s premier cassette-tape label, Complicated Dance Steps. A die-hard vinyl collector, you can find her spinning records at local bars near you.
Our city has a continuing history thick with vinyl love, now more than ever with record shops opening their doors instead of shuttering. Each week, Gubala breaks down a fresh new wax purchase, and writes about the record store as well, mapping it as part of L.A.’s history in the making.
September’s installment brings you a special out-of-state edition, featuring Criminal Records in Atlanta.
With about eight hours to kill in the historic city center of Atlanta last week, I did what comes naturally and made my way to Little Five Points. For those of you unacquainted with the cultural districts of Georgia’s capital, Little Five Points is a collection of retail blocks that read along the lines of San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury and L.A.’s Venice Boardwalk. Dreadlocked street performers, crystal shops hocking both bundled sage and sage advice, charming if overpriced second-hand stores, and of course, music shops lining the sidewalks.
Centrally located along Euclid Ave. NE, Criminal Records–an impressive purveyor of vinyl, CDs, cassettes, comics and beyond–stands proudly stalwart. The store is a survivor of an industry floundering as it seeks new identity in our digital age. After launching Record Store Day in 2009 and, as a consequence, almost failing, its continued presence at Five Points is something to be grateful for.
On this particularly mild August day, Criminal Records was the first and most important stop on my itinerary. Although a few other record stores were sprinkled throughout Five Points, there was a certain romance returning to the shop I’d revered in my youth as the mecca of cool (even though since said youth, the store had relocated to a larger space), and upon entering the shop, my curiosity fluttered. Record stores in Los Angeles, while extremely varied, tend to feature local artists quite prominently. Over time, this naturally distorts a shopper’s sense of the reality of the music landscape (for better or worse), and I kept that in mind as I began a cursory assessment of their wares. How much of a role would cassettes play in their inventory? Did anyone give a shit about Ariel Pink or other recent L.A. picks on the pages of The Wire UK? What kinds of records would the dollar bins hold? Did anything seem universal, and conversely, did anything not translate?
These thoughts flashed through my mind in a single gust and dissipated just as quickly as I spotted their cassette display on the front counter. Cleaners From Venus and King Tuff were among those that caught my attention, and I recognized the Burger logo on the spines of many others. Behind the counter, Light in the Attic’s Country Funk and Donnie and Joe Emerson’s Dreamin’ Wild winked at me from a shelf, alongside Mr. Pink’s recent Mature Themes. It wasn’t long before I made eye contact with the image of Amanda Brown on 100% Silk’s Freedom 2K, and caught myself giggling at the Mexican Summer bin card that had been tattooed “DRUGS ARE FUN” speech bubbles and other psychedelic truths. Comics, graphic novels, zines and art rags like Juxtapoz occupied a few walls and central shelves, but the deep space provided ample room for everything to appear robust and well-represented. An enormous Criminal Records logo adorned the back wall just above a stage that has hosted bands like The xx and Janelle Monae in recent years. Fans of Mastodon (a lot of those in Atlanta, by the way) and Baroness perused the wax alongside those trolling for AOR records from Mac Davis and other smooth southerners, and I watched a young couple drop their contact info into a picnic basket with the hope of winning the Moonrise Kingdom camping gear giveaway. No particular style nor demographic governed the culture of the shop–all were welcome, all were appreciated. The shopkeepers folded t-shirts, joked with regulars and eyeballed those of us who they didn’t recognize, paying attention stealthily yet allowing customers to explore without interruption or pressure to buy.
I found myself before a trough of reggae records the comparable likes of which I’d only seen at End of an Ear in Austin. The recent Clocktower reissues fit snugly alongside original cuts from the Cool Ruler and The Congos. I lusted over their collection record by record, self-negotiating how I could possibly choose which one deserved my money. A weathered blue Heptones album caught my eye, but its $6.99 pricetag raised my eyebrow. How could a vintage record released by Sanachie in 1982 only cost 7 bucks? Unfortunately, Criminal didn’t offer a vinyl listening station, so in an act of postmodernism, I pulled out my mobile device and sought the record online. On The Run by The Heptones appeared in Discogs, selling for between $30 and $55 depending on condition, available for sale only in Germany and the U.K. I’d found myself a treasure indeed, and understood that while it probably wasn’t going to be in the best condition, it was certainly going to be worth the unbelievable asking price. I felt like a criminal indeed coming away with it.
When I finally returned to L.A. and placed it on my turntable for the maiden spin, I jumped to a track called “Love Been Good.” I felt the title most befit my mood, and Heptones Barry Llewellyn, Earl Morgan, and Dolphin Morris delivered with passion and style. As the band’s name implies, there is a neatness and pop sensibility to their vocal harmonies. The grooves play second fiddle to melody on this record, as asserted by the title track’s charming hook: “Wherever I lay my head–that’s my home.” Flecks of dub appear strategically on tracks like “Stand Up” and soulful melisma saturates others like “Work and No Pay,” informing the listener of the Heptones’ measured frustration harnessed in their work. The glaring cosmetic scratch I discovered on the b-side thankfully caused my turntable no trouble, and I cheered my good fortune, vowing to DJ every track off the record at least once as an act of appreciation. Criminal Records in Atlanta had certainly been good to me.
If ever you find yourself in the city of Andre 3000 and Margaret Mitchell, take a moment to pay homage to Criminal. It’s a survivor of a store any city would be lucky to have, and here’s hoping they continue to flourish.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012