Reunion Reflections

Three weeks ago today I was sitting in Sacramento at a Mel's Diner table with my good friend, Mike Farrace. I had the keys to the highway ready for my four hour drive home, but at that moment was chowing down a tasty omelet with big splashes of Mel's java reliving thrilling days of yesteryear while we were both coming to terms with the mundane realities of this year. Getting old is not golden, and rust never stops.

Mike's a really bright guy who created Pulse! Magazine for Tower Records, and oversaw our Internet business model for many years. Never mind that as a home grown Sacramento lad he had just spent the last half-an-hour cruising through midtown completely lost trying to find a little breakfast restaurant on C Street, which after a stop or two for directions from bemused locals sweeping walkways and pruning hedges in the McKinley Park area of Midtown, we discovered so full that a wait of the entire morning was going to be our ultimate reward. Hence, Mel's flavorful cups of boiled coffee with grilled broken eggs amid conversations of technology, music and the man we both revered.    

I made the trip that mid-July weekend to Sacramento to see my friend, mentor and  former boss, Russ Solomon, get a small commemoration at the location where he started his once immense recorded entertainment empire. The Mayor of Sacramento, Kevin Johnson, delivered some warm and heartfelt words of thanks to the man of the hour. A band comprised of several old Tower Records employees serenaded the hundred or so music-business-refugees who gathered in the blistering heat of the mid-day sun paying their respects to a true visionary of the 20th Century. 

It felt like home again with all the familiar faces and voices. Heads now etched with a few more lines under a little less hair bobbed and weaved in the afternoon glare shaking more salt than pepper trying to find the shade. All the eyes danced as youthful as ever, those bright ocular organs suspended in the marvel of life's design, which thankfully masks the wear of time to all but the most keen observers.  The sounds of patchwork dialogs the gathered fans engaged in waiting for the main event soothed my ears like a cool lotion rubbed into parched skin.

The morning of the event I spoke with Russ in the kitchen of  his lovely home, a conversation just like the hundreds of talks we used to have in his office, which was always open. Nearing 85, and with his beautiful wife, Patti, Russ still looks like Russ, loose around the edges but as sharp and keen as the finest blade of cutlery you could find in any kitchen nook when you peer into his eyes and listen to him speak.

We took turns pointing out the obvious business failures of industries over the last age, and the whys. We updated each other on some figures of note we had news of, talked of schisms and current passions while sharing some funny lines along the way. In every conversation  I have ever had with Russ I have always  come out of the discussion with a better understanding of the world around me.  Our two hour chat that Saturday July 17 morning ended too soon, but as was usually the case when the king held court during his long reign as the record guy, he had an appointment to see a host of friends who also hung on his every word.

As I walked out through the big double door entrance of his "two bedroom pad" and looked at the many pieces of sculpted art in the front of the home, memories seemed to escort me to my car. I remember bringing my two now-grown sons to this place many years ago as very young boys to the Stanley and Wendy Goman wedding reception. I still see Wendy putting some cake on Stan's face with laughter and oohs simultaneously erupting from the crowd.  A host of dinners and parties cascaded behind those broad and sturdy doors over the years when any, and almost every, idea seemed conceivable and doable when taken with the right amount of Opus One, or with some other lovely Meritage.

Many of the sculptures, now staring at me in this quiet setting, lived as anti-corporate signposts during a previous existence and adorned the halls of the offices on Del Monte Street for many years. In that past life they gave off an irreverent charm, much like Russ himself, to the people doing business with MTS. The art displayed at 2500 in many ways was the public persona of the  man- complex, intelligent, modern in all respects, and filled with humor. The culture of the company for so many years reflected this amalgam of motive and charm. Be very serious about your work, but don't take yourself too seriously.

Russ appeared that very hot July afternoon on the corner of 16th and Broadway in casual attire, and spoke with such utter humbleness about himself and his accomplishments. He thanked all the people who ever worked for him, and said it was those people who deserved any and all accolades for any lasting achievements the company merited. He handed over the keys to the new owners, Johnny and Dilyn Radakovitz of Dimple Records at the Tower corner.

The heat in the shade was obviously causing my corneas to sweat a little as Russ handed over microphone and keys. Having caught up with Chris at the ceremony, I recreated his Hopson Fade by my lonesome, and walked quietly to my car parked behind the Tower Theater phoning my sons to arrange a dinner meeting that evening, and so avoided  any appearance of being emotionally hammered by people who knew me to be so stoic at public events.

The evening found me in the company of my youngest son (my oldest could not make it due to illness) at Taylor's Kitchen, being served some fine food and some delightful Northern California micro brewed beer by my pal and former cohort in crime, Steve Nikkel. For many years Steve and I teamed up on the video side of the Tower entertainment battlefront waging the good fight for video commerce supremacy. He looked good in black behind the bar carrying on a multitude of conversations with the several dining patrons. We had a blast chatting, listening, munching and drinking.

Back in my hotel room with time to think and very little on the cable, I tried to put the day, and the weekend, into some sort of context. I thought the work choices for the younger set appear to have narrowed considerably over the past thirty plus years. Irreverent and fun are words that no longer fit in the current workplace. So many occupations, professional and otherwise, have taken on an almost militaristic quality today with blind devotion through strict chain of command models operating from centralized decision making locations. The job world has become the antithesis of everything Tower, and Russ Solomon, embraced and nurtured.

I packed my bags.

Now back in Bakersfield, CA three weeks removed from the reunion weekend, I note the progress of the new Target store being erected at the site of a former Robinson-May location at the Valley Plaza mall.  Bakersfield, like so many cities, has become a retail outpost for only the few big-box retail giants who remain, and who slug it out in a commercial war that most closely resembles a Highlander script. The mall is owned by General Growth Properties, a company $27 billion in debt and trying to re-emerge from a year long bankruptcy. The once vital shopping destination now seems in a death spiral and desperately needs traffic Target usually provides. The stores and the offerings at the Target and Valley Plaza border on dreary with an emphasis on boring. 

I also read that Barnes & Noble is now up for sale, as though any other company would want to buy the elephant in the swimming pool with the drain plug wide open. The company that may have suffered the worst blow when this announcement cropped up was Borders, which makes this year probably the last one for that once very cool book seller. It looks like the Mr. Riggio probably wants a private equity partner to take B&N off the public shares roll. The future for print-on-paper with all that devoted shelf space won't be necessary with e-readers and cellular devices. Chock up another victory for consolidation and another big loss for human beings who enjoyed getting together for cultural purposes while crossing all economic lines.

The reunion weekend with Russ and the old gang was a good way to mark the end of the social arts shopping era. The keys are in new hands, and offer a glimmer of proof that small enough and local enough can survive the toughest of times. It will be up to a new constituency to bring back real choices in the various marketplaces and the wages to support those choices.

Thanks for coming by the site for a read.



Photo by Borenstein. Pictured: J. Thrasher, Michael Moore, Russ Solomon and Mike Friedman in an office where cut ties became art.

Thinking of Nashville & Record Store Days

Been awhile since I've been to Nashville and Memphis. Both Tennessee cities have taken it on the chin this week, and join the Gulf Coast area as this nation's early adopters to the climate change game. I heard an NPR report that the Nashville crisis is one of those five hundred year flood scenarios, but I think statistical declarations like that today are meaningless. As the clean up begins in both historic music cities people continue to learn how hard it is on the system in the midst of epochal change.

I think back on of all those trips to Nashville to visit both of the record-video stores we operated, and to visit with one of our major distributors, Ingram Entertainment. Our big store in the city was on West End Avenue, very close to Vanderbilt University. I still have fond memories of the opening events, and the big softball game we played with the road crew and new hires for the store. The manager and good friend, Michael Ludvik, had moved from the Bay Area to take on the new store with a regional managership to follow shortly. The smaller store was located on Opery Mill Road. They both shuttered when the Tower ship went down in 2006. The stores in Nashville, just like their eighty-plus counterparts in other cities, were just the victims of a commercial climate change in the industry where they resided.    

I bring all this up, because I got a new book from my lovely wife yesterday. The cover reads: From Vinyl To Digital and Back Again Record Store Days. The book was written by Gary Calamar and Phil Gallo, and has a forward from Peter Buck of R.E.M. As a record store employee in the very early eighties I had the pleasure to meet and talk with Peter and the other members of  the band in very tight backstage quarters at the Keystone Palo Alto club in early 1982. This was their first major tour, which followed the release of their debut EP release, Chronic Town. It was a memorable night for me, and I still have the original EP in my collection.


Most of this morning I've been pouring the through the pages of this book, sorry about the allusion Tennessee, and thoroughly enjoying myself putting little bits of history back together again after the industrial storm of this decade went through most of the entertainment retail bricks and mortar. Old powerful store names like Wallich's Music City, Licorice Pizza, Peaches, Commodore, Sam Goody's, Wherehouse, Music Plus, Oar Folkjokeopus, Wuxtry Records, Tower Records, Virgin Megastores and so many more are featured throughout the pages with unique stories of passion, guile, humor and determination.

The cool thing about this book, which is a testament to the authors and probably a great editor, finds each chapter as part of the greater whole but also a self contained story on its own merit. You can pick the book  up at any point and put it down the same way. I call it the Chuck Klosterman method of book creation. Genius.

My beloved former boss, Russ Solomon, is liberally featured throughout with insightful anecdotes and messages. There are plenty of other great luminaries quoted in the pages helping create a detailed look at a century's worth of music retailing. The pages have lots of fabulous historical photos. A small statistic, which made me do a double-take, revealed that about a hundred years ago, okay 1906 to be precise, there were over 25,000 retail store fronts selling recorded music in the United States. By the mid 1950s the number had been paired to 7,500 locations,. Today there are less than 3,000 locations selling recorded music.The authors admire and honor many of the current merchants still retailing today, but especially to the folks at Amoeba for their discipline, catalog and success.

If you're in the mood for some fun history in a pop culture music vein this book is gold.

In case you thought I forgot where I started this post, here is a rhetorical question. Who would have thought the oldest existing record store in the country, George's Song Shop, would happen to be found in Johnstown, Pennsylvania?


Stay out of the hollers, friends.

A Walter Cronkite Story

My Yahoo! screen shows Walter Cronkite dies after a lengthy illness. I find my Facebook chums churning out the Youtube clips of famous moments from CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite. I comment on one that he was the face of news for America when he anchored his nightly desk for the Tiffany Network.

Sad to see another 20th Century icon disappear from the stage. I might be sad because it makes me realize the time we walk on this rock is so fleeting. Walter's death reminds many of us just how long we have been here. We take a little stock of things to see how we measure on days like this. I come up very short next to the likes of Walter. Seeing his face on the Facebook walls I pause and remember one day twenty-five years ago very fondly.

I worked for Tower Records, and on this particular day the boss, San Francisco's regional manager, and I were going to lunch with Larry from Polygram. The chosen restaurant was on the edge of Chinatown at one of Herb Caen's favorite eating haunts. Nobody made huge money working for Tower Records, but the perks were always awesome. Larry was rewarding the Columbus & Bay store for hitting an all-time purchasing high with Polygram. A huge Donna Summer record could have been a big reason for our success, but Donna was a not available for lunch. And who were we to refuse such generosity and praise?

The three of us were waiting for our reserved table, and chatting in the very small foyer of the restaurant when Walter Cronkite with his diminutive wife on his arm walked through the door. At this juncture, in the presence of the most famous living newscaster on the planet at the time, I could not control myself. I moved away from Kenny and Larry and welcomed Walter and his wife to San Francisco, and to this world class establishment with a firm handshake. The maitre' D from the restaurant saw this brief interaction, and hurriedly broke between us and whisked Mr. and Mrs. Cronkite from my clutches to "Mr. Caen's special table."

We were seated not far from the Cronkites, but far enough away with plenty of waiters in between to prevent me from any more audacious maneuvers. My companions chided me and joked a bit about the encounter, but we settled down for some serious wine and food explorations. We talked of wineries in Napa, of Chardonnays and Pinot Noirs. We talked music. We discussed expansion plans and what promise the compact disc showed for the industry. We talked MTV. We ate great food and drank great wine. As we were having another bottle opened and poured for us, who should come to the table? Walter Cronkite tapped my shoulder and thanked me for the heartfelt welcome. He actually winked when he said heartfelt and escorted his wife from the dining area. For one of the few times in my life I was speechless.

We were all a little dumbfounded, but not so dumb as to ignore the glasses in front of us and begin work on a fabulous early 1970s Cabernet. We laughed and spoke about what great times these were to work and live in The City.

When lunch was done I floated back to the store. You could feel the energy around the place. The parking lot was full. The boards on the wall showcased what was cool that month. The marquee had the upcoming in-store details and when the door flew open as a few customers exited I got a big blast of She Works Hard For The Money in my ears.

Another giant passes away today. Thanks for the wonderful memories, Walter. Goodnight.