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A Brief Lesson In Hate

Record store employees are bred to hate.

No, don’t let anyone tell you any differently. That is what we are; haters. Or sort of.

There was a moment in music history, where more than anyone else in the world, the record store employee was king.

Because there was no real ‘internet database’ of song NAMES let alone free mp3s, the inmates ran the asylum. Why do you think Nirvana got so big?

Yes, yes radio was still glossy and in control; tapes and CDs were bastions of pure profit. But when it came time to buy the album that you were programmed to want, there was only one kind of person that could help you: a record store employee.

Since Best Buy and Wal Mart were also barely in the game, the idea of wholesale (or whole stealing, but I’ll get to that) wasn’t really a factor, and if you were a kid looking for something cool, a parent trying to buy your child’s love, or a hipster trying to remain relevant, your fate was sealed.

But you know that part of the story… this isn’t ‘music biz 101’.

The jaded, cynical record store employee/music purist was jaded for one reason, and one reason only: Commerce.

Music, or at least the cool stuff ‘shouldn’t have been about the money’ and the paradox of selling the stuff - good or bad, ate away at the record store employee’s soul.

This spawned two separate, but equally vile scenarios:

1. You (the customer) came in ‘not really knowing what you wanted, something cool’. WRONG. How dare you just waltz in to this temple of taste, without an opinion? You fucking sheep. Buy another Bon Jovi record. Here’s the New Limp Bizkit. It’s called “Three Dollar Bill Yall!” just like you.
2. You (the customer) came in knowing ‘exactly what you wanted’. Wait… are you saying YOU, the uneducated NON-music store employee know what’s good? Do you work here? Have you followed this band since day one? Of course not. Someone told you about this band or it was on the radio… Either way, it wasn’t me. You suck. That band sucks. Even if I like that band, that band sucks.

Then napster came along, and all the file sharing tools that followed, and the ‘uneducated, fucking sheep’ could receive their music in the privacy of their own home.

To the record store employee, this was musical masturbation. You’re going to please yourself off of some mp3s without MY input? But, but you don’t know what your doing, and more importantly… I need to make sure you know that!

Sure the record companies lost money… but fuck them they should have adapted. I’m making minimum wage over here. I am the ultimate curator, I have a staff pick!

Worse than the free music, the blogs started rolling out. Hard and fast. You (the customer) could now READ ABOUT THE SONGS WITHOUT EVEN LISTENING TO THEM! (yeah you could do that in a magazine, but fuck magazines… right kurt cobain?)

So now, when you came in and bought a CD, you were A) probably a little informed, and B) probably in possession of just as much back catalogue stuff as me, I can’t even properly curate without your ignorance.

But here is where the record store employee still wins. Here is where when a young kid (me) comes in to work at one in 2k4, fully loaded with a 8GB mp3 player, he is still able to embrace the cynicism with open arms… Musical hate don’t discriminate.

The best thing that ever happened to the record store employee was the simultaneous (and erroneous) ‘fall of the music industry’ when mp3s became king. Because now, as a front liner, the world really WAS against him or her… and besides, TASTE is not tangible. All of your empowering tools of the Internet is just as readily available to me. Only I, as the record store employee, have had years of training to hide it.

Great band? Bad band? You have no fucking clue. And now, you have no fucking clue if I even have any fucking clue.

You don’t buy music, you say? I never thought you should. And that band sucks anyway, Loser.