I went on a hunt for a CD recently and the experience left me depressed.  My girlfriend Jennie's birthday was coming up and I had just heard Carolyn Wonderland's Missunderstood online.  I knew Jennie would love it but since I discovered Carolyn's music three days before her birthday, I decided that in order to get it on time it would be best to haul my ass off to the record store instead of buying it on Amazon.com like I usually do.  That turned out to be a mistake.

The first stop was Warehouse.  At least it would have been if they had not gone out of business.  A shoe store was now in it's spot.  It seemed like just yesterday I bought Hank III's Straight To Hell there.  Apparently it was more like two years.  Great, now I was going to have go up the road to Best Buy.  I had a feeling this was going to be a disaster and I was right.  First of all, their shit was all messed up.  I found a Waylon Jennings CD in the Rap section and an Alan Jackson one in Jazz.  I Don't even want to know how they ended up over there.  I went to the blues section where I figured I'd find Carolyn Wonderland but of course I had to wade through the Bob Marley and Michael Bolton.  Because that's where they belonged.  As you might guess I didn't find what what I was looking for.  I don't know what I expected.  Organization; maybe a little caring.  Right.  They clearly don't give a shit.

My next stop was Circuit City.  A little bit better organized but less of a selection.  But that's not really saying much.  It was still pathetic and there was still no Carolyn Wonderland.  Big shock.

By this point I was pretty disgusted.  And pretty hungry.  I thought a trip to Hooters might soothe my soul so off to Hollywood I went.  I realized that Virgin Records was right across the street so why not take a look?  Besides, if I bought something in there, they would validate my parking.  That was reason enough to go in.  Was this supposed to be a record shop?  Not only was there no Carolyn Wonderland but they had the most pathetic country section I'd ever seen.  There seemed to be nothing but greatest hits CD's.  I guess this saved them from having to put any actual thought into what they were stocking and, God forbid, take up any valuble space with quality music.

By this point I had made the decision to let my Three-Mile-Island-flavor-wing-sauce-stained fingers do the walking through the jungle of Amazon.com and get the CD for a Christmas present instead.   There was, however, one more possibility -- Amoeba Records.  In my opinion Amoeba is the finest record shop in L.A.  They have everything including a lot of great country music I've never heard.  Believe it or not I decided not to go even though I was just a few blocks away.  Why?  Because I'm a weak man.  There is no way I could go in there and only buy one CD.  I have never left there with less that $200 worth of music.  Until I refinance the 15-year student loan I've been paying on for 18 years, I just can't spend that kind of money.  No, Amazon was going to be the safest thing.

I miss the old days of the mom and pop shop.  The first two albums I ever bought were Monkees albums.  A new record store called Music Coop had just opened up in my small town and John Brenes, the man who owned it, had great taste, knowledge and service. I was a fanatic for The Monkees and John happened to have two albums in stock priced at $4 each.  My mom, being a single mother only had $6 on her but wanted me to have those records.  John told her that was no problem and sold them to us for $6.  That small gesture kept us coming back for more than 20 years.  Sacrificing that $2 brought him many thousands of dollars worth of business.  My family stayed loyal until he packed up and moved to Portland, Oregon.

Since then I've bought mostly online.  I guess that makes me part of the reason retailers don't care. I've retreated to the comfort of my office chair and buy anything and everything I want online.  The "big box" retailers probably figure there is no way they can stock everything or seriously compete with Amazon or iTunes or whatever so they just do a half-assed job and stock some new stuff and a few hits and hope that you pick up a big screen TV or new dryer while you're looking for the new Milli Vanilli CD.   If I had just gotten off my butt to support the record stores before so many of them did their disappearing act, maybe I could have saved the $142 in gas it cost me in gas to drive the 30 mile round trip to Hollywood and back.  And maybe Jennie would be enjoying a Carolyn Wonderland CD instead of listening to me bitch about the sad state of the music retail biz.