I need That Record is ostensibly a look at independent record stores closing down. And it indeed does look at several unfortunate shops that were forced to shut down. But the documentary is more than that. It's also a history of the music industry, and how it has been marketed and promoted for the last sixty years. It's fascinating and informative, and I learned some things I previous was unaware of.
But you know what I Need That Record is really about? At least from my perspective? It's about community.
You ask people if they like music, and most will answer in the affirmative. But there are the select few that really love it. Some of them play musical instruments, but not all. They live for music regardless of that. Music is always heard in their homes. They try to keep fresh minds instead of only listening to what they liked as teenagers. These are the people that love independent record stores.
With the Internet, we can get just about anything we want. Searching is a cinch. Everything is so convenient and easy. Just a click and you're done. But many of us feel as though there is something missing.
It's more than just the aching hand from using a computer mouse too much. There is a communal feeling when someone actually leaves their domicile and physically looks at records. You can pick up the actual object and really see the art. You can take the record out of its sleeve (if you're careful) and see for yourself what the record's condition is. And best of all, you can meet the owners of the stores, and talk to the other customers.
I love my online friends and the virtual communities I've been a part of for the last thirteen years. There's no replacement, however, for meeting and conversing with people in the flesh.
The same holds true with bookstores. Sure, ordering online is quick and painless. Something crucial is lost in the shuffle though.
That word comes up again: Community. The physical community in which you live. You may think you're alone, but you're not. There are people out there like you. People that like the same weird books, music, movies that you do. You might pass them at the DMV or at WalMart. Unless they are wearing some identifiable tee shirt, you'll have no idea.
Corporations are tearing the souls out of our communities. It's been happening for a long time. Ever since the big supermarkets began squeezing out the corner markets your parents or your parents' parents shopped. Where the people knew your name. You paid with a check and no ID was required. It was a friendlier world.
And when you patronize local businesses, your money stays in your community. When you give your money to a corporation, it flies away from home. In far too many cases, your money leaves the country altogether.
I Need That Record chronicles the demise of several record stores, and it acutely portrays the heartbreak that comes along with the closings. Record stores are the social hub of music. The store owners and customers are interviewed in the documentary and it's sobering. Is there still a record store in your city? If so, when was the last time you visited it? Or have you lost your love of music altogether?
Other parties interviewed on I Need That Record include Thurston Moore (of Sonic Youth), Ian MacKay (of minor Threat, Fugazi, and he is the owner of Dischord Records), Chris Frantz (of Talking Heads), Mike Watt (of The Minutemen), Lenny Kaye (of The Patti Smith Group), and Noam Chomsky.
After watching I Need That Record, I went to a local record store in the next city over from me. It hadn't been that long since I had last been there, but it felt like it had been too long. I like the owner. Like me, he's a Todd Rundgren fan. We'd talked about Todd's music and his career several times before and we did so again. Then I started browsing records and I spoke to some customers. We talked of The Cramps and Alex Chilton and the Bonzo Dog Band and a bunch of other cool bands. Really cool people.
Downloading music or books or movies can never replace the satisfaction of buying from local stores. Buying from corporations at the expense or even demise of local stores is bad for our communities, and it's bad for us. The people who made and are featured in I Need That Record get it. Most people don't and never will. At least until it's too late.
But you know what I Need That Record is really about? At least from my perspective? It's about community.
You ask people if they like music, and most will answer in the affirmative. But there are the select few that really love it. Some of them play musical instruments, but not all. They live for music regardless of that. Music is always heard in their homes. They try to keep fresh minds instead of only listening to what they liked as teenagers. These are the people that love independent record stores.
With the Internet, we can get just about anything we want. Searching is a cinch. Everything is so convenient and easy. Just a click and you're done. But many of us feel as though there is something missing.
It's more than just the aching hand from using a computer mouse too much. There is a communal feeling when someone actually leaves their domicile and physically looks at records. You can pick up the actual object and really see the art. You can take the record out of its sleeve (if you're careful) and see for yourself what the record's condition is. And best of all, you can meet the owners of the stores, and talk to the other customers.
I love my online friends and the virtual communities I've been a part of for the last thirteen years. There's no replacement, however, for meeting and conversing with people in the flesh.
The same holds true with bookstores. Sure, ordering online is quick and painless. Something crucial is lost in the shuffle though.That word comes up again: Community. The physical community in which you live. You may think you're alone, but you're not. There are people out there like you. People that like the same weird books, music, movies that you do. You might pass them at the DMV or at WalMart. Unless they are wearing some identifiable tee shirt, you'll have no idea.
Corporations are tearing the souls out of our communities. It's been happening for a long time. Ever since the big supermarkets began squeezing out the corner markets your parents or your parents' parents shopped. Where the people knew your name. You paid with a check and no ID was required. It was a friendlier world.
And when you patronize local businesses, your money stays in your community. When you give your money to a corporation, it flies away from home. In far too many cases, your money leaves the country altogether.
I Need That Record chronicles the demise of several record stores, and it acutely portrays the heartbreak that comes along with the closings. Record stores are the social hub of music. The store owners and customers are interviewed in the documentary and it's sobering. Is there still a record store in your city? If so, when was the last time you visited it? Or have you lost your love of music altogether?
Other parties interviewed on I Need That Record include Thurston Moore (of Sonic Youth), Ian MacKay (of minor Threat, Fugazi, and he is the owner of Dischord Records), Chris Frantz (of Talking Heads), Mike Watt (of The Minutemen), Lenny Kaye (of The Patti Smith Group), and Noam Chomsky.
After watching I Need That Record, I went to a local record store in the next city over from me. It hadn't been that long since I had last been there, but it felt like it had been too long. I like the owner. Like me, he's a Todd Rundgren fan. We'd talked about Todd's music and his career several times before and we did so again. Then I started browsing records and I spoke to some customers. We talked of The Cramps and Alex Chilton and the Bonzo Dog Band and a bunch of other cool bands. Really cool people.
Downloading music or books or movies can never replace the satisfaction of buying from local stores. Buying from corporations at the expense or even demise of local stores is bad for our communities, and it's bad for us. The people who made and are featured in I Need That Record get it. Most people don't and never will. At least until it's too late.
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