Even when the phone rang incessantly, with a possible millionaire on the other end wanting to buy out the whole store, Tent's deadpan "Trash!" echoed with disdain. He didn't want anything to interfere with the serenity pumping out of the speakers. He wanted us to listen. Just listen.
I was curious if there was another such a place in Madison where no ego slept behind the counter and making a buck was secondary. Was Trash truly a legend or just another good shop?
My first stop was the kitschily decorated Sugar Shack Records on Atwood. The obligatory, slightly awkward, slightly cute guy nodded to me and then sat for the duration of my browsing perched on a stool, poring over a newspaper. The Decemberist's album played on the speakers, much to my consternation. Indie music is enjoyable, but in a record shop, playing something so well known is almost a crime. Where was the rarity deep cut that makes me pant like a bloodhound for its name? I let this slide on account of it being a lazy Sunday afternoon and the fact that this poor chap was practically babysitting a building, rather than working.
Still, the vinyl was plentiful here-possibly the largest selection I came across. New albums mixed with old, including a vast array of $1 and 50-cent LPs, one of which happened to be Fleetwood Mac's self-titled, stacked next to Linda Ronstadt in some ghastly purple taffeta thing. The boxfuls of cassette tapes in the back room had the attic treasure feel of Trash but the bric-a-brac was too clean.
Perhaps the owner is just sanitary, but even the LP jackets were empty, removing the satisfying feeling of touching vinyl that further slips away with every iPod purchased. Preservation is important, true, but how much distrust can a place have for its patrons?
I took a deep breath and went onward to Mad City Music Exchange on Willy Street. "Oh my god! This single has the name of the town I grew up in!" said a patron as I walked inside. "Cool, man!" replied his friend. Their constant laughter -- "Look, it's Imus's record!" -- mixed with the sounds of fingers shuffling through records. Was this the magical musical casa of Madison?
From the outset, it is evident that Sugar Shack wins over Mad City stylewise. The interior of Mad City looks as if someone unloaded a van full of music and said, "Go!" Further inspection of the goods at Mad City, however, evidenced a superior organizational style. Boxes labeled "Headbangers," "Africa," "60s rock," and "Christmas-Whack!" proved someone knew his or her stuff and was interested in keeping track of the inventory (or at least pretending to). The back wall of hundreds, probably thousands of jukebox 45s was also great. The ability to review the status of the vinyl was equally grand. Mad City did not promote me to draw out my camera. But where was the shop guy who ate, drank and slept his business?
My last stop was All of the shops I visited have positive qualities and all certainly have more charm than Best Buy. I hope they will all be able to stick around long enough to inspire someone the way Trash inspired me. I found one place that looked the part, a place that had a good selection of parts, and a place with a guy who played the part. Every place had a bunch of Edgar Winter, but Trash is the only place that has a part in my heart.