For the Record

When the stylus runs off the edge of the final song on an LP, there are just a few seconds before the arm gets to its resting place.  As the music finishes, the needle drifts sideways in a warm, lush yet quiet final journey through the wax.

 

It was the same audible silence that overtook the ear X-tacy store, just moments before John Timmons stepped up to the microphone to address the press conference on February 12. It seemed the music had played out, but the anticipation was that someone, somehow, would keep the turntable spinning.

 

The message was as hopeful as it was grim. His hard-earned dream of a record store was approaching nightmare status. But not from the looks of things around us. Bins of countless genres of music, films, books and periodicals from around the world, posters and framed works – many etched with autographs and well-wishes – looked upon the gathering from every wall. 

 

The room has an eclectic hum like no other music outlet the city has ever had, yet the dried ink on the books does not lie. It was becoming impossible to keep the store, staff and property running under the combined crunch of the dragging economy and accelerated technology. Operating expenses, music downloading and online shopping had cost the 10,000 square feet a lot of traffic and presented Timmons with many unpleasant decisions.

 

Whatever the reluctant community hero is to many a music fan and business model, it might be self-effacement that gets the biggest laughs. “I’m not cool, my staff is cool,” he reminded the crowd, who bolstered his blue mood with compliments. 

 

His mantra hasn’t changed much in a quarter century of business: “I’m just a kid selling records.” At that, my eyes drifted from the flanks of cameras and shoulder-to-shoulder attendees and fell to John’s feet – a faded pair of sneakers that had seen better times. They reminded me of his days as a guitar player in several rock/new wave bands, twisting and leaping around on the stage. Today, they remained planted on the floor, shifting occasionally, during particularly emotional points when body language spoke volumes. Albeit the shoes were blue and suede, they’d seen much brighter days.

 

The irony rang through each person assembled in what would be a perfect storm for anyone addressing a business crisis – patrons, friends, media, performing artists, community leaders and merchants. How could something like this happen to the one who nurtured the Louisville Independent Business Alliance with such heart, soul and elbow grease? Not to mention being a founder of the Coalition of Independent Music Stores. Not to mention, with just a few pages short of a scene from “It’s a Wonderful Life,” Timmons reminded everyone that he was not asking for a bailout, but for support. 

 

Sure, it was hat-in-hand and it took a lot of guts to do it. But rather than put a white flag on the door and lock it up, he decided to engage the community to become part of the process. Timmons also extended his personal wake-up call to all other independent merchants. He knows he is not alone in this. Getting his patrons and the Highlands as well as the Metro area involved in solving this issue is the kind of option we never got with such losses as Hawley-Cooke. 

 

It’s not too late for ideas and collaboration. The comfortable patio and beautiful storefront windows beckon locals and visitors into a vibrant environment of entertainment, education, networking and socializing. 

 

They arrive on skateboards and bikes, on foot, in cars, pushing baby strollers and on tour buses ... ear X-tacy, a destination for so many, needs to remain at its cultural spot on the Highlands map.  This community was a big part of Timmons telling the conference that he’d fallen in love with Louisville the first day he arrived. Our work is cut out for us as patrons of the store, as well as of the performing and creative arts. Keeping Louisville Weird has to move from just a bumper sticker to a daily task in the next few years.