(Above image by Andreas Feininger)


In this small corner of cyberspace I seek only to pass on information about the independent shops and businesses that make our cities unique. I'm quite unfamiliar with this scene or that scene, and I won't pretend to offer the scoop on the latest openings or trendiest hotspots. My writing is based solely on my own discoveries, experiences and reflections as I amble through the streets, searching for places to go. But if my readers know of any fine establishments I've overlooked, by all means fill me in, and I'll do my best to check them out.

Because I spend most of my time in either New York or Washington, D.C., my posts may seem heavily skewed towards these two locations. But I'm always looking for excuses to travel, and will try to hit and report on as many cities as possible. Notify me of the must-sees if I'm about to pay your hometown a visit.

- Matt

Mar 15, 2010

Mobtown's Own Private Megastore

Note: College life can trap a student into a narrow geographical location for many weeks on end, so it is with pride that I present my first profile outside of Washington, D.C. More from other cities to come.




(Photo by Mike Unger at About.com. Available at http://baltimore.about.com/od/neighborhoods/ss/FellsWalk_3.htm)

Occupying a large storefront in one of Baltimore’s quaintest and most culturally immersive neighborhoods, The Sound Garden has been a Fells Point independent music bastion for over 15 years. Its name was the first music-related term I heard uttered upon my arrival in the city, and repeated suggestions made it seem inevitable that I would eventually visit this local treasure trove. So while strolling with friends on the cobblestone streets through a light rain, the taste of my first experience with Old Bay seasoning (it treats everything from eggs to crab cakes to chicken wings) lingering in my mouth, we took a detour down Thames Street, and entered the renowned enterprise.


Crowds welcomed us – unexpected sizable crowds of the sort I haven’t seen in music stores since the early aughts. Granted, it was Saturday night. But Virgin and FYE once drew crowds this big, not your esoteric music and video shops. In fact, The Sound Garden resembles the behemoths of the business far more than it does the nook-and-cranny reserves of obscure records that collectors hold dear.


It has an enormous interior – one huge room extends maybe 50 feet back, incorporating a stage for live performances and endless racks filled with CDs, DVDs, Blue-Rays and posters both generic and unique. In the front, to the left of the entrance, one finds a smaller space holding an extensive vinyl collection, among which I found albums of the highest caliber in rock, soul, R&B, hip-hop, psychedelic and folk. Their cost was the only setback – with a disappointingly miniscule used section, prices generally fell between $15 and $20. I haven’t paid that much for vinyl since I naively shopped in the megastores.


It matters little, though, because the Sound Garden doesn’t specialize in old-fashioned records. Uncharacteristically CD-based, this small business seems to support itself with an endless cache of the shiny discs. Many music stores that embraced CDs, including the most towering giants, could not survive into the Internet age (see a previous post discussing the issue here). Baltimore’s premier shop, however, with DVDs wholly lining an immense wall, and jewel cases arranged into entire archipelagos of shelves, soldiers on magnificently.


What’s responsible for its longevity? The CDs remain pricy – $8-$14, something I wouldn’t pay for an album with so many available alternative means of getting it. A few $1 bins up front and a decent deal on movies (two for $10) couldn’t possibly bear the continued success on their own.

No, the distinguishing factor here is content. Though the megastores boasted comparably vast CD collections, they also maintained mainstream pop sensibilities. They never took risks with arcane titles. One could conceivably scan the racks and name every artist listed on the narrow paper strips jutting above the cases. Such an unremarkable approach would fail to attract the favor of serious music fans, those customers who will provide much of the business.


But The Sound Garden could ensnare the snootiest hipster, the obsessive collector, or the cynical Gen-X pop culture nerd with the breadth of its offerings. Sure, The Beatles have a huge section allotted to them, but so do the indie bands that only a handful have heard about. Jazz, folk and country lovers have more options here than anywhere else. Completists could actually complete their many discography quests here.


What The Sound Garden has done is eliminate discriminatory stocking practices. The staff will put, it seems, literally anything on their shelves, refusing few based on popularity or standings in the charts. Employees who drink Jim Beam from the bottle while behind the counter and in full view of customers, as several did during my visit, probably don’t care much for mainline pretenses. If an album sounds good – if at least one person will listen – it’ll take its place somewhere on the racks. And the clientele, more diverse than lesser establishments would imagine, is thankful for that, and will express its gratitude with support.

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