Rewinding the Cassette

A GenX take on what we’ve gained and lost in the digital transition, as embodied in the loss of “the record store” and its famously cranky and knowledgeable employees.

As straddlers of the digital divide, myself and my fellow GenXers know — in a way no other generation can — what we have gained and lost in the analog-to-digital transition.

Truthfully, there have been gains. It’s much easier to listen to Robert Pete Williams and Shostakovich than it used to be.

But there have been staggering losses as well.

In my own life, one of the most striking of these is the loss of record stores and their uniquely cranky employee muso fanatics.

Fans of the movie High Fidelity will have a fictionalized and hyperbolized understanding of what I’m talking about.

For myself, I lived it.

I worked at Rasputin’s in Berkeley, CA, as the 80s were giving way to the 90s. I still have my cassette promo copy of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” backed by “Even In His Youth.”

That is where I met Ox. He did security. If you knew about Operation Ivy, you knew about Ox. He introduced me to Lint (as he was known then — you may know him as Timmy Timebomb of Rancid).

Ox taught me to open flavored potato chip bags from the bottom, where all the spices and flavorings gathered.

Manager Mike let me drink Foster’s oil cans on the job. His brother had so many penis piercings we called him “the flute.”

Daniel Maslin was the most famously snarky cashier in the entire East Bay. His condescension knew no bounds. The quippiest of the quippy. He was the Oscar Wilde of the indie music world. I called him Spaniel Spaslin. He called me Piss Twatkins.

Working in a record store was a rite of passage no millennial or GenZ’er can ever truly understand. These are wilted generations.

Record stores were not for DJs. They were for listeners. Obsessives. Geeks. Nerds. Musos. Most importantly, they were for bands.

If there are no truly great rock and roll bands anymore, it will be because we lost record stores.

Working at a record store, playing in a band, and paying rent from live gigs? This was a trifecta never to be repeated.

I still remember the thrill when my band sold out its first run of cassettes. They were proudly displayed in the “Local” section, and they sold. They actually sold. All the way out. We were heroes.

I learned almost everything I know about music from liner notes I read while working at Rasputin’s.

I was there when the vinyl section was large enough that it didn’t have a name. It was just the main inventory. The CD section had to have name.

Cassettes had their own section. Again, no section name required.

I didn’t use my employee discount to buy and take home a lot of vinyl. But I bought boatloads of cassettes. From Charlie Christian and Thelonious Monk to Nick Cave and the Hoodoo Gurus. From The Replacements and The Clash to Mose Allison and Leon Redbone. From Husker Du and Diamanda Galas to Doc Watson and Son House.

There is no love of song like the love demonstrated when you use a pencil to rewind a cassette.