Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - We May Not Be Big, But We're Small - World's Smallest Record Store

Episode Date: September 22, 2023

“He had, intentionally, set his bar low. Really low. And now someone was telling him he wasn’t even big enough to be small.” Today’s episode turns out to be a bit of an ode to record stores. Jess talks about her experience working at the record store Sam the Record Man and in our story, World’s Smallest Record Store, Dave’s young employee teaches him the beauty of what he has created at his store The Vinyl Cafe.  Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. I planned on saying we have two stories for you today, two stories about music. But when I sat down in studio and started to record this, I realized I have a lot to say today. So much to say that I'm just feeling a little worried that the show might feel a bit long. So here's what we're going to do. We're going to split today's show in two. We're going to play one Dave and Morley story this week and one next week. I've talked about this before on the podcast. We're still trying to figure this out. We're still trying to find the sweet spot when it comes to number of stories and time. And I learned best from just kind of doing it. So we're going to

keep playing around and tweaking it until we get it right. Most of the time, we will have two stories in the podcast, but sometimes if it's feeling a bit long, just one. Today's story is set in Dave's record store. You know the place. The one with the raccoon on the door pointing to, back in five minutes. The one with the framed motto over the cash register that says, we may not be big, but we're small. I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this on the podcast, but I used to work in a record store when I was a teenager. work in a record store when I was a teenager. And I swear to God that until this moment, right now, I've never realized that that helped me do my job, that that experience as a teenager was like applicable or what do they call it? Relevant, that that was relevant job experience for my

future career producing the Vinyl Cafe. I worked at Sam the Record Man in high school. I was lucky to catch the tail end of the album era. I worked there before MP3s, before iPods or iPhones, really before the internet or before the internet became, you know, a thing. I worked in a record store back in the era when people used to line up outside our doors the day an album was released. Hundreds of people lined up to buy a CD. Wow, feels like a lifetime ago.

I caught the tail end of a number of eras, actually, when I think about it. I caught the tail end of the world before the internet. My brother, Toby, is three years younger than me, and our formative years, our high school years, were entirely different. He grew up with computers. I didn't. He grew up with the internet. I didn't. I didn't get an email address until first year university. My entire childhood and most of my teenage years were without the internet and really without computers. I mean, we had, there were computers at my high school in the library. And my dad is a sports columnist. So

he had a laptop, but it was a rudimentary laptop. It was kind of like, it was weird. I don't know what it's called. It's almost like a cross between a laptop and a keyboard. It laid flat. So there was a keyboard and the screen, instead of tilting up, laid flat and you could see maybe three sentences on the screen or something. But I mean, we never used it. It was a tool, his tool for his work. It wasn't our family computer. So I caught the tail end of that era. And I caught the tail end of the previous era of radio. I went to school for journalism, for broadcast journalism, and we learned how to record and edit our shows on tape. I learned how to edit tape by marking it with a wax pencil and literally cutting it with a razor blade, cutting the tape with a razor blade.

I never actually worked like that. I never did that professionally. By the time I started editing the Vinyl Cafe, I was doing it in Dalit and Pro Tools. I was doing it digitally. But I came of age in an analog era. I caught the tail end of it. Actually, when I started at CVC, there was still a smoking room. Do you remember that, Greg? I'm talking to Greg DeCloot, our recording engineer. It was, what floor was it on? Was it on the second floor or the third floor? Three. Greg says it was on the third floor. It was this small enclosed space inside the building where people would go to smoke cigarettes. And this is, you know, this wasn't 45 years ago. This would have been, I guess, like, well, I guess it would have been 20 years ago. Anyway, 20 years ago, you would go inside. There was this room on the third floor where people go to smoke cigarettes. I was never a smoker, but I used to hang out in there all the time because

that's where everyone hung out. And I like to be where the people are. Anyway, I caught the tail end of the smoking era, I guess. I caught the tail end of that analog journalism era. I caught the tail end of the pre-internet era. And I caught the tail end of the album era. My first job was as a cashier at No Frills. But my second job was at Sam the Record Man. And it was a magical place for a teenager to work. Our store had only a handful of employees, like, I don't know, five, six, somewhere like that.

And our boss was this unbelievable guy named Mike. He assembled this weird group of teenagers. He was an incredible manager. He hired us based on our personalities and also how we would fit into this team that he had assembled, which is everything, really. Like, everybody should hire like that. It was about the unit. the unit. And it was also based a bit on our knowledge of music. We all had our own specialties. There was this guy, Ben, who was a few years older than me and eventually would become my boyfriend. He was really into hip hop and not just all the stuff that was big at the time, like not just Jay-Z and Biggie and people like that, but also up and comers. He had his ear to the ground. There was Mike, my best friend. I got him a job there. He knew a lot about punk and ska. And I had kind of a weird beat. I knew about classical music and opera and choral music because I sang in a choir and in the children's chorus at

Opera Hamilton. So I had that down. And my parents were super into music. So I knew a lot about their music. Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Harry Chapin, Dire Straits, The Stones, Blue Rodeo, Red Rider, all that kind of stuff. And I was pretty good at top 40. But my shtick was this. I was a detective. This was before the internet. So people would come into the store and they would say, I'm not kidding, they'd say things like this. They'd be like, I'm looking for this song. I heard it on the radio and I think it had the word love in it. And I'd be like, all right, game on. And I'd ask a series of questions, like a doctor diagnosing process of elimination. I'd be like, all right, so do you remember which station you were listening to? And that would tell me a lot. If it was Mix 99.9, then I knew it would be Top 40 or Adult Contemporary. If it was the country station or the oldies station, well, then it was that. Next question. Male or female singing? Was it a slow song or was it a fast song?

Did it have drums or no drums? That was kind of my shtick. If someone came in looking for a specific song, everyone sent them to me. Basically, I was like a beta version of Shazam. So the Vinyl Cafe, Dave's store, is a place I'm familiar with. I worked in a place like that. I came of age in a place like that. And it's a place that I love visiting in story. that. And it's a place that I love visiting in Story. So that's what we're going to do today. Visit Dave's store. But before we do that, we have to do this. We'll be back in a minute or so, maybe less. So stick around. Welcome back. Thanks for sticking around. Story time now.

This is a story we recorded in Winnipeg, Manitoba. This is the world's smallest record store. And before we start, I should tell you that this story contains my all-time favorite scene ever. It is So Dave. See if you can pick it out. I'll tell you more about it after the story. Okay, here we go. Back to the Centennial Concert Hall in Winnipeg, Manitoba.

For the first time, the kid stole a record. Dave missed the whole thing. In his defense, he was distracted. There was this other guy hanging around the store at the time full of questions about suppliers and vintage records, the turntable by the easy chair, this, that, everything. Meanwhile, the kid was doing his thing in the blues section, though it's never actually being called the blues section in Dave's store. Back when Dave had names for each section in his story, he had a sign hanging over the blues

records that read, she never loved you anyway. The sign was still there in the days that I'm talking about. I'm not sure it's still there today. Anyway, the kid had his back to the counter. He was wearing tight jeans and a bulky army surplus coat. The coat was the tip-off. And Dave completely missed it. Haven't seen these for years, said the guy with all the questions. He was pointing at the goldfish bowl of plastic centers for 45 RPM records.

Where'd you get them anyway? Now, normally that's the kind of question Dave would enjoy. Actually, he'd say, I got them from Sarnia. And then he'd tell a whole sorry story about how the company that made them went out of business and how he had bought a wooden crate the size of a casket full of the things. It's how he spends the better part of most days, talking about things like plastic record centers with his regular customers. things like plastic record centers with his regular customers. But this guy wasn't a regular customer. And anyway, there was something about him that was annoying.

It was around then that the kid left the store. He nodded at Dave as he slouched past the counter. Dave nodded back, absentmindedly. It was only hours later, long after the kid was gone and the annoying guy had left, that the penny dropped. Dave was tallying up the day's receipts when he stopped and stared across the store. That kid, kid in the army coat, that kid had been stealing records. The way he walked by the counter, he might as well have been waving the record over his head. It had happened right under Dave's nose.

It was Mr. Question Guy's fault. Mr. Question Guy had distracted him. Now theft has never been a big problem in Dave's little store. And it certainly wasn't back then. The chains lose four, maybe five percent to what they coyly call shrinkage. Dave hardly loses anything. His store, after all, is pretty small. Right from the beginning, he proudly claimed it to be the world's smallest record store. He emptied the cash register into the night deposit bag.

$127. $84 in cash. $35 in IOUs. And $8 in Canadian tire money. Which Dave accepted at par from the day he opened. If it wasn't for the kid, not a bad day. He wasn't going to dwell on it. He wasn't surprised, however, when the kid showed up a week later. Dave spotted him the minute he walked through the front door. If he'd wanted to shut him down, he could have. He didn't, however, want to shut him down. He wanted to figure him out. There was something about the kid that fascinated Dave. He was an awkward-looking boy, maybe 16, all arms and legs. He was flipping through the records filed under D. Okay, was he a dork

or a dude? The thought made Dave smile. And it was that thought that made Dave decide what he was going to do next. He wasn't going to stop the kid. He was going to play what if instead. He was going to play what if instead. What if, what if what? Okay, if he took the new Dylan, he'd let him go. If he took Duran Duran, he'd nail him. Dylan or Duran Duran? Dude or dork?

Dave walked to the front of the store. He stood on a chair and fiddled with the speakers by the front door. He was giving the kid a chance to make his move. When he came back to the counter, the kid had moved to the back of the store. This was a little like chess. My move, thought Dave. Dave went over to the D's. The Dillon was gone.

The kid had won fair and square. He'd have to get them the next time, which happened to be that weekend. The kid walked in on Saturday evening, just before closing. As soon as he saw him, Dave thought, okay, enough is enough. This has got to stop. He waited until they were alone. And when they were alone, Dave walked over to the kid and put his arm on his shoulder.

Hey, said Dave, friendly enough. The kid stiffened and turned. Dave was smiling. He had his other hand out ready to shake hands. And oh yeah, the kid had a record squished under his arm. No doubt about that. Dave's hand was still extended. My name's Dave, he said. I've seen you around a couple times. I've seen you around a couple times. The kid took Dave's hand awkwardly. What else could he do? Dave shook it.

Energetically. The kid gasped. Dave was shaking the record loose. The kid leaned against the counter. Nice move, thought Dave. My name's Nick, said the kid. The kid looked terrified. He was squirming up and down against the counter like an elephant scratching on a tree. He was trying to shift everything back into place. Dave couldn't help himself. He liked the kid. He decided to give him one last chance. Dave said, do you like Dylan, Nick? The kid nodded. He had no idea what was

going on, but he knew it was bad. Dave smiled. Dave said, what about Duran Duran? Dave was playing what if again. The kid said, Duran Duran? I hate Duran Duran. Dave said, good answer. And then without thinking about what he was doing on an impulse he never understood but grew to be proud of because, impulse he never understood but grew to be proud of because, well, because it worked out so well, Dave offered the kid a job. A job, said the kid. The kid's head was spinning. Yeah, said Dave, I need some help after school. You look like an honest guy. help, after school, you look like an honest guy. Things were definitely not going the way the kid had expected them to go.

The kid said, working? Like what? Helping out, said Dave. Stocking. Cleaning. Looking out for shoplifters, that kind of thing. The kid swallowed. Kid said, I don't think so. Dave said, good, without missing a beat. Why don't you start tomorrow? Minimum wage, except for tomorrow, of course.

You've already been paid for your first four hours. Dave clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a last friendly shake. The album the kid had pressed against his body fell to the ground. Dave pretended not to see it. See you tomorrow, he said, and he turned and walked back to the cash. The kid picked up the record and put it back in the crate where he got it. On the way past the counter, he stopped and said, my name isn't Nick. My name is Scott. and said, my name isn't Nick. My name is Scott. Dave said, I'm still Dave. See you tomorrow. And so went the days at Dave's little record store. This was, as I've said, a number of years ago when his daughter Stephanie was still in high school, before he carried any CDs at all. was still in high school, before he carried any CDs at all. Scott, no surprise, fit right in. He mastered Ringo, the game of flipping 45 record centers across the store at a moving turntable.

They used a homemade catapult assembled from a mousetrap. In his third week, he scored the first ever Epstein by landing a center directly on the spindle, a feat which David decided was impossible and caused him to close the store. They all went out to lunch to celebrate, including the store's only other employee in those years, Brian, who invented the game and was called in for the meal and was paid for the entire afternoon. Things were good, as good as they'd been for a long time. Everyone got a small raise at Christmas. So when the lawyer's letter arrived, it came, as they say, like a bolt out of the blue, a cease and desist letter from a guy who owned a place called the Vinyl Cafetorium.

Store that was, according to this letter anyway, legally the world's smallest record store had, according to the letter, trademarked that phrase. The letter informed Dave that he had to remove any and all signs that mentioned the size of his store or a complaint would be filed in the provincial court to seek an injunction to stop him from exploiting the phrase.

What, said Kenny Wong when Dave burst into his cafe waving the letter? That's what it says, said Dave. Take down the signs, said Kenny. Or, read Dave, they will seek compensation for damages both actual and statutory. Whatever that means. That, said Kenny, means war. They went to check it out that night in Kenny's 1984 Lada. Dave riding shotgun, Scott in the back seat. It was almost 10. They figured it would be

long closed. It was supposed to be a drive-by, a reconnaissance. The store was lit up like a river boat. The world's smallest record store, open till midnight. But it's huge, said Dave. It's not huge, said Kenny. Well, it's way bigger than my place, said Dave. Well, how hard's that, said Kenny. The walls were exposed brick. There were posters on the pillars. The place is cool, said Scott. Those posters aren't messed up like yours. That's because mine are real, said Dave. There was a counter along one wall with an espresso maker. Behind the espresso machine, there was a guy in a white apron who looked strangely familiar. I know that guy, said Dave. That guy used to come in the store and ask questions. It's that question guy.

I can't believe it. That guy was spying on me. Dave had his hand on the door of the car. He was about to jump out. Kenny reached over and put his hand across Dave's chest. Kenny said, let's go. Scott said, before we go, can I go in and get an espresso? Scott said before we go can I go in and get an espresso Dave couldn't believe it back in the early 80s when everyone else had been talking about expansion and growth Dave had happily stayed small then he had resisted the urge to update and renovate and redecorate he had intentionally set his bar low, really low. And now someone was telling him he wasn't even big enough to be small. Dave went into the cafetorium the next day. It was a Tuesday morning, the quietest morning of the week. He wasn't doing anything except fretting and he

couldn't stand it any longer. He dropped the blind on the front door and reached under it and set the hands on the little raccoon to say he'd be back in an hour. He went upstairs and poked around the storage room looking for disguise. He found the perfect thing, a suit with a dress shirt and tie. A suit with a dress shirt and tie. Just as he headed out, he grabbed his lunch. If anyone asked, he was going for lunch. That's what he was doing. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there.

Didn't even have a plan. He just had to see the place again. He was acting on impulse. As he walked along, he was telling himself he wouldn't go in. He would just walk by. And then his neighbor, Mary Turlington, breezed by him without a second look. He felt invisible. When he got there, Mr. Question Guy was nowhere to be seen. There was a young girl behind the counter. She had the store's sound system cranked loud. She was playing the best of Duran Duran. Before Dave knew it, he was at the back of the store, furtively unwrapping his lunch, a sardine sandwich.

When it was open, he took a bite and slipped the rest of it onto a shelf above a heater. He went back the next day. He couldn't stop himself. he had to see what had happened there's an odd smell he said to the girl it's been here all day she said it's driving me nuts Dave felt a pang of guilt wasn't her fault he ordered a chocolate milk and gave her a generous tip he headed to the back of the store to fetch the offensive sandwich. He spotted the poster on a pillar halfway there. Don't be fooled by imitations, read the poster. This is the real deal, the official world's smallest record store. Dave sighed. He headed back to the shelf at the back of

the store. Instead of removing the sardine sandwich, he placed the glass of milk beside it and left. On Saturday, he called the store from a pay phone. He used a fake name. He ordered a copy of Trope Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. That would keep them busy. He had no intention of ever picking it up. Dave had become the coyote. Question guy was the roadrunner. Pretty soon Dave had an Acme catalog of plots rebounding inside his poor little head.

He'd pay an exterminator to park his van outside the store with a big sign in the window that read, Emergency Call. He'd hire, what's his name, the guy with the ukulele to stand outside and play the same song over and over and over. Pop Goes the Weasel. song over and over and over. Pop goes the weasel. He spent hours in front of his computer Googling things like revenge, world's best, deliveries, manure, fresh. It's all he talked about. It was Scott who brought him to his senses. It was a Friday night. It was a delicate moment. For a 16-year-old, Scott handled the moment with surprising sensitivity.

He put his hand across Dave's computer keyboard and said, Have you noticed that you might have lost your mind? Have you noticed that you might have lost your mind? He's stealing my ideas, said Dave, pushing him away, standing up and starting to pace. He wants to steal my store, said Dave. Yup, said Scott. So what do you expect me to do, said Dave? What would be best, said Scott, 16 years old and not yet shaving, is nothing.

Nothing, said Dave. Exactly, said Scott. Nothing is exactly what you should do. Then he said, I went over there last week. I went through the whole place, and you know what? You're right. The coffee's terrible. And you know what else? He doesn't have blood on the tracks or blonde on blonde. He doesn't even have Highway 61 revisited. He'll be out of business in a year. All you have to do is wait him out. I know this guy stole your idea, but believe me, all you have to do is wait. You don't know what it feels like, said Dave. Maybe, said Scott, but I know a little about theft. And I know robbing an idea is nothing compared to having one.

The guy is nothing. This place is the real deal. And that was that. A couple of months passed before Dave visited the cafetorium again. He almost didn't recognize the place. The sign was still up, but it had been shifted to the right. What had been the left side of the store was now an entirely new business, electronics. And the vinyl cafetorium, now half its original size, was little more than a coffee shop with a few racks of CDs crammed against the wall across from the espresso machine. Dave smiled.

It may be small, but it wasn't much of a record store. And Scott was right. It is easy to steal an idea. It's better to have one. And it's better still if you believe in the ideas you have. As Dave headed home, he was thinking about how much he was looking forward to going to work that day. he was looking forward to going to work that day. It would be, he was sure, a quiet day. Not many customers. Just a few sales. Business, no doubt about it, would be slow. As usual, he'd spend more time at the turntable than at the cash. And that wouldn't bother him one bit. In fact, he couldn't think of anything in the world he'd enjoy more. It was the next afternoon, sitting alone in his empty store, that he scribbled down the little phrase that has been his motto ever since.

He wrote it on the back of an envelope that was lying on his desk. You can see it yourself if you ever drop in. It's pinned on the bulletin board by the cash in a black felt pen with a big exclamation mark. We may not be big, but we're small. Thank you. That was the story we call the world's smallest record store. We recorded that story in Winnipeg, Manitoba in 2007. Do you know the scene I was talking about? It's the one with the shoplifter where Dave, instead of calling the cops, offers the kid, the shoplifter, a job.

I love that scene. It's so surprising, so impulsive, but so right. So Dave. We've got to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute with a sneak peek from next week's episode. So stay with me. Stay with me. That's it for today. We'll be back here next week with another Dave and Morley story. Here's a sneak peek. Scamp played with everyone, said Dave.

That happened all the time. Someone comes into town and they need a band. Scamp always ended up in the band. How come I never heard of him, said Scott. Probably because you keep interrupting people, said Dave. Can I continue? It wasn't a question. He was playing with Muddy and when the night was over,

he had a song in his head and he scribbled it down on the back of a set list. He forgot the set list in the club. He says he remembers vague bits of that song, the main riff and certain other parts, or he thinks he remembers certain other parts. He's not sure. He's tried everything to bring it back, even hypnosis, because he's certain in his mind of one thing. What's that, said Scott, certain in his mind of one thing. What's that, said Scott? That it's the greatest piece of rock and roll ever written. He says, since he lost it, he hasn't been able to write anything.

That sucks, said Scott. I have it, said Dave. What, said Scott? I have the set list, said Dave. It wasn't Muddy Waters, it was John Lee Hooker, and I have the set list, said Dave. It wasn't Muddy Waters. It was John Lee Hooker. And I have the set list upstairs. It's what I used to do, save that sort of stuff. I have a whole attic full of that sort of stuff. That's next week on the show. Come back next Friday to hear the whole Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Our recording engineer is one of the greatest human beings on earth, Greg Duclute. Theme music is by my friend, Danny Michelle.

The show is produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Melton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.