1/22/2024 0 Comments Tower records merchandiseIn 1985, two years after Tower’s doors opened, I abruptly quit my gig at midtown coffee shop Miss Brooks after a transgression with a married older woman manager. That year we both worked as messengers in Manhattan, but we were ready to splurge our minimum wages on Sting. That same year I hung out with Jerry as he waited in line overnight to buy tickets for The Police’s Synchronicity Tour. Years later, I heard how fallen Grandmaster Flowers, a pioneering DJ from Brooklyn, used to shake his coin cup on that spot and I just knew that’s who Jerry had met. An aspiring playwright, Jerry wrote a one-act about the encounter. Back in those days, I had a bad habit of running late and, on one occasion, he befriended a guy begging for change in front of the store. Though I lived in Harlem and Jerry dwelled in Brooklyn, we often met in front of Tower when we planned on “hangin’ in the village.” We’d flip through racks of records for an hour or so, which was usually followed by smoking a joint in Washington Square Park while watching comedian Charlie Barnett. I can remember my buddy Jerry and I going down there one night when my drunk self believed I needed to buy the soundtrack for Valley of the Dolls just to hear Dionne Warwick singing the theme. Additionally, Tower stayed open until midnight, which made it the perfect place to drift into after happy hour when some jukebox song was stuck in your head. Inside the trademarked yellow bags stamped with the red logo, I often carried out lots of goodies. They had large jazz and classical departments, sold cool import and rap singles, and carried an array of music publications, including British papers Melody Make r and New Music Express ( NME). With their custom designed window displays that were done by in-house artists, Tower Records was bigger than most New York City record stores. As the talking heads dropped Tower Records history and lore, I thought about the many hours I spent in that store as both patron and employee. Recently, while watching the wonderful Tower Records documentary All Things Must Pass (2015), a senior West Coast employee described the location as “the bowels of the East Village” and claimed he saw a dead dog in the gutter. With the exception of New York University and music venue The Bottom Line, there wasn’t much else. Back then the neighborhood was rather bleak. I dug all them shops, but I had no particular favorite until 1983, when Tower Records opened on Fourth and Broadway. I was a fiend for cut-out bins where I could find discounted records, mostly from artists I’d never heard of-but I liked the covers. Often, I went alone and spent hours flipping through the stacks in search of old soul, new wave, early rap, free jazz, and on-the-money funk. Freddy, a sharp-dressed and kindly man, played the disc for me to make sure it was the right one.Īs I got older and my musical taste broadened, I began spreading my wings throughout Manhattan, where I discovered other record stores, including Kappy’s in Washington Heights, Bobby’s Happy House in Central Harlem, and Bondy’s, which was across the street from City Hall. There were promotional posters taped in the windows and tacked to the exterior walls, and packages of fragrant incense on the counter next to the register. From the Jackson 5 to Gladys Knight & the Pips, he carried all the latest soul records. Freddy, I visited that record shop weekly to buy 45s to jam on my blue record player. Having grown up in the 1970s, an era when record shops were a fixture in communities and often served as neighborhood social centers, I became obsessed with a small store located on 146 th and Broadway. Tower Records on 4th Street and Broadway, 1984.
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