Amoeba Music

Oh Amoeba Berkeley, you will forever be ingrained in my memory as a safe harbor; a shelter from the storm. I was raised in the small town of Vacaville, which boasted at the time in the early 90's two music stores. The 1st, Tobacco Valley, was owned and operated by a nefarious proprietor who always remained prone on a throw rug on the store floor sedated in a thick cloud of smoke, trying to pawn the "newest" live recording of the Grateful Dead on a re-recorded cassette that may or may not have been a Journey album in it's previous life. The 2nd store appropriately named Vacaville Music was a place that would keep Mannheim Steamroller Christmas albums on sale in their top 10 well past any legal reason while hiding Iron Maiden records behind the counter for their disturbing covers. Today it is affectionately referred to as Vacaville Museum due to the fact that even today, you can find a new CD still in a long box. And so a clear picture has been painted that growing up I and my friends had no clue what a real music store was like out there in the real world. But a new friend of ours was familiar with Berkeley, particularly an exotic place named Annapurna. Berkeley was a place we had only heard whispers and rumors of from our parents. A road trip was planned and this was our destination. We arrived, and hit Telegraph street greeted by people who all seemed to be going somewhere with a purpose. Our guides purpose was Annapurna. I asked if he knew of a local book shop near by while the rest of the group went to their destination. "Cody's" was the replay and I was pointed in it's direction. I made my way into Cody's, bought a book I was looking for, and exited back onto the sidewalk marveling at the rich store fronts and faces passing by. As I stood I noticed a shadow darken over me, heavy breathing upon my back. I turned to face a wall of dirty denim and 90% cotton. I raised my gaze up, and up, and up further still to look into the eyes of a mountain of a man staring down at me, long hair hovering over the top of my head like some bird of prey. "Give me a cigarette" the voice bellowed. "I don't smoke" was my honest reply. "Then you better start. ROAR!!" The shear impact of the juggernaut's literal roar was nearly enough to knock me over and more then enough to put fear into my feet. I fled. Into the crowd I went trying to disappear into their masses. But Roar (as he would come to be known) had the effect of a Red Sea parting and at every turn people moved away exposing me to the charging Beast. As he bared down on me arms raised above his head like a nightmarish gorilla about to pummel me into a permanent spot on Telegraph, I darted across the street toward a bright and colorful building with the marquee Amoeba something, something above the door (I was moving too fast to read much more than that). I pushed passed it's inviting glass doors only to be stopped by a young man in a Ramones T-shirt, "I need your bag." I had no time to ask why I was being pinched for stealing when I just entered the building, so I traded him the book for a metal clip with a number on it and pushed further ahead into the crowded establishment. "ROAR!!" The Leviathan had breached the store but before he could train his eyes on me the young man who apprehended my literature at the door put up an authoritative hand before Roar, "Hey man, don't start your crap today. Go...GO!" Roar mumbled under his breath, threw a nondescript something onto the floor and exited my new found place of asylum. Where was I? What where all these varied people doing here? Fearing that Roar might be watching from outside waiting or at least hoping I would take up the habit of smoking, I made a sharp turn to the right into what was the beginning of the C-F section of Rock. CD's. Albums. Music. Magic. Had Roar in fact killed me and sent me off to some Music Valhalla? Or was this some postmortem fantasy to ease me into the next life? No this was real. And this was a place that I could never have imagined exist. Everything and anything you could ever want in music, covering every genre under one roof. And no one was laying on a throw rug on the floor. For the next two hours I wandered into the depths of Amoeba Records beside myself and beside myself again in elated joy. This place even offered hand baskets to fill with your musical discoveries! And fill it I did. And continue to do so to this day. Over the years Amoeba would be a safe harbor for music lovers during the highs and lows of the industry. And in the tough and lean times Amoeba would be there to purchase my music collections as I painfully sold them only to come back and start my collections all over again. It would be a beacon hope and my proof that Music still matters. No matter what big box chain opens near me, it is worth the drive to again get lost in Amoeba aisles in hopes of discovering something new or re-discovering something old. If Amoeba doesn't have it, as I tell people, than it doesn't exist. After I had exhausted my wallet I left Amoeba (and consequently my book as well, but I gained a clip with a number on it!). Then reality rushed back in. I scanned the horizon of heads for an oak tree sized object moving in the crowed. Roar was nowhere in sight. Then a familiar voice shouted next to me, "damn dude, where the heck have you been?" My friends had found me. That's right! I came here with people. I ran down the events of my Odyssey like story and pointed with pride at Amoeba. "Holy crap!", came one astonished reply, "a music store? I thought it was a grocery store it's so big!" "Who names a grocery store Amoeba? You get sick if you eat one of those." I never did make it to Annapurna. Cody's is sadly gone now. But Amoeba remains. My safe harbor. My shelter from the storm.

Years ago, I lived at 1825 Haight St. The window of our kitchen overlooked the driveway that separated us from Amoeba. I was working with a non profit that would feed people in Golden Gate Park, maybe someone there remembers the little red wagon?? Needless to say I was usually broke. But at least I worked at Starbucks and would get free coffee, coffee I would brew then drink while watching all the cute amoeba boys take the trash out. Living next to an awesome music shop can be depressing when money is tight. SO, I started my cheap tape collection. I had bought a couple of shoe boxes full of 2-5 dollar cassette tapes. I cant tell you how awesome it made me feel to be able to have a small collection(my records were all in storage in LA) Anyhow, I always remember the time when the great Amoeba was my neighbor!

Arrangements were made on another clear warm Saturday afternoon two close friends and I decided to meet up at the L.A. base Amoeba.two thirty or three is what it was supposed to be.The plan was sorted out five hours at least with so much to read, observe and love. Got there about three hours late, wrong exit, no map-quest or Navigator. A head rush to get there was making me anxious But with all the excitement time flew by pretty quick and we were finally there. We head towards the back ally of the infamous building to see if there was any parking (no luck) I drove slowly while looking at the pedestrians walk by to see what car they would get into. To my luck this guy gets into his car, right behind my right tail light. Turns his car on & exits out. I didn't think twice so I roll back with a bit of more gas than usual and KAPUFF!!! There goes my freekin front wheels (PUTA MADRE!!! said a voice in my head; then i said it) I hadn't noticed the damn sign on the wall and the gawd damn blades under my nose. I manage to park with no hesitation; Stepped out the vehicle and took a very close inspection. I couldn't believe it, but obviously. It wasn’t my imagination. Trying to control my irate. I walked into the store to find my friend and immediately, the unique exhilarating aroma of vinyl, 8 tracks, cassette, cd's and what not, flashed my face. My mentality changed as quickly as a power violence/grind core jam from the early 90’s. Friends were greeted, and my mission was on !!! For the Record I haven’t had a chance to buy new front tires.

We were in Santa Monica and I asked my mom to drive us to Amoeba in Hollywood so I could pick up some LP's. She said no, but she would go to one that was closer. I whipped out my iPhone and google "record stores in Santa Monica." So we go to the first location, turns out it closed down. Second try, also closed. I admitted defeat and we went home. Yesterday, I finally introduced my mom to Amoeba. She loved it and we ended up buying a lot of LP's and DVD's. Bottom line, don't google for some store that ended up closing down a while ago. Go to the best, go to Amoeba.

Amoeba...what can I say about thee? You truly are a music's nerds dreams, it's hard to explain to others what your store is with out screaming with excitement! When explaining to others how a perfect day would be like for me, going to Amoeba would be in their. It's so hard from going pennyless everytime I enter your store, there is so much to see and do. Downloading from a digital store is cool and all, but there is nothing like using all your six senses when shopping for music! And don't worry I don't taste or smell your records, dvds, etc! I mean that in a figurative sense. I look forward to another 20+ years of you supplying my music habit! Thanks Amoeba for the memories!

I live in LA now, so Amoeba Hollywood is only about a 20 minute drive away, but I used to live about an hour south. That never stopped me from going to Amoeba to fill up my music collection and get some sweet vinyls, though. One time a friend of mine had just scored about 200 bucks of birthday money and he knew exactly which albums he was going to get with it (some St. Vincent, Miike Snow, The Mars Volta, I can't remember the rest). We drove up in some of the worst traffic I'd ever been in, finally made it to Amoeba after a record breaking two hours on the freeway and when we got there we spent a total of 10 minutes as my friend picked up the vinyls he had decided on and checked out. Now normally I can spend a whole afternoon in Amoeba (and often do), but traffic had been so bad, and we had somewhere we had to be later that night, that we had to immediately jump back on the freeway after checking out. Most people would call that a waste of a trip, 2 hours on the road just to spend 10 minutes in the store, but the attitude and general vibe in Amoeba made those 10 minutes well worth the 2 hours it took to get there.

I love Amoeba. My 15 year old took me and I loved the vinyl. She got a shirt and patch. We drive from Santa Barbara and visit as a part of medical appointments in LA. Doctors are not fun but AMOEBA MAKES IT ALL BETTER. Lots of great music comes home on vinyl. Now her ten year old sister likes Amoeba and proudly carries her black Amoeba earth friendly bag with buttons everywhere. LOVE AMOEBA!!!!

A thirty-five minute story about a 40 minute set: Elvis Costello at Amoeba Sitting on the sidewalk waiting for Amoeba to open, I thought of the concrete beneath me and paraphrased Howl: “I’ve seen the best behinds of my generation . . .” It’s been eons since I sat outside a record shop waiting early doors. It would be an hour before the gates opened -- two and a half hours before the purported start of the show. Finally, we're in. I set up behind the sound man. I’d brought work with me (It was a Monday after all), and the folk album section from Vashti Bunyan to Sandy Denny became my desk. Right at noon, out bounded Elvis with a truncated version of his band The Sugarcanes (The Aspartames?) consisting of Jim Lauderdale and Mike Compton. By now, all the space in Amoeba was taken. Elvis is in good humor for someone who has already been on a radio show that morning. Most folks loved it, though I did spy a young woman front and center who turned her back on Elvis, desperately flicking through CDs to pass the time. Forty minutes later we were done, and those of us who were within the first 80 customers to purchase were lined up for Elvis’ audience with his audience. Officials repeatedly announced that Elvis will sign one item only, and only with the purchase of the new album. As for the one item limit, I’d come prepared, but how would my one item be received? On his latest album, Elvis had a bawdy vaudevillian song about his lecherous ways with women of various b-list American cities called "Sulphur to Sugarcane." As one example: "The girls of Poughkeepsie Take their clothes off when they're tipsy But I hear in Ypsilanti, the women don't wear panties." I approached the table as Elvis crunched away on an apple, and started my shpiel: “Elvis, I don’t know if you’re aware, but Ypsilanti was once the Underwear Capital of the US . . .” It’s true. Hay & Todd manufacturing made the full-body one piece union suit which was the rage in the 1890’s. “Never a rip and never a tear in Ypsilanti underwear.” To suggest that the women of Ypsilanti wouldn’t wear panties would be the equivalent of suggesting there’s no coal in Newcastle. “Two artists in Ypsilanti have tried to revitalize the industry with the Ypsipanti, so I’ve brought you a pair and would like you to sign a pair for me.” He thanked me and accepted the gift graciously. Of course, signing any material makes for a challenge, but when he wasn’t pleased with his first attempt, he went back over the letters to make it more legible. He shook my hand, and trying to get in the last word I said, “Wear it in good health.” Not willing to let that pass, Elvis said, “Yeah, on my head.” That night at Amoeba Hollywood addressing a world-wide internet audience after singing Sulphur to Surgarcane, Elvis had this to say: "…We were up at the Amoeba in San Francisco earlier today and someone gave me a gift that I wanted to share with you. In the final verse of the song, Sugarcane, it makes a suggestion that the ladies of Ypsilanti are a little bit… selective about their undergarments. And I have in my hand a pair of (yells come from the crowd as he takes them out of his pocket) Ypsilanti panties. (Laughter.) I kid you not. They go back a long way. There’s an accompanying note with them. (Takes a letter out of his pocket to read it.) This is the historical part of the show. (He reads.) "Never a rip, never a tear, with Ypsilanti underwear." (Laughs.) At a Tom Jones show, the audience throws their underwear on the stage. We like to throw it out, into the audience. "

The first time I went to Amoeba SF I was meeting an online friend there for the first time. My family was with me as well since they were about to send me off to college at that point in time. I didn't tell them I was meeting someone I've never met before because honestly what parent would want to here that? I somehow managed to ditch my parents somewhere on Haight to go meet up with him. I went inside and couldn't find him at first. After some casual browsing, my sister and the rest of the family catch up to me. "OH. She's with someone." was the first thing I hear. At that point in time I was super confused because wasn't with anyone. Lo and behold my friend was browsing merchandise behind me. The fact that he was intently watching me gave him away. Soon the rest of family showed up and things went all awkwardly downhill from there. My parents got all suspicious and started questioning everything. I denied everything in my desperate state of confusion and paranoia. In the end my siblings covered for me and I walked out with an Animal Collective CD. Not much of a story but that's probably the most awkward thing to happen to me at Amoeba. The end.

I almost religiously stop at Amoeba every time I pass by there, once or twice a week, and thoroughly go through the clearance racks, filling up my back catalog, discovering new music, and walking out of their smugly with 4 new CD's for about $10. I'm a music producer and composer and just walking the aisles inspires me to create new music.