12 Record Stores in the 210
A few weekends ago, I visited 12 record stores in San Antonio, the city where I was born and grew up.
Buying a record in person adds some communality up front to the endgame of listening, which is often (but not always) a private experience. At a store selling used records, a buyer has the opportunity to act as an invited voyeur and to see what historical curio has overspilled out of lives and mostly local living rooms. Who knew, for example, how many San Antonians related to Dave Dudley’s trucking songs, or thought they wanted (but then changed their mind about) James Taylor’s eye-attacking 1976 album Flag?
For those brand new to buying vinyl, I’d like to offer some general advice. The first is that I would avoid buying a record just because the cover looks “funny,” as the contents on wax will in no way live up to the accidentally-amusing cover image. Similarly, it’s important to consider your tolerance for shlock or novelty, which may not be as high as you think it is. The other sinkhole consists of the allure of super-new/allegedly limited edition products that try and make the case that a record’s weight or scarcity or specialness means it should retail above what most of us can reasonably afford. They are the Flag of the future, just wait.
Okay — enough about all that. Let’s go record shopping.
My first stop — after of course hitting traffic coming out of Austin — was the store Music Connection across I-90 from Lackland Airforce Base (and near the Tactical Man Store).
The store was buzzing at this near-noon hour, and I browsed jazz, rock, and some oldies before my eye caught quite a collection of “unofficial” titles from Frank Ocean and Lana Del Rey. I asked the guy at the front which one of the Lana records he recommended, and he said, "The blue one? I dunno, let’s go over there and look." He handed me Unreleased, saying "We sell the shit out of this one." I also impulsively picked up a copy of Jonathan Sings! for 15 bucks when I saw it by the register.
I found the entire experience easy shopping, completely unpretentious (the font for Music Connection, the location in a strip mall, and the clientele all made me feel like I could have been shopping for a type of vinyl with less cultural cache). Great place, and as ancient as I am (established in 1982).
Purchased: Lana Del Rey, Unreleased; Jonathan Richman, Jonathan Sings!
From there I moved east down I-90 to Del Bravo, a record store that has been around since 1966 and which stocks quite a bit of Latin music in addition to what their sign calls “oldies but goodies,” and very adorable merch. Here, I bought my wife Juan Gabriel’s famous 1990 live album (as seen here promoted by the store itself). Looking around, I was daunted by the amount of music, mostly in Spanish, that I want to hear but wouldn’t know where to begin — though I did speak with an employee who was very enthusiastic about a few bands she recommended (Caifenes, Zoe). The store itself is festival, colorful, and welcoming.
Purchased: Juan Gabriel, Juan Gabriel en el Palacio de Bellas Artes
Skipping a bit north and west, my next stop was Janie’s Record Shop. Established in the ‘80s, Janie’s had a bit of Del Bravo’s colorful flair and a lot of used records. The internacional section was funkily and brightly decorated, and a shrine to the shop’s namesake, which includes a wrestling belt, sits near the register.
I bought a Tokens record and then sped out to my next destination.
Purchased: The Tokens, Both Sides Now
I decided to head up north and then work my way back down again. Nine Lives has a kind of catchall, junk shop feel that reads immediately depressing to me as an adult but which I would not have registered as a child. The website boasts “nick nacks, healing stones,” and more, and when I walked in two individuals were silently going through playing cards. When I realized that at least one of the two worked there, I asked where I could find the records, and the guy responded with: “You walked right past ‘em.”
Acting as though what is obvious to you, the proprietor or employee, should be obvious to a new customer may be tempting — especially when people ask dumb questions every day and if you don’t enjoy your job. But spreading misery, however, does not lessen it. I spent about five minutes wading through the records I almost tragically missed, with not a single salvageable LP in the whole lot. I was told there were more records in a few crates underfoot, and I’ll just say that they weren’t keeping all the good ones down there. The same man grunted unintelligibly as I walked out of the door. I won’t be going back.
Purchased: Nothing
Leaving all that behind, I found that my map of record stores was guiding me to what seemed to be an actual mall, or the “Wonderland of the Americas,” as my next destination. I had a strong feeling of recall about the place but I had to ice that for a bit as I grappled with the fact that I was entering some kind of convention. An event called Kings of Horror was taking place, and folks were dressed up accordingly as clowns, demons or etc. and, for a fee, could meet two of the actors who played “Henry” on the Walking Dead.
Inside the mall little stalls were set up selling lemonade, VHS cassettes, and much more. It was here in the crowded mall where I was hit face-first with both tactile, ancient media set against the eerie, AI-based doggerel that feeds on nostalgia like a remora on a whale.
I stepped into a set of stalls and asked a young woman with eerie purple contact lenses where I could find the “record store” I was sure had to exist, somewhere, and she sent me in the right direction across a bunch of other makeshift enclosures and into CD Sam.
Fairly crowded, CD Sam was heavy on heavier music, but had a pretty good mix of genres more generally. I hesitated over a signed (by someone) copy of an Amenra LP but I was beginning to feel overwhelmed and a little overspent. At Goomba’s pizza in the food court, I asked “What is this place” and was told it wasn’t actually a mall, but a community center (though it was once known as Crossroads mall, confusing things).
While eating my pizza I stared at a nerd enclosure called Heroes’ Retreat and considered how — at first gradually, and then all at once — fringe culture (in which I obviously partake) had become the monoculture, leaving holdouts like Nine Lives as the only yellowing proof of what a lonely pursuit indulging in the imaginary used to be.
Purchased: Pizza
My next stop was supposed to be a store called Needle Noise but it has gone the way of Crossroads mall. I pivoted over to Friends of Sound records, where I was the only customer in a pretty large store. A little frazzled from the not-mall (so frazzled that I forgot to take a photo), I flipped through a few records before returning to a Stereolab album I saw winking at me from a front window display. Five dollars — an amazing deal.
Purchased: Stereolab, Transient Random-Noise Bursts with Announcements
This record store wasn’t initially on my list, but my Del Rey dealer at the Music Connection recommended I drop by when I asked about any other must-see San Antonio record stores. Brainwave was cozier than Friends of Sound and had four or five of us scrounging around for deals. I found a Left Banke record at a nice price point and completed my San Antonio punk rock triptych with Taco City Rockers #3.
Purchased: The Left Banke, Walk Away Renee; Various Artists, Taco City Rockers #3
I believed my next visit would be to a place called Pink Zeppelin, but trying to find that blimp was a bust (it closed, in other words). Instead, my map took me to Room 13, which I learned has been open for about 5 months. Room 13 opens into the pleasing space of San Antonio Gold, where I would’ve grabbed a coffee if I hadn’t been suffering a bit from the mall pizza. Another time! My trip to this record store was also somewhat brief (I had three more stores to go) but I did note the reasonable prices and grabbed a classic album by one of my favorite bands from when I was growing up in SA.
Purchased: Sonic Youth, Daydream Nation
I don’t expect vintage stores to necessarily have a great selection of vinyl, but La Segunda isn’t strictly speaking a vintage store at all, and they have a lot of interesting music for sale in addition to furniture, clothing, and more (you'll have to check their website for photos, again I dropped the ball). The place is popping with curios, and near the bathrooms is a small, circular bar where a patron can stop by for an intimate drink. The aesthetic, which I can’t exactly name, can also be found at The Bang Bang Bar and in grandparents’ living rooms across San Antonio circa 1988. I bought a limited edition copy of an album by Estonia’s Pia Fraus — a nice surprise find.
Purchased: Pia Fraus, In Solarium
When I stepped into Southtown Vinyl, two photographers were preparing to shoot a couple flipping through the stacks for what I guess will be engagement photos. I tried to stay out of the way of the festivities and enjoyed that the store had a section devoted to local artists: Buttercup, Demitasse, a Shadow Hounds/Sexcult split (the former are from SA), and an artist I’d never heard of called Las Hijas de La Madre. Suddenly thinking more locally, I asked if they had a copy of the album Rebirth by the 60s-era San Antonio band the Children. They didn't, but I was directed to Robot-Monster Guitars, who might. I also found another record for Leah.
Purchased: Reba McEntire, Reba
After trying to open the wrong door to get into Robot-Monster Guitars, I finally got inside and began talking with the two fellas working within, one of whom was Odie, bassist of the above-mentioned Buttercup. Odie didn’t have the Children album for sale, but The Swindles, with whom Odie also plays (a band that also features Joe Reyes of Buttercup), had a special show just three years ago focused on songs by the Children, which was a kind of coincidence.
The store had records, shirts, and musical equipment for sale, and Odie showed me some first/early pressings of some classic records they kept away from the rest of the vinyl — The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators, Earth A.D. by the Misfits, and more. I asked how much the 13th Floor Elevators record was, and Odie sent a text but wasn’t able to get back to me before I decided it was time to move on to my final vinyl visit.
Purchased: Nothing, but I do regret not grabbing R.E.M.'s Dead Letter Office.
This record store is actually part of a complex called The Corn Pound that also houses a recording studio. Jeff Smith is the proprietor, and you may also know him as the vocalist of the Hickoids, whose debut album “We’re in it for the Corn” (you’ll start to see the kernel of a theme developing) came out in 1984. Jeff and I know people in common and it turns out we both spent time trapped within the decrepit walls of Churchill high school back in the 20th century.
Jeff tried his best to find a few far-flung requests, including that dang Children album and Sweetheart of the Rodeo, but the fates were not with us that afternoon. Had Jeff’s store been my first to peruse, I would have spent more time talking and shopping, but at this point I felt like it was time to head back to Austin.
Purchased: Nothing, but good conversation is fortunately free.
