This Saturday marks the seventh annual Record Store Day, an event devoted to independent music retailers, fans, and limited edition vinyl releases. But, comprised mostly of now-legacy rock acts and established names within indie rock, the list of the records being released this year is another reminder that most independent record stores have a finely targeted market: Built to Spill, Green Day, Soundgarden, the Black Lips, Death Cab for Cutie. Although there are outlying vinyl releases from Outkast, Skrillex, and even Katy Perry, the day largely still caters to people who define music as something made with a guitar.
In a 2012 Pitchfork column about the difficulty of tracking rap music sales in the digital era, Andrew Nosnitsky wrote: "Most still-thriving, independently owned music stores are capital-I Indie Music stores and as much as the Indie media pays attention to urban music—the rate of return on click throughs is enormous—Indie retail frequently remains indifferent to it."
That indifference towards “urban music”—largely made by people of color—makes the “capital-I Indie” record store an increasingly off-putting place to venture for those whose musical tastes doesn’t subscribe to the white rock canon.
There's this stereotype of a Simpsons“Comic Book Guy”-type worker at specialty stores, who wields his knowledge as a weapon against anyone that steps into his shop. But cultural alienation isn't always so overt. The isolation I face when stepping into an indie record store is usually more subtle. Once I trek to the back of the store, I disappointedly shuffle through the same dozen records: Odd Future, multiple 90s electronica albums, the entire Talib Kweli discography.
For better or worse, a majority of the best rap music from the last decade has come in the form of free online mixtapes. Could I go into a store and buy a copy of Chance the Rapper’s excellent Acid Rap? (Yes, but not officially.) Electronic music fares a bit better, as long as the artist can pass the critical or commercial stocking litmus test that is never placed on a middling garage rock band, but good luck finding a contemporary R&B album that isn't a reissue compilation. These genres are all given third-tier status; it sometimes feels like someone had to wring the store owner's arm just to find the space for a small group of obligatory titles.
Music fans still fetishize not only vinyl records, but physical spaces to buy music. Yet I've noticed that as my tastes moved further away from music that can be traditionally bought,so has the need or desire to go into a record store. Still, I haven’t fully shucked my desire to go into these places. For a young music fan, the record store is a place where you'd like to believe you could find like-minded people who share your passion for music. (College radio stations serve as a similar space, and unfortunately can be just as off-putting.)
Some would say this doesn't matter anymore—that the internet now allows young music fans the opportunity to seek out people with similar tastes. Still, the experience of seeing other people getting to be a part of a real-life musical clique will always make you pine for your own niche. To me, “Capital-I Indie” record stores represent a certain group that is not terribly welcoming to those outside of their camp. Record Store day is a nice event for those who have already been accepted into the club—but for the rest of us, it's just another day to stroll right by the door.