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| [The amazing Vintage Music Co. storefront.] |
Years ago, I was low-key conducting a project I called “Obscure Museums” where I led tours to off-off-the-beaten-path “museums”, i.e. any place where interesting collections were on display in either a formal or informal way. The 2018 tour included the Vintage Music Company, truly a magical storehouse of 78 rpm records.
(Note: I’m still hoping to put together a published guide to these places. I think my list would be great fun!)
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| [78 rpm records used to be wildly popular.] |
Some time back, I inherited a trove of 78 records and have a (crappy) turntable that can play them, and so I have an interest in these amazing artifacts. But the real reason I wanted to bring people to Vintage Music is because it’s straight out of a urban fantasy story, the closest thing to a wizard’s shop I’ve ever encountered. (And that includes my time spent in the South Minneapolis “witch district.”)
You step inside and are immediately engulfed by musty chaos. Two men tinker behind a raised central pedestal island, tweaking turntables some of which have actual ear horn-style speakers straight out of the ancient RCA dog advertisement. (“Put a sock in it!”) Nobody helps you. If you ask an inadequate question, one of the record wizards might castigate you sarcastically as if you’re a first-year student at wizard school. (This happened to me, of course.)
The place is an idea obscure museum, and that’s why it’s sad to see its closing. Places like this, where they are obviously barely scraping rent money together, always seem doomed. But whenever I’d go past Vintage Music Company and see its building still standing, its faded sign still legible, I’d knew Minneapolis still had more than its share of magic.
For further reading, here’s a great 2017 Star Tribune story on the owner and his idiosyncratic ways. (h/t Keith at Racket):
Star Tribune quote article here asdf
Holthus, 54, has spent decades collecting, cataloging and selling this music — big band and Billie Holiday, country western and Bing Crosby — in its original form: records that spin at 78 revolutions per minute. He also collects, restores and sells the machines that play them: spring-driven phonographs with stately finishes and names like Edison, Brunswick, Victor.
His shop, Vintage Music Co., which smells of spray varnish and dust, is one of the last record stores in the country to stock solely 78s. Vinyl is popular these days, of course, in its wider LP or 45 rpm format. But Holthus, nostalgic even as a kid, has never been driven by trends.
"I'm not malleable," he said. "I should be able to bend with the times ... and I just can't do it."
Instead, he keeps alive records and players that others have given up on.
In the piece, you learn that the store had over 750,000 78 rpm records in it! That's a wild number, especially considering each of them is about 2-3 minutes of music on each side. In other words, the entire store probably didn't account for as much music as you'd find on a 20-year-old iPod.
Anyway... the real treat for me was the total characters running it.
Even on days the shop's doors are locked, Holthus is there, repairing and cataloging until dark. He's known both for happily sharing his encyclopedic musical knowledge and his persnickety spirit. He hates the word "vinyl." He disdains new, cheaply made portable players. He scoffs at reissues.
RIP, godspeed and good health to Scott, and I hope someone can do something with this fantastic obscure museum of a shop.
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| [A wizard shop for sure.] |
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