Lately we’ve come to appreciate that urban outpost for the stars known as the record store. No matter how heavy shit gets, one can always seek refuge from the perils of modernity among the dusty racks of compact discs. Oh and LPs, too. Nothing says “20th century” as well as a pile of dusty old LPs and CDs in alphabetical order! And really, is there anyplace better for conversing long hours with a clerk about the latest ripple in the canon of western music? O,... (read more)

Artists in this story: The High Llamas