Sniderman the Record Man

If I were to tell you that Sam Sniderman died I would have only very limited expectations that you would know who I was talking about. But if you are of a certain age, a boomer or perhaps Gen X I would have a reasonable expectation of a knowing look if I told you that Sam the Record Man had passed away. Well he did. He was 92 so as they say “he had a good life”. But his death is more than the death of a man it is the death of an era. It falls on the heels of a change of gargantuan proportions in the way we look at music. I bought my first record from Sam. Well not personally, but from one of his stores. From one of his staff who were as unique and interesting as he was. Sam; like most successful people loved what he did. He loved music. He especially loved Canadian music. He knew every album by every garage band every record that was recorded in a basement in Spadina or a garage in Winnipeg. As they say “Build it and they will come.” Sam did build it. His flagship store on Yonge Street in Toronto attracted like-minded people. Customers who loved that Sam could disappear into a stock room and come out with some obscure piece of vinyl that they couldn’t live without. The same was true of the people he attracted to work for him. Whether he attracted people like himself or whether he only hired the ones who loved music he always had staff who loved what they did and it showed. Sam hated a customer to leave one of his stores empty handed. I don’t think I ever did. My wife and I found ourselves on Barrington Street in Halifax once. She was looking for an album that I knew was long out of print. “If you find it anyplace…” I said to her “you’ll find it at Sam’s” Sam the Record Man on Barrington was three floors of eclecticism; eclectic music; eclectic customers and eclectic staff; on the wall eclectic memorabilia. I loved the place I loved the bulging shelves; the crowded aisles, the funky stairwell and elevator that literally didn’t go all the way to the top. The warped floorboards that creaked as you passed alerting a staff member who looked lost in reveries to your presence. Not that they were inattentive ; on the contrary they were slightly doting but not like most commissioned staff who were on you like white on rice. But they loved a challenge. A tall thin man of indeterminate age approached us on the third floor he was wearing a jack shirt open to a Grateful Dead T-shirt, a sash around his waist and gold cords. “What are you looking for?” He asked with a quick smile. I told him and his head turned sideways. He obviously knew the answer. “That’s not in print in North America.” He said firmly. But I knew he wasn’t done yet so I waited. His smile broadened. “But it is still in print in Germany. Can I order it for you?” I explained that we were on vacation and only in town for a few weeks. “Let’s try anyways; shall we?” So we did. I called on our last day in town but it had not come in. The next year’s holidays found us on Barrington. I practically dragged Lina up the stairs. I went to the shelves and started my search when a voice boomed from behind me. “Blue Train, Am I right?” I turned. It was our friend from the previous year. “Yes; you have a great memory!” I responded. He deafly leafed through the plastic dividers and produced the CD with a flourish. I wasn’t surprised I had come to expect a higher level of service from Sam’s. But times changed. As they always had. The music changed; the media that the music was on changed. Over the years I have even bought the same album from Sam’s on vinyl, eight track (god help me), cassette and later CD. Through it all Sam rode the trends and persevered. Gone are fragile vinyl disks handled lovingly by their edges. Gone are eight tracks; their chunky glove compartment eating carcasses gone to apple boxes at yard sales and flea markets. Gone are cassettes with miles of magnetic tape hanging out of them. Lastly the CD is not gone but it is going. Music today is on files and the internet; essentially on air. You don’t need to go to a store to buy air. You no longer need the guy in the funky T-shirt to tell you where to find it: you just Google it. Chances are you don’t pay for it either. Chances are you download it for free. So stores like Sam’s went away. I miss them. I don’t steal music. I didn’t steal it when it was on glossy vinyl albums with a million things to learn on the covers. I don’t steal it now that it is on air. I love music. Sam loved music. He also loved musicians. He opened his home and this wallet to struggling Canadian artists. Sam is gone and with him an era. Sam was famous for saying “I said it; I did it!” and he did. Canadian music owes him a lot. I still walk past Sam’s on Barrington with a sigh. It is gone of course but the building is still there. I think of all the music lovers who found that elusive gem in those walls; if the walls could only talk…