By Lauren Wise
By New Times
By Amanda Savage
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Troy Farah
By New Times
By Derek Askey
Revolver stacks up pretty well against other stores in town (Tracks in Wax, Memory Lane, Rock Zone). If anything, the selection definitely beats the bins at Zia Records, which touts itself as "The Last Real Record Store." Every time I've been there, my most interesting vinyl finds were a couple of warped, 99-cent copies of Earth, Wind, & Fire's Spirit. Not good.
Tempe's Eastside Records is most definitely my personal favorite. It's been around forever, the inventory is banging, and the staff's a curious bunch. When a clerk comes across an undesirable record, he'll buy the album and toss it on the building's roof. Another time, according to urban legend, an employee became so irate after discovering a Whoopi Goldberg Christmas LP that he grabbed the album, hiked down his drawers, and turned Goldberg's recording into an Eastside special poo-poo platter. (I'm glad I heard about this after the fact.)
Back at Revolver, nobody is taking a shit on the merchandise, thank goodness. At this point, I've been here for about 45 minutes and the place is still busy. I'm definitely impressed. If a record store can be busy on a weekday afternoon — especially in Phoenix, where people refuse to leave their homes during rainstorms — it must be a healthy time to be a vinyl nerd.
I'm over in the rock-soul-pop section, looking for anything by The Main Ingredient, when a guy tells Jordan, "Man, there's no better job than owning a record store. You get to sit here and listen to music all day." True dat.
When I try to discard a record because I have a CD version to play in the car, I get the same feeling as when I try to trash a beloved book. The audio book is available, but I seldom get cozy with an audio book, a blanket, my lap dog, and a cup of coffee. TJ Jordan appreciates the aura of vinyl. He is passionate about music. He doesn't just sell records, he attaches a heart-felt blessing for the listener. What a deal!