<b>A&A Records</b><br />
351 Yonge Street, with various branches across the city.<br />
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Of all the battles among the record stores that lined Yonge Street between the 1960s and the 1990s, the fiercest ones were between the giants of the strip: A&A and Sam the Record Man. Started in the 1940s by Mac and Alice Kenner primarily as <a href="http://torontoist.com/2012/01/more-lost-words/20120111aa/">a book store</a>, A&A’s name was chosen so that it would be listed first in the phone book. By the 1960s, the store was reputed to have one of the deepest record inventories in the world, especially in the classical field. Sam Sniderman once claimed he was prompted to move close to A&A from his original College Street location after he discovered the Kenners were pasting his newspaper ads on their window—with Sam’s name removed.<br />
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Visiting musicians were occasionally at the receiving end of gags played by A&A staff. When jazz pianist Dave Brubeck came to the store, one of his records was spun on the store’s P.A. system. “Take that thing off!” Mac Kenner yelled. “Put on something commercial!” Brubeck slouched into his coat and felt ill-at-ease until Kenner admitted he had played a joke.<br />
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The company was sold to CBS in 1971, then Sound Insight a decade later. At its peak, A&A had 260 locations across the country, but expansion proved ill-advised. After several rounds of bankruptcy, another ownership change, and the arrival of HMV on the scene, the Yonge Street landmark closed for good in 1993.<br />
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<em>A&A Records, as viewed from Elm Street, late 1970s or early 1980s. City of Toronto Archives, Series 1465, File 20, Item 23. Additional material from the February 11, 1967 edition of the</em> Globe and Mail. <br />
<b>Cheapies</b><br />
599 Yonge Street, and other branches.<br />
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Another of the many record stores lining Yonge Street, Cheapies was among the shops Jeff Goldblum strolled by in <em><a href="http://torontoist.com/2011/02/reel_toronto_the_fly/">The Fly</a></em>. Though its GTA locations are long gone, Cheapies remains a fixture of downtown Hamilton.<br />
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<em>Advertisement,</em> Now<em>, December 16, 1982.</em><br />
<b>The Country Music Store</b><br />
2302 Danforth Avenue, then 2889 Danforth Avenue.<br />
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Thrown out of a job following the demise of the Eaton’s catalogue in 1976, Maritimer Ossie Branscombe, along with fellow easterner Charles Larade, established a store devoted to the music they grew up with. Besides carrying indie and mainstream country, Maritime, and Celtic music, the shop held <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJ4ai67el5Q&feature=relmfu">a weekly Saturday jam session</a> for anyone interested in those genres. The community feeling the sessions produced attracted customers like CKLN DJ Steve Pritchard, who told the <em>Star</em> in 2002 that Branscombe “deliberately goes out of his way to educate people about bluegrass and Celtic music. His big motive is to pass the music on.” The jam sessions continued until the store closed in August 2003.<br />
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<em>Image from article on Toronto record stores, the </em>Star<em>, September 26, 1986. Additional material from the April 25, 2002 edition of the</em> Star.<br />
<b>Incredible Record Store</b><br />
778 Yonge Street.<br />
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Despite reportedly being shunned by local collectors because it was “outrageously expensive,” Jonathan Lipsin’s massive inventory made his store a place to check for rarities, thanks to its “finder service.” His services were utilized by CBC and the National Archives of Canada.<br />
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Lipsin seemed disappointed when a classified ad placed for a night clerk in 1992 yielded only three applicants instead of the 200 he expected. "We're offering a good job and we're great employers,” he told the <em>Globe and Mail</em>. “This is a recession and it's bad out there. But this makes me feel people just want to lay back and not do anything. I'm outraged."<br />
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<em>We couldn’t find an image of Incredible Record Store, but here is a Yonge Street record store window circa 1970 from the City of Toronto Archives (Series 1465, File 312, Item 11). Additional material from the August 19, 1992 edition of the</em> Globe and Mail<em>, and the September 26, 1986 edition of the</em> Star.<br />
<b>Record Peddler</b><br />
Various locations, including 45 Carlton Street, 621 Yonge Street, and 619 Queen Street West.<br />
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Wherever it was located, Record Peddler was a reliable source of indie music. Owner Ben Hoffman also ran a distribution business and a record label (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fringe_Product">Fringe Product</a>), both of which were brought to trial on obscenity charges in 1990 for selling two <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dayglo_Abortions">Dayglo Abortions</a> albums. After a four-day trial, all charges were dropped.<br />
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After 24 years as a retailer, the business moved online in 2001. The store’s final location was later home to Suspect Video and was destroyed by <a href="http://torontoist.com/2008/02/massive_fire_hi/">the Queen Street Fire in 2008</a>. <br />
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<em>Advertisement,</em> Now, <em>November 5, 1987</em>.<br />
<b>Tower Records</b><br />
Locations at 2 Queen Street West and Empress Walk.<br />
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The <a href-"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tower_Records">international chain</a> began its brief foray into the Canadian market at the corner of Queen and Yonge in 1995. <em>Star</em> architecture critic Christopher Hume praised its adaptation of the historic <a href="http://torontoist.com/2012/01/vintage-toronto-ads-union-friendly-garments/">Jamieson Building</a>, which had long been home to Woolworth’s: “Tower Records has finally made good use of a structure that was renovated in 1987. At that time, it was almost demolished because it was in such bad shape but its owners decided instead to save as much money as they could. The refurbishment wasn’t perfect but it maintained a landmark that is once again part of the city.”<br />
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The store raised the ire of Industry Canada, who asked the chain to reduce the amount of space it devoted to selling books in order to protect smaller local booksellers. Faced with tough competition and the beginning of the long decline in recorded music sales, Tower called it a day in 2001.<br />
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<em>Advertisement,</em> Now<em>, December 21, 1995. Additional material from the January 25, 1996 edition of the</em> Star.<br />
<b>Peter Dunn’s Vinyl Museum</b><br />
Various locations, including 355 Yonge Street, 402 Bloor Street West, 594 Bloor Street West, and 2918 Lake Shore Boulevard West.<br />
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Started in 1978 in Kensington Market, Peter Dunn operated <a href="http://ryersononyonge.wordpress.com/2011/03/27/the-vinyl-museum-a-collection-of-forgotten-times/">Vinyl Museum</a> stores in several locations around the city until 1999. Over those two decades, browsers were treated to every form of record imaginable, from mainstream hits to rows of mysterious generic Russian albums. Potential buyers were sometimes advised by stickers than an album “plays well, but check quality.” There were also sometimes taped-on Biblical verses. Prices were generally rock bottom, even on sealed albums that commanded premiums elsewhere. “I have always taken an all-over-the-map approach,” Dunn told the <em>Star</em> in 1998, “where if something is round and still turns on a turntable, I’ll buy it.”<br />
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Occasionally a plastic sleeve with the Vinyl Museum’s cat mascot (based on a cross between Dunn’s pet Mingus and <em>Looney Tunes</em> character Sylvester) resurfaces amid the city’s record bins.<br />
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<em>Advertisement,</em> Now<em>, August 26, 1982. Additional material from the July 30, 1998 edition of the</em> Star.<br />
Toronto’s history with record stores runs deep. Yonge Street, especially during the 1980s, typified the diversity of the city’s music shops, from giants like A&A and Sam the Record Man to assorted general, specialist or used stores filled with racks of vinyl. Across the rest of the city, music lovers could shop at chain outlets or smaller stores. Though rising rents and technology shifts have shuttered industry giants and neighbourhood nooks alike, memories of where we assembled our music collections live on.
In honour of tomorrow’s Record Store Day, the gallery, above, has some information about a few of the stores that once allowed Torontonians to spend hours sifting through rows of vinyl, cassettes, and even, eventually, digital discoveries.