Their Boxing Day sales were the thing of Canadian legend, a time when Canadians willingly lined up for hours to buy their music on vinyl or tape at greatly reduced savings.
And soon Sam the Record Man’s historic flagship store in Toronto will close its doors for good, bringing to an end an unparalleled era in Canadian music.
Beyond the frantic Boxing Day spectaculars, Sam’s provided a chance for then unknown Canadian artists to find a little respect and maybe some sales and the chain’s founder Sam became a Canadian icon in the booming music industry of the seventies and eighties.
Sam’s opened in Toronto in 1961 and by the end of the decade would be the “in” place to go in Toronto for music, set to catch the music explosion of the seventies and eighties, the Yonge Street location became the definitive beacon of the Canadian music industry, the flashing neon record a lighthouse that attracted rather than warned all those that approached.
The decision to shut the doors on the store really was a no brainer, heck the place had already gone into bankruptcy once only to reappear a few years later. It was no doubt a touchstone of an era that saw the dedicated record store as a quaint seventies and eighties, kind of historica, in an brave new digital era of iPods, cel phone tunes, MP3’s and Satellite radio, the sales were plummeting and the foot traffic was nowhere near the heady days of the Cancon explosion and the days of multi million dollar vinyl sales.
Still, for a long time music buyer (far too many replacement formats than I care to count) it’s a reminder of the changing times we live in. My vinyl collection old, musty and unused as it is these days, features many copies of the featured LP of the week from the local Sams of my youth.
Much has been replaced by the trendy iStore selection downloaded in the blink of an eye and loaded onto a music player no larger than your average chocolate bar. Still there was something about ripping the plastic off of the latest LP and tossing it onto a turntable, clicks and hiss and all.
It didn’t make much of the music any better, but at least you felt part of the process, feeling a sense of ownership if you will, now it seems all so disposable, you can’t see it, you can’t feel it, you can only hear it.
In the end it’s all that really matters, but still change is a hard thing to accept sometimes.
It seems like only yesterday (but it was actually more than a few of them) that I rushed home with the new Springsteen album, and cranked up the volume as Bruce and I raced down that highway jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive.
The journey started at a Sams.
And soon Sam the Record Man’s historic flagship store in Toronto will close its doors for good, bringing to an end an unparalleled era in Canadian music.
Beyond the frantic Boxing Day spectaculars, Sam’s provided a chance for then unknown Canadian artists to find a little respect and maybe some sales and the chain’s founder Sam became a Canadian icon in the booming music industry of the seventies and eighties.
Sam’s opened in Toronto in 1961 and by the end of the decade would be the “in” place to go in Toronto for music, set to catch the music explosion of the seventies and eighties, the Yonge Street location became the definitive beacon of the Canadian music industry, the flashing neon record a lighthouse that attracted rather than warned all those that approached.
The decision to shut the doors on the store really was a no brainer, heck the place had already gone into bankruptcy once only to reappear a few years later. It was no doubt a touchstone of an era that saw the dedicated record store as a quaint seventies and eighties, kind of historica, in an brave new digital era of iPods, cel phone tunes, MP3’s and Satellite radio, the sales were plummeting and the foot traffic was nowhere near the heady days of the Cancon explosion and the days of multi million dollar vinyl sales.
Still, for a long time music buyer (far too many replacement formats than I care to count) it’s a reminder of the changing times we live in. My vinyl collection old, musty and unused as it is these days, features many copies of the featured LP of the week from the local Sams of my youth.
Much has been replaced by the trendy iStore selection downloaded in the blink of an eye and loaded onto a music player no larger than your average chocolate bar. Still there was something about ripping the plastic off of the latest LP and tossing it onto a turntable, clicks and hiss and all.
It didn’t make much of the music any better, but at least you felt part of the process, feeling a sense of ownership if you will, now it seems all so disposable, you can’t see it, you can’t feel it, you can only hear it.
In the end it’s all that really matters, but still change is a hard thing to accept sometimes.
It seems like only yesterday (but it was actually more than a few of them) that I rushed home with the new Springsteen album, and cranked up the volume as Bruce and I raced down that highway jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive.
The journey started at a Sams.
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