A maze of beleaguered shelves and record crates neatly crammed all the available space in this former train depot. The sneering rictus of the recently departed Lux Interior, frontman for the rockabilly revivalists the Cramps and noted record collector, stared me down from a vintage promo poster as I picked up a copy of the Johnny Ace Memorial Album. Johnny Ace had one of early R&B’s more storied tragic ends—death from a drunken backstage game of Russian roulette. I wanted to think old Lux was smiling, in his way, from his back alley of Heaven.

See, this is what a quality record store will do to a true music nerd—it will make that nerd go deep. I overheard an excited group of younger-me’s exclaim, “Whoa! Tina Turner did a country album?” I wanted to pipe up that “country” meant a different thing in the Tina Turner, blues context of 1965—when my eyes landed on a cache of Nautilus half-speed records, special audiophiles’ recordings where some sort of slowing down of the mastering process increased the quality of the recording. I didn’t quite understand how it works, but I knew, in record collector terms, it was like finding a herd of unicorns grazing behind the crate of quadrophonic LPs.

Everywhere I turned I was confronted with wonder. Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica—the quintessential music geek album—on vinyl! In decent condition! T-Rex on 8-track, still in the cellophane! Blues Magoos on reel-to-reel tape! It was all I could do not to pass out.

Sure, much of this was as accessible as a click on iTunes, but where is the patina, where is the glory in finding something via a search window. When your fingertips get worn from flipping through albums for hours, when you neck is bent wrong and your eyes blurry from speed reading record spines—those are the conditions when a beautiful thing can be unearthed.

Take The Uncommon Man, a spoken word album I happened upon by late beloved radio host Paul Harvey. This 1960 LP contains Mr. Harvey’s screed against what he saw was a dangerous homogenization of America during the Cold War. I know this not from the record itself, but from an excited post on a blog called Recordo Obscuro: The Soundtrack to Nobody’s Life. No disrespect intended toward the Recordo Obscuro people, but notice the desultory, self-deprecating tone with which the Internet views itself. There is an unconscious cultural disposability in that subtitle of “nobody’s life.” Contrast that with the earnest message of Mr. Harvey’s recording, of the tidy graphics on the cover showing one man among many being pulled out of the grid and being magnified, being examined, being beheld for but a moment.

This is the existential thrill a real music nerd experiences in a record shop stocked as well as the Little Big Store. Sure, most of these records are rightfully forgotten, worth a glance if only for the dated covers. Few among them contain the song of the ages. But somewhere in those stacks, maybe in the shop’s collection of “party records” (music with crowd noise added to accelerate any hi-fi party) or maybe deep in those hundreds of gospel records and old movie soundtracks and the seemingly endless parade of mustachioed, doe-eyed singers from the 1970’s, there lies that one record you’ve been looking for all your life. 

Alex V. Cook is an author, music critic and cultural explorer from Baton Rouge. He is currently writing a book about Louisiana juke joints, honky tonks and dancehalls. If you know of a place that deserves to be more widely celebrated, drop him a line at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .'; document.write( '' ); document.write( addy_text14383 ); document.write( '<\/a>' ); //--> This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Details. Details. Details.

The Little Big Store
201 E. Main Street
Raymond, Ms 39154
(Make sure to punch in the zip code if using Google Maps.)

Open Friday, Saturday and Monday,
10 am–5 pm.
Sunday, 1 pm–5 pm.
(601) 857-8579
Littlebigstore.com

After working up an appetite, stop in at the unassuming Country Food Shack just up Main Street on the square. It’s the best $6 plate lunch your record-hunting heart will ever find.

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