By Jef With One F
By Rocks Off
By Chris Lane
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
Then the Eagles announced that they would be cutting all record outlets save for Best Buy out of the picture for the first 30 days after the release of the aging band's new DVD. Add that in with the 21st-century indie record store's other woes -- the iPod, Kazaa, street bootleggers and the like -- and it's little wonder that Cactus general manager Quinn Bishop can at times sound pretty apocalyptic in conversation.
First, about that marquee. If you've driven down Shepherd or West Alabama lately, you will have noted that the Alabama center is undergoing a complete remodeling project. Royal Tokyo steak house/sushi bar is moving into the slot closest to Alabama, and PETsMART has already unpacked its aquariums, catnip and dog Frisbees at the other end of the strip. And now Weingarten, speaking through property manager Andrew Kaldis of Kaldis Properties, has suddenly decided that Cactus's 27-year-old marquee just may be too "out of date" for the spiffy "new" strip mall, that it needs to be replaced with a more generic pylon-type sign.
Or at least that's what he told Daily a couple of weeks ago. In a brief, unpleasant conversation with Racket, Kaldis changed his tune. He gruffly told the Press that no decision had been made on the marquee's fate.
If this were just another eyesore billboard, Racket wouldn't be so willing to kick up a preservationist fuss on its behalf. In this case, the marquee is the trademark of a Houston icon, one of the unusual successful small businesses that gives Houston its flavor. In its way, it's like the kitschy old gone-but-not-forgotten U-tote-M signs that once graced our humid landscape with so-tacky-they're-hip neon hints of the Pacific Northwest. Once those went, Houston became a little less, well, Houston.
Also, Racket can not count the times he has seen something intriguing, or even touching on the sign -- a new release he had forgotten about, an upcoming in-store, memorials on the deaths of Townes Van Zandt and George Harrison.
Not surprising, Bishop is concerned with what the destruction of the sign will do to his store's bottom line. "We routinely hear comments from our customers about their stopping in just because of what is listed on our marquee," he wrote in a statement sent to Racket on June 5. "It is our contention that this unnecessary change will have a devastating effect on our sales as well as attendance for our weekly events."
And so he's campaigning to save it. If the sign has ever meant something to you, if it's ever steered you toward a great performance or CD, or if you just like the look of the thing, e-mail your testimonials to Bishop at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Meanwhile, the ironies are rolling thick and fast in the Don Henley v. the independent record stores controversy. On one side, there's Henley, the champion of the underdog when it suits him, as it does when he's at war with Clear Channel radio. On the other, there's the independent music retailers, who by and large wouldn't piss down Henley's golden throat if his heart was on fire. Imagine the snickers that must ensue if someone requests the Eagles Greatest Hits at, say, Sound Exchange. Such a faux pas is the musical equivalent of ordering a Frito pie and a Mountain Dew at La Colombe d'Or.
Bishop himself is no Eagles fan, and it's a dollars to Krispy Kremes bet that none of his staff is either. For him, it's not about the band -- it's the whole principle of the thing. "This isn't about the Eagles or the quality of the music or anything like that," he says. "This is all about control of power. If Best Buy is able to set the price for a one-song CD-DVD at $6.98, Wal-Mart's next, and Wal-Mart's gonna go to artists and say, 'We want an exclusive,' and they're gonna cut the little guy out."
Along with more than 50 other store owners and managers affiliated with the Coalition of Independent Music Stores, Bishop has signed an open letter urging Henley to reconsider giving Best Buy the exclusive. The juiciest section of the letter reads like this: "While we understand the lure of working exclusively with huge corporations and the marketing clout this mega-venture affords your band, this seems like a serious compromise in principles. How is it that you, Don, can rail against the consolidation of power in the radio industry, and amongst large record labels, and at the same time make a conscious decision to stop anyone except the biggest of the big guys from carrying your single/DVD at the time when all of your fans will want it? We respectfully ask, where has your integrity and sense of fairness gone?"
"We opened in 1975," Bishop adds. "I guarantee you we helped develop his career. At some point somebody that loved roots music had to have come in our store and had a clerk say, 'Man, if you like Gram Parsons or Poco, you should give the Eagles a try.' " (Yes, at one point indie record clerks did think the Eagles were cool enough to name-drop.) "We helped develop his career, and now he's gonna screw all the little guys?"