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Mays Records to close - sad news related

SoulhawkSoulhawk 3,197 Posts
edited January 2007 in Strut Central
after more than 30 years in the record biz on both sides of 8 Mile in Detroit - Mays Records will be shutting it's doors at the end of this month - the walk-in clinic next door bought his building out from under him & are planning on demolishing it to expand their parking lot - he was given less than a months notice to leave & had his gas & water shut off. still the records keep arriving...

  Comments

  • drewnicedrewnice 5,465 Posts
    Weak!!!

    That's actually one of the places that's been on my list, but have yet to make it to.
    I guess that's not happening.

    R.I.P.
  • spelunkspelunk 3,400 Posts
    Hot damn, any plans for the records? Big sale? eBay?
  • RAJRAJ tenacious local 7,779 Posts
    Damn..Another one bites the dust! (no pun intended).

    I was there once in 2004 and it was slim pickens ... still was fodder for good times on our mandatory annual Detroit trip.

    R.I.P.



  • BreakSelfBreakSelf 2,925 Posts
    This is tragic on so many levels. Mays was legendary status. Just thinking about how much of Detroit's recorded musical history has passed through that store is enough to humble any collector. The store was cramped, overflowing with records, and felt like it had the same air circulating in it as the day it opened. The smoke from Bob's chain-smoking was often required me to take breathers while digging to get the sting out of my eyes. My old roommate (who also owned a record store) used to joke that the combination of mold, spores and cigarettes had turned Bob into a superhuman with a respiratory system that regenerated itself monthly. As claustrophobic as the store sometimes was, it had a remarkable feel to it, like you were standing in one of the last authentic caches of black vinyl music in the country.

    As many times as I went in there, I still couldn't say for certain whether Bob ever came to recognize me. If he did, it certainly didn't prevent him from extending to me copies of his various volumes of poetry each time we settled up, even long after I had completed my set twice over.

    Abiding, unobtrusively, on a bleak stretch of 8-mile, I always felt that more than any other record store Mays was reflection of the city surrounding it. Now, sadly, it seems that the analogy is more apt than I ever would have hoped.

    Glasses up to Bob Mays, may he find another venue worthy of resting his superhuman feet.
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