Toronto’s Criminal Records closes its doors on Sunday. In honour of them, Melody has written an open letter about the independent record store. (Don’t forget to check out her zine article, People Watching: Record Store Edition, which took place there.)

The first time I walked into Criminal Records, I was blown away.

I had never seen anything like this before. Their walls beamed with a kaleidoscopic selection of band tees, the floor was bright and flashy, a black and white pattern that reminded me of a Specials album cover and tucked away, at the back, was a treasure trove of records.

Being a suburban tween exploring the streets of downtown Toronto, I knew very little about the music scene at the time. I didn’t know where shows took place, I had never hung out at Sneaky Dee’s and most importantly, I didn’t know where to buy good music.

Criminal Records was a far cry from the HMVs I went to. It was smaller, more unique and instead of a handful of employees buzzing around, there was just one man standing behind the counter: Paul.

I had dragged my two friends with me into the store and as I took everything in, I slowed down my pace, afraid that I was going to miss a detail – a framed poster, a t-shirt, something – there was too much to look at! I turned over and whispered to my friends. “Holy shit, I love this place!” Only it wasn’t a whisper. “Thanks!” Paul responded.

I don’t believe at love at first sight, or at least I don’t think that works with people. But that is definitely the only way I can ever describe how I felt about Criminal. And with every visit, I grew more and more fond of the store – discovering new records every time and of course, getting to know Paul and the other main man, a red-headed fellow named Josh.

Not many stores bother to greet every person who walks in, but Paul and Josh made sure to say hello to everyone, whether the people walking in would respond or not. Just one of the many things I love about them. They also remembered faces. Not always names, but definitely faces. And they began to remember me.

I’d go in as often as I could, asking for suggestions, talking about music-related news or just about anything and everything I could throw at them. Sometimes I would just continue to bring up new topics because I didn’t want to pay and leave just yet.

It was always my dream to work at a record store. After a failed stint at HMV in high school, I was convinced that I was better off on the other side of the counter but I thought, “Doesn’t hurt to ask Paul or Josh.” They seemed friendly enough. Much friendlier than anyone I’ve worked with at HMV.

Unsurprisingly, they weren’t hiring at the time but I continued to bug them anyway. Like a kid sitting in a car, who didn’t know when to stop screaming ‘Are we there yet?’ I would ask Paul and Josh every time I paid them a visit. “Can I have a job?” “Are you hiring?” “You know, I’d totally work here…” How they didn’t throw me out of the store and ban me, I will never know.

But one day, two years later, Paul told me to come in for a job interview.

July 24, 2009. I was told not worry or be nervous for this interview. After all, I knew these guys! They knew me! But of course, that just meant that I was twice as nervous. They knew me. I had to impress them with something more than just my regular nerdy self.

As I walked in that day, Paul and Josh suggested we move the interview down the street to the Second Cup instead. Funny enough, it was more a conversation between three people. Other than a few questions here and there, this was more to check our compatibility with each other and to go over some ground rules. They were well-aware that I was qualified for the job, but just wanted to get the chance to hang out and maybe test out my wit a little (thankfully I was witty enough to keep up with them). Afterwards, feeling much better about everything, we walked back to the store, where the other employee, Jameson, was closing up. As Paul and Josh went aside to talk, Jameson turned to me and welcomed me.

Paul, Josh, Jameson and the store’s fourth employee, Wayne Petti (even though we’ve never worked a shift together) have become my family in these two years. I often refer to many people as family, but I really do mean it when it comes to these four guys. They’re my brothers, my uncles, my friends.

Now I’m not going to lie – I was not the best employee. Often I would do something wrong or not know what to do when no one was in the store. Paul constantly gave me little pep talks and always asked me why I would give him this look like I didn’t know what I was doing. And truthfully, I didn’t know. Those nerves I had with me at the job interview never left.

Now, I’ve interviewed many people before, musicians I’ve grown up admiring. Rarely do I get nervous interviewing those people, but when I was with Paul and Josh, I would be a wreck. They were the exception, the rare case. I grew up looking up to these guys, praising them for the wonderful job they did at the store and treating them like the rock stars they truly are. Really, I was scared shitless to be around them. I didn’t want to act like an idiot and disappoint arguably the coolest people I know. But alas, I’ve probably fucked up one too many times working there. For that, I apologize for being a terrible employee.

But I’d like to think I was a good friend, at the very least. Baking them cookies for Christmas, occasionally texting them and sharing embarrassing stories about myself and still going in for a visit when I wasn’t being called upon for a shift. Whether or not I was working there, I wanted to be around them.

A month ago, Toronto was struck with the unfortunate news that Criminal Records would be closing. The second I read the news on my phone, I fell silent. I was at the store the day before and even though CDs were being packed away (they had announced a while back that they were getting rid of CDs), I had never imagined they were going to shut down completely.

July 24, 2011. Exactly two years after my job interview, Criminal will close their doors.

Paul, Josh – words, not even the 1000+ I’ve just provided can express how much the store has meant to me. You’ve seen me grow up throughout the years, opened me up to new music, taught me about things and just were the great people you are. And it’s evidence through the hundreds of supportive messages you’ve gotten in the past month that I’m not the only one who feels this way. The magnitude of your love and influence on these people and this city in general is so significant and no matter what you end up doing in the future, just know that you’ve touched many people in your many years of work, between the crazy homeless people and annoying thieves.

Toronto won’t be the same without Criminal Records.

PS – You best believe you’ll continue to get Christmas gifts from me.
PPS – Thank you for finding me a Juggalo husband.

xo, Melody