Spring 2020

A1 Records has more than enough life for the East Village, which is why it fits right in. In the wake of several other record shop closures over the past decade, A1 has managed to remain a quiet force in record sales. It is a small shop, located on 6th Street in between First Ave and Avenue A. If it weren’t for the extra crates of records placed right outside the store, one could easily miss it. Upon entering, customers are greeted with sounds of smooth jazz playing from a speaker in the back of the room, which seems miles away from the front door, the two entities separated by a sea of vinyls. At the front of the store sits a turntable, for guests to listen to their newly purchased records, as well as a wall full of cassettes. There is an old stereo for sale. One customer asks for the price, but chooses not to purchase.

“It’s another form of art collecting,” says Jeremie Delon, the senior manager of the shop. Prior to the rise of digital media, record shops were validated by its dealers, who had enough music knowledge and expertise in order to define the rarity of its pieces. Now, the presence of databases like Discogs allow for users to check that for themselves with a quick Google. Delon, who has been a part of the A1 Records team since 1999, has seen the results of this shift firsthand, or as he puts it, before and after “Big Brother came into the picture.”

He notes that digitization hasn’t stopped A1’s grind. Rarity is key for any antique record shop -- having records that one can’t get elsewhere is what keeps the record market thriving. The shop knows that more than anything, even going so far as to take advantage of digital platforms like EBay themselves in order to expand their customer base. Over the years, the shop has been able to digitize and sell unreleased music from artists like Led Zeppelin to the Jungle Brothers, with collectors willing to pay up to $5,000 for a piece. “You’re basically owning a piece of history,” Delon says.

A1 is not the last standing vinyl shop in East Village, let alone New York City. One of the many things that sets it apart, however, is the atmosphere. For each customer, it seems as if the place is a haven, serving different roles for different guests. For a family perusing the jazz section, this is bonding time after school, where children are learning from their father’s music tastes. For the pair searching the rock section, the store is a place for them to build their vinyl collection, looking for Jimi Hendrix classics. One of them picks up a Beatles record, Let it Be, and sets it back down. For the woman standing by the rap records, the store truly is home to a vital piece of hip hop history. She seems ready to go, holding records from multiple southern rappers, but stops to stare in confusion at a Too $hort and Lil’ Kim record. For everyone in the store, it is clear that A1 is a necessary vessel for preserving not only the culture of the East Village, but for protecting the history of the music world as well.