At noon on June 3, a rally cry was posted on the alt.music.chapel-hill newsgroup:
"ok folks, i hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but you need to know this and we have some work to do immediately.
"on the way home we swung into radio free records parking lot...the back gate was locked and ethan was sitting on the front stoop. he said they were closed today. i asked if it was just too hot. he responded that the store had been robbed....
"radio free, one of the best record stores to ever grace this state, is virtually wiped out. there is no insurance."
Amid the flurry of activity that immediately followed, the irony of this note was lost: It was posted to the bulletin board for Chapel Hill, but the store and the majority of the people who responded to it reside in Durham. This is a town that, two years back, could not boast a single venue for live shows. But tragedy brings out the best in a community; in this case, it galvanized a music scene that had only just begun to take form.
Three years ago, Ethan Samsky moved here from San Jose, Calif. along with his wife Monica, his friend and employee David Massung, and his dedication to independent music sales. Ethan is almost wistfully quiet; David (stage name: Viva) has "scenester" written all over him in vintage clothes and mod-ish hair. It's likely you'll see him out at any given Durham happening--if not in the crowd then onstage, as either DJ or guitarist for his band, Jett Rink.
If you were to switch the boss and employee around, Radio Free Records, located on 2803 Hillsborough Rd., would have appeared uncannily like John Cusack's Championship Vinyl in High Fidelity--without Jack Black's aggressive, imperious elitism, of course. Even a die-hard would have trouble keeping abreast with Radio Free's extensive catalog, but the store's atmosphere itself was never intimidating. It had the kind of local business intimacy only possible in a place where you enter through the back porch.
But the young store hadn't yet stabilized itself in the difficult world of independent music retail. There was neither an alarm nor theft insurance. The June 3 break-in took out the store's stereo system and cash register; easily unloadable box sets were curiously left untouched, but gone were the punk/hardcore vinyl section and the storage bins holding about 85-percent of the CD stock (everything from "B" to "S"). The CDs were kept separate from their cases and are therefore virtually impossible to turn around in a bulk sale, suggesting that this was no typical quick-fix burglary.
Ethan, who'd seen years of work and emotional investment wiped out instantly, was "in a state of catatonia." But even through his shock, he was "bewildered and thankful" for the reaction that would come. Were Radio Free Records still located in the bigger and more detached San Jose area, he says there would be even less hope: "I knew some people that would have helped me out, but it wouldn't have been like this."
Indeed, the reaction was impressive by any community's standards. By the next day over 50 posts had popped up on alt.music.chapel-hill, and soon after, a "Radio Free Records Tragedy Information Page" was set up to announce developments. Flyers detailing the break-in were distributed; an ad hoc recovery team with eight carloads of volunteers went diving in dumpsters throughout the city; a potluck yard sale was organized; benefits were planned almost instantly, with a horde of local DJs and bands lining up to give support. There was the palpable excitement that is present when any community comes together, only this instance was tinged with something more: this particular community--the "Durham rock scene"--seemed to have blinked into existence on the spot.
In the mid-90s, Chapel Hill emerged as a great hub of indie rock. Superchunk, Archers of Loaf and other bands dotted a horizon that promised "the next Seattle." With buzz and continued success came the trappings of any big scene: For those not "in," Chapel Hill could seem exclusive, even pretentious. An old joke asks how many Chapel Hill scenesters does it take to screw in a lightbulb. The answer? "Dude! You don't know?!"
"It always had the makings of a great rock community. The potential was totally there," says Jenn Duerr, who moved here a few years ago with her husband and a group of friends and musicians largely for that very reason. Duerr is a founding member of the Durham Association for Downtown Arts, an artistic grassroots movement that has made great headway in reinvigorating the area, especially in music.
According to Duerr, there are a few vital elements found in any good music scene. Durham certainly covers some of her criteria with a deep pool of creativity and talent, and WXDU as a reliable information source. With the addition of Radio Free Records, there was finally a place for local and touring bands to promote themselves directly to a potential audience. In the meantime, there was even an industry presence: Mr. Lady (the label of femme punk acts such as the Butchies and Le Tigre) is based here, and Merge, the "quintessential Chapel Hill label," relocated downtown just last June. The resources were there, although there was little to do with them.
The vacuum filled up suddenly. Duerr began booking shows for the downtown club Ringside last November. DADA-promoted Durham band showcases held there were modest successes. With fortunate prescience, the owners of Bully's Basement refurbished their club to accommodate live acts. Perhaps it was fate, but the owners of Bully's already had a grand opening party planned for the weekend after the Radio Free robbery.
It was built, and then they came. Duerr observes that just before and especially since the robbery, gigs and attendance blossomed.
"Bands that were kind of formed or loosely formed are more solidified; bands that were broken up have gotten back together; lots of people are starting to see a real supportive group." The crowds that these first shows saw were a loose mix of avid, eclectic music fans and locals who just turned up out of curiosity. Despite its infancy, the scene is remarkably interconnected, with several musicians playing in two or even three bands at a time. You can see something different about four nights a week in Durham.
Lora Brooker, Trinity '92, books shows for the Basement and was on hand that evening. Thrilled with the potential of a scene she's actively shaping, she gushes, "Durham is so wide open and brand new that it seems warm.... You have all these people who bring in new ideas as to what it should be like and that it should be inclusive and you should be enthusiastic and support your community instead of being disaffected and sort of 'too cool for school.' "
The Durham music renaissance is certainly a boon to Duke students--if, of course, they take advantage of it. Duerr observes that "the town and gown split" between Duke and Durham may simply keep event information from getting to students. In any case, there has been no observable dip in attendance over the summer. But both she and Brooker expect the Basement and Ringside to draw increasing amounts of students as word gets out in the fall.
Duke students can also drop in to help out and freshen up their CD collection (at least, of bands named between "T" and "Z") at Radio Free, which reopened July 12. From a business perspective, it is perhaps a bit premature. The combined efforts of the community amounted to a grand total of almost $8,000. Although it's a whopping amount, Radio Free is down about fifty-grand. But Ethan says the community's response has bolstered him--enough so that he reopened the store much earlier than anticipated.
Viva, whose band played the night after the reopening on a triple Durham-band bill, stacked the remaining CDs his first day back at work. The shelves were half-empty by the time he was done, but he was thrilled to be working for Ethan again.
"It's a wonderful feeling to be a part of something so much bigger than just you," he says.
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