Elegy for Sea Level Records
Sea Level Villanelle
When music calls to lift you from the dark
The sun shines on a place that many laud
At Sea Level in the shade of Echo Park
Brimming with suggestions for a lark
Of weekly shows, conventional and odd,
When music calls to lift you from the dark
Its emailed updates, anything but stark,
Had links and new releases to be sought
At Sea Level in the shade of Echo Park
With a selection broad as story arcs,
The kind that makes collectors awed,
When music calls to lift you from the dark
A smiling crew, with nary a grouse nor bark,
Welcome all the punks, folkies, goths, and mods,
At Sea Level in the shade of Echo Park
With this villanelle its passing we will mark
And on to new adventures goes its Todd
When music called to lift you from the dark
At Sea Level in the shade of Echo Park
i heard it was closing a few weeks ago. v sad. are they moving to a different spot or closing closing?
Alas, they are closing, closing. ‘Tis too much on Todd, I believe. But they’re having a sale before they go away. Check out: http://www.sealevelechopark.com/
Fyi….
June 22: Sea Level Going Away party @ Safari Sam’s featuring Division Day, Switch, with DJ’s Sea Level Todd and Sylvia ($7 at door, $5 w/ flyer 9:00pm)
No word yet on whether or not Safari Sam’s will change its jungly font to Sea Level’s trademark Comic Sans as a temporary homage for this special occasion.
Bye, Sea Level. Sorry I only browsed and never bought anything. I hope it’s not my fault.
Oh well!
I’ve been in there about 10 times with the intention of spending money and came out empty handed everytime.
Never had anything in stock that I wanted. Its too bad because I wanted to support something other than Amoeba.
Thats funny, I also once wrote a poem about a record store closing. (Higher Source in HB)
Mine is quite outstanding, but Shannon’s poem above is far superior.
This is from when I was a house kid.
Oh record store,
you had shitty service.
A stoned clerk and asinine cashiers,
when help is needed, everyone disappears.
Greeted by oblivious vacant grins,
g-fresh jumpsuited cads sorting the bins.
Your records, out of date, dusty, and creased,
stank like an attic where my grandma was deceased.
Your prices, I’ll say they were fair,
Your turntables, needing inspection and repair.
But you had that fish tank,
that was surely an expensive treat.
But without weed most dank,
viewing it was most incomplete.
I found joy in your aisles,
dust on your tiles.
Your house section spanned a mile,
inspecting it all was quite a trial.
Breakbeat was small,
but I found them all:
Skint, Freskanova and Southern Fried,
Ninja Tune, Marble Bar and Kingsize.
Last I happened upon your shop,
your sign said closed.
“Closed?” this brought my happy whistle to a stop,
and sadness my great sigh disclosed.
It is with remorse,
that I think of Higher Source.
yah I rhymed closed with disclosed. eat it.
[...] at the façade of Sea Level Records and marvel at its Comic Sans tenacity while you still [...]
I don’t know, Joopy… I think you have me beat.
Even with my liberties in the seventh stanza and the tasteless white supremacist overtones? Not a chance, kind Shannon.