Over the past few years, I’ve come to expect a little bit more from my record stores.
I guess you could say I’ve become a sound snob in my old age, wanting an exhaustive emporium of newly manufactured and wholly overpriced vinyl in the music shops of my choice and, really, only that. That’s not to say that the legendary Starship Music, 1241 S. Lewis Ave. in Tulsa, is a terrible place—not in the slightest!—but it’s just not the store for a thirty-three and a third jerk like me.
After many short-winded discussions where my ladyfriend impossibly built the place up in my over-reaching head, we finally made it to T-Town last weekend. She remembered Starship’s glory days from her time living nearby in Muskogee, when it was situated in a couple of connected houses, their pod-bay doors opening up a full enterprise of her purest rock and roll dreams.
After moving a couple of years ago, its current home is a large metal building in a dank area of Tulsa. Finally opened after being closed months due to the Covid crisis, I admittedly was excited to reach this much-lauded audio destination. Car parked, I could feel the rubberband lazer of my heart as I rushed in.