This isn’t the most grammatically well written blog post… It is more of an emotional, “the way you speak” sort of post… I hope you enjoy it with both its flaws, and emotional tone.
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I was there when it closed. How many people who have worked in record stores in their late teens, early 20’s, can say that? Even though it was heartbreaking, and in many ways also the end of an era for myself on a very personal level, I can say that I feel lucky to have seen it all through. To the last sigh. The marble clad, high ceiling, old butchers shop turned record store, I had only worked in for 2.5 years, but it was open for 3, so I was with it for more than 2/3’s of its life. And what a life it was. It was one of the most mind opening places, and not one negative experience was had at work. Ever.
The store was owned by a man and a woman, not a couple, but two friends. They both had families on each end. We were also a tapas café. We served simple home baked bread with cold cuts, different cheeses, and other toppings. We had some wonderful small tapas cold, and warm dishes that never changed. We served simple beer, and wine by the glass or bottle, and you could order the fresh baked bread with real, homemade aioli for dipping. We were constantly rated 4-5 stars. We had live music, and became a launching pad for many of the indie bands that became something in Sweden, and who began their live experience at our place. We all had the same roles. We all did the same things. Nobody was ever superior to another. A lot of very good times were had together. I was also honored to be part of the DJ crew, and was the first one to take stage as part of the Jackass Crew, based on the name of our place - At The Home Of The Blind Donkey’s. I also unintentionally gave my male boss the nickname Ass Mike. It started as a joke when I answered the phone, and it stuck. With everyone. Even looong after we closed... Maybe even still... And that nickname was started sometime between the years of 1997-2000... SOOO... We dj:ed. I was sometimes with a partner, and sometimes alone. We became a regular dj crew for many venues, and clubs, but most regularly, we became house djs to the one of the neighboring university towns, Lund’s, fraternities - Smålands Nation. It was a a political, socialist driven, American indie/punk music fraternity/venue. The city also had one britpop, one metal, and one mainstream fraternity venue in town, but we never dj:ed at any of them. I remember seeing many fantastic shows there. Songs Ohia, Smog (even though he was a dick), and the amazing Labradford, to name a few. But back to the place of origin, Malmö, Sweden, and At The Home Of The Blind Donkey’s, there was this one time, in 1998, when the one and only Will Oldham, played at another record store in our town. After it was over, I approached him, and told him about our record store/café, and how we all had voted his “I See A Darkness” to win album of the year. I had Halfway To A Threeway by Jim O’Rourke (YES a brilliant “only an ep?” made first place for me!), Mark Hollis s/t at close second, and Will Oldham’s I See A Darkness as close third in my crowded, and PTSD causing top three selection... Will was intrigued and wanted beer, and food, so he came with me, and the entire other record store followed after us... When our pilgrimage arrived, the look on my boss’s faces may have been the single brightest memory I have from that time. They literally cried of joy! Needless to say, tables were pushed together, food and beer/wine flooded the place, music played, and so did Will. Privately for us. And we could request from all of his alter musical egos.... Sigh... That was one of many incredible memories from that time, and one of my fondest music memories ever. We were all invited on the guest list to his show in Copenhagen the night after, and most of us went, including yours truly, but that is another amazing story for another time... ... ...
But then there was that last night… We were only 5, and only two tables were pushed together. Some of the other former employees were no longer living in town. The town that became too expensive for a beautiful little café/record store, with a failing record industry, caving in under weight of the illegal downloading trend, thanks to the likes of Stockholm based, and amphetamine laced, cultural sinkhole, Pirate Bay. That, paired with the responsibility, and time consuming job of being parents to multiple kids... So we drank all the alcohol, and ate all the food. We played all the music, and told all the stories, shared all the memories, and laughed at the anecdotes... Until it was inevitable. That it was time to go. And just like in the movies, when the cast locks the door for the last time, and look at each other one last time as the bosses and coworkers they were... It was just like that...
We rode our bikes home through the night, and that was it. I sadly, rarely saw the female part whom I still love, and whose previously 5 year old, now grownup daughter who I recently found an Instagram account for, and acquired the email address for her mother. To reconnect... But I kept many more years with the male boss, Ass Mike, with whom I remember many a late night crawlings at the last stop, piano playing hotel bar. Or some of the after parties at my solo place, ‘cause I lived downtown, and it was easier for everyone.
These feelings are so heavy, and go so deep. So much love. So much spirit. So much respect. So much loyalty. So many friendships. So much community. So much creativity. And last, but definitely not least - So. Much. Good. Sound.
🖤
At The Home Of The Blind Donkey’s
1997-2000
📸 - Credit: The Småland’s Nation website. And the picture shows the view from the dj booth looking over the dance floor to the stage.
Listening:
Various indie from the years of 1997-2000.
