Ozzy Lives
Autumn Marie Cazier
I walked a short distance from my house to the Philadelphia Record Exchange, a record store that was established back in 1985 and has survived the ever-changing neighborhood of Fishtown. The Record Exchange is a bit different from typical record stores, as they participate in buying and trading used records. A major selling point is that they pride themselves on primarily selling vintage records.
A song by Jean-Jacques Goldman surrounded the atmosphere on a small stereo in the front of the store, right underneath the gothic text store sign. A fold out chalkboard sign lay adjacent with a drawing of a dog with a vinyl in its mouth representing the logo. As you enter, you are greeted by a long tan and white hallway with wooden floors, dawning vintage posters. 7 inch Elvis singles line the steel vent, and the lights are dimmed by a giant star at the end of your journey. The Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, and Mazzy Star posters, and plaques greet you on your search.
In the midst of Joan Jett, Bruce Springsteen, and The Chemical Brothers, I saw it. A Black Sabbath Live at Hammersmith Odeon vinyl. Displayed on a wall on the left side, in visible sight for all to pass by. With the recent passing of Ozzy Osbourne, I was flooded with memories of a better time, a simpler one. The greatest teacher I ever had back in high school. In the early 2010s in lower Manhattan held the classroom of Pete Collins. Decked out in a variety of rock posters from Iron Maiden, Slipknot, and his favorite, Black Sabbath. Pete would often dawn his Black Sabbath shoes while he taught us about the Roman Empire and the woes of rock ‘n’ roll. He encouraged and embraced what it meant to be different. Teaching in Manhattan since before 911 and beyond, Pete identified the outcasts and made everyone feel just a little bit less alone. I remember being a nervous little freshman in a brand new city, with bright blue hair and a Kurt Cobain shirt on my first day of high school. It was through Pete that I felt a sense of belonging. Even nine years later, I still find any excuse possible to visit that classroom and reminisce on the era of Ozzy knowledge, and hearing Alexander the Great radiate the halls.
The tune of David Hockneys Diary waving me goodbye as I made my departure. The Record Exchange is a great place for those looking to escape or be reminded of pre-Internet memories. Open seven days a week from 11 AM to 8 PM, it’s a paradise for classic rock ‘n’ roll music lovers.