Screening in Toronto as part of NXNE on Saturday, June 20 at 6:30pm @ NFB Theatre

The title of Brendan Toller’s I Need That Record! The Death (or Possible Survival) of the Independent Record Store, is a bit of a misnomer. The film goes to great lengths to determine all that is wrong with the music industry at large, relying on the trickle-down effect to illustrate how independent record stores are eventually victimized. Consequently, it runs the risk of presenting the film’s subject as an afterthought in its own documentary. Much of the film plays out more like a remedial study in the art vs. commerce debate than an in-depth analysis of the plight of the indie record store.

With the spotlight on such a debate, it is clear which side the film defends, as it does little to depict both sides of the issue. That is, do independent record stores perhaps deserve to die? Or, put slightly less caustically, was it murder or natural causes that saw them laid to rest? Snobbery is glanced over and music agoraphobes are touched upon, but ultimately, Toller found the morose and, at times, furious responses he was looking for.

Interviews conducted expressly for this documentary range from societal philosophers (Noam Chomsky) to pioneering artists (Fugazi and Dischord Records’ Ian Mackaye), to those record store owners who spend much of their face-time dismantling shelves and boxing up mementos. Stitched between the interviews are graphical treatments constructed from cut-outs of record covers, comic images, and stock footage, paying homage to those collage-covered walls of most indie record stores.

The film is blatantly DIY, an example of style mirroring substance, with the lack of proper lighting adding to the charm of a documentary depicting the plight of the little guy. It also benefits from some choice archival footage: Of note are Alan Freed’s comments to the press during the payola trials, and Chuck D and Lars Ulrich on Charlie Rose discussing both sides of the Napster coin.

The film maps out where it all went wrong. From payola to Apple, it’s clear to those interviewed that the cause of such disarray in the industry is big business’ pandering to the lowest common denominator and the internet’s forsaking of physical interaction -- both with other music lovers, and indeed with the product itself. It’s that je ne sais quoi, the film maintains, that you lose by clicking a button to summon a song, when sleeve artwork is trumped by 1s and 0s. It’s the same ineffable thrill vinyl purists assert died with the advent of the compact disc. Now it’s the “intangible” that is dying with the advent of music that exists beyond a physical entity.

While Big Box stores are unanimously declared houses of the unholy, impressions of the internet’s impact on the industry are far from consistent. Though it seems intent on supplanting the record store as the destination for the music consumer, it also presents a “global clubhouse” where fans can virtually meet and satiate their need to be surrounded by their own kind. Here, the film reaches no conclusion, admitting the issue deserves its own documentary, sporting as many supporters as detractors.

The fact that these stores sell records is almost inconsequential, as the fate of the neighbourhood store in general lingers in the shadows of the Big Box. But the ace up the director’s sleeve is the romance of those vinyl clubhouses, which he unabashedly exploits. The nostalgia expressed by many in the film, as well as that need to belong to some loosely-defined community, will be echoed by general audiences and is what makes the film so enjoyable to watch.

--Gavin Crisp