Just the building, though. Tower Records the company went bankrupt in 2006, a victim of the Internet thing that the kids are so into. Downloading with abandon, they've forgotten the simpler joys of yesteryear, when we'd slice the tender skin just beneath the thumbnail while opening the soundtrack to the hit film "Singles."
There's no way, of course, to bring back the splendid frustration of trying to open a new CD -- the wrapping, the adhesive-tape label, the metallic sticker sealing it -- and there's no way to re-create the hipster sneer behind the counter when you trundled up with your purchases: The Ani diFranco is for my girlfriend, OK? But surely there's a way to preserve the drab box that contained those experiences?
Yes, yes, of course, L.A. is dotted with thousands -- maybe tens of thousands -- of depressing stucco sheds, and I know that we can't possibly preserve them all, but this is the one where I bought Mariah Carey's first album (on a whim, OK?) and where I saw my very first celebrity (consumer reporter David Horowitz, I think). And now they're going to tear it down?
When they came for the Pioneer Chicken on Barrington, I said nothing, for I preferred Koo Koo Roo. When they came for Chasen's, I said nothing, for I thought, "Bristol Farms? I'll give it a try." And now they're coming for the Tower Records on Sunset. And there's nothing we can do about it.
But to the developers of the retail/office/gym complex that will eventually occupy that magical corner, I offer a warning: Someday they'll come for you. And there will be no one left to speak up. We'll all be at Pinkberry.
