‘Firsts’ is an ongoing Jam Jar spread spotlighting personal stories about local record store owners’ and workers’ first-ever vinyl gems.
Symphony Music appeared empty when we first arrived. Just an open door to a sparse industrial kitchen, one crate of records, and a few reggae posters taped up in the window. Peering in, I spotted a separate room in the back, and was willing up the courage to explore when we heard a woman’s voice float up through the sidewalk.
“Down here!” it said.
Rams and I looked down at our feet — “Uh…hello?”
“I’m down here!”
To the left of the storefront was an open hatch. In unison, we examined the set of worn stone stairs leading down into the unknown. We were here because Rams had gotten a tip from a fellow DJ that this “under-the-radar” spot was the real deal. We were eager to find out.
So, together, we shirked our unease and followed the voice, limboing shakily down the steps into a dust-covered basement filled with records — stacks and bins and shelves choc’ full of vintage vinyl.
Yet, within this underground lair, the most notable discovery was the warm presence of longtime proprietor and overseer, Ruta D.
Perched on an old amp, quietly cataloguing a small pile of records, Ruta stood when we descended, reaching out to shake our hands. In a relaxed tone, she began describing the space’s unique organizational system, pointing out vintage reggae and soca (“soul of calypso) labels, disco pressings, hip-hop singles, 12-inch dance records, boxed 45s, and a bottom shelf filled with movie scores and obscure albums with Hebrew and Arabic song titles.
“Don’t flip the records too hard,” she warned, scooting her amp-chair deeper into the chaos. “Because of the dust.”
Ruta welcomed us to stay as long as we’d like, dig around, and, to my excitement, ask her questions about her shop. Symphony Music is the only remaining record store in Weeksville, a historic working-class neighborhood at the eastern-most part of Crown Heights, Brooklyn that was originally founded by a freed African-American dockworker named James Weeks 11 years after slavery was abolished in New York State.
While talking with Ruta — and carefully flipping through her dense personal collection — I gained a better understanding of a local music scene that once thrived on Utica Avenue, where influential reggae, dance and disco labels like Delroy and Flavia Francis’s Park Heights (expect a future article on this) reigned supreme. But these iconic hubs have sadly been lost to time, due to a lack of historical records, and a tumultuous social and economic landscape.
Still, despite the difficulty of running a profitable store in Weeksville, especially over a 25-year span, while facing the unpredictable ups and downs of vinyl sales, Ruta remains gentle, kind, and curious. She showed us a level of hospitality totally unexpected from a stranger in a city this big.
Rams and I left Ruta’s store with a fat stack of records, but also with bellies full of soup. That’s right — we devoured steaming bowls of Ruta’s home-cooked 18-bean vegan soup while chatting with her charming high-octane granddaughter about “Goosebumps” movies and the invention of cotton-candy. Before we parted ways, the face-painted seven-year-old demonstrated how to properly play a record on the turntable in the corner. Which is to say, Ruta’s store is special. Go there to buy records, but stick around for a while and eat some soup.
Anyway, without further ado: my chat with Ruta D! (and interjections from Rams)
This basement is a vibe.
When customers are here, I usually just leave them be.
One time I had customers down here who stayed and got comfortable. But it was getting late, it was getting dark. I forgot they were down here, I almost closed the door on them!
What moved you to begin collecting records in the first place?
It was my husband. He had a record store around the corner from Moodie’s — a major Bronx shop for Reggae. And he was a super for a building, and anyone moving out would just give him records!
[Rams: Hey, do you mind if I sit on one of these paint cans? Ruta: YES, please make yourselves comfortable]
Is your whole collection down here, or do also you have records at home?
(laughter) My husband is the real hoarder.
How bad is it?
He once said to me, “All you need is to have a path” — it’s insane!
How do you decide which records to keep?
It all depends, for me, about the rarity of the record. If it's common, if I have three or four of something,I'm not really trying to hold onto them. If it's not rare rare then there are too many records right about now to be holding on to, you know?
What’s the rarest record you currently have for sale?
I found a record through gifting — a little 45 that ended up being worth $1,500. If anybody gives me a reasonable offer, I’ll sell it.
[Note: Ruta also has a record listed on Discogs for $2,000, featuring “K.O.B.E” by the late Kobe Bryant]
So how has this shop changed over the years?
It used to be a full-on record shop, the whole upstairs. And then as time passed, we got rocked by the conversion to the CD — the record kind of went dead.
Eventually, I ended up opening my Discogs page and put my records online, and everything came down here.
Upstairs turned into kind of a juicery and eatery, but I’m not trying to do any full-on meat — no oxtail, ya know?
And then records blew up again.
And then records blew up again.
Now the younger kids are very much into the records. But it can be overwhelming to start buying records. I try to tell them to look for better quality jackets, and quality pressings, so if they want to, in their lifetimes, they can resell.
You can’t keep everything.
[Rams: Just found a David Bowie “Station to Station” record with a random cover. Me: Oh, shit!]
Can you tell me about the first record you ever bought?
Back in the day, there was a record store called Park Heights, which had its own label. Mostly reggae artists. And that’s where I bought my first 45. I’m thinking it was “Reunited,” but I’m not sure.
It was something catchy, you could sing to it.
Was Park Heights in the neighborhood?
Yes! The record shop was two blocks up. Symphony Music has been here since 2000, but this was when I was young young. I think I was in high school.
I remember my player was one of those little toy players, and every time I played it, the records skipped.
Do you ever come across Park Heights records in the wild?
Well I'm saving. I still have two, and they're really up there in price. If I were to sell them, I would have to be really desperate.
What do you see for the future of your store?
I'm trying to get people to do listening parties, you know, if you live in the community, you invite a few friends over, you charge them a little entry fee and have a little vibe.
But I don’t have that type of community out here. The younger kids used to come for open-mic, and they were decent kids. But the space is so tiny, and they go all over the city to do their art.
I’m just waiting for them to return.
If you want a memorable experience, go visit Ruta at her shop at 791-B Crown Street, Brooklyn NY 11213. Or check out her curated selection of records on Discogs!
Also: my friend Rams Montero is a vinyl DJ and singer-songwriter — check out his Instagram for upcoming gigs, and his original music on Spotify (“Push Me Away” is a timeless jam)!