How a tiny, midtown Toronto record shop changed how I listened to music and looked at the world.
Vortex Records may be the size of a bachelor apartment (if even that), but it’s a Toronto staple all the same. For 40 years, every format has found its way to Vortex’s shelves, from 8-tracks to records to tapes and CDs – back to records again. The magic of the place has always been two-fold; curated variety – and the unbeatable prices.
Last week, store owner Bert Myers announced he would be retiring – and closing up. I did a lot of growing up in that little store. I’d like to think that some of what I learned there, I’ll pass onto Eleanor some day. Here are just a few.
Colour outside the lines
Walking into Vortex, it was hard to maintain the die-hard metal fandom of my formative years. To this day, young people latch onto one type of genre, and don’t dare venturing outside of it till adulthood creeps in and reveals how silly they were being. Till then, there’s this illusion that wanting to explore area(s) outside the interests that define you somehow diminishes your dedication to them. But after just a few trips to Vortex, I stopped subscribing (literally and philosophically) to what I was reading in Hit Parader and Metal Edge (terrible metal magazines from the 80s/90s) and embraced the experience great music offered – as opposed to the image it helped me foster. I discovered Miles Davis and the the Wu Tang Clan there. In a single listen, I realized what a terrible crime it was to have only known the “Kokomo” Beach Boys, and started the healing with liberal doses of Pet Sounds.
Your community raised you.
Give back when you can.
Vortex was a store that was heavily involved in several communities.
First, in the local area – for kids like me who wanted a cheaper way to hear more music.
Second, to Toronto’s musical community. Every time I’d visit Vortex, I’d find albums by local acts – often marked significantly lower than the big label acts. I have no doubt Bert bought albums directly from these musicians’ knapsacks, and lined the shelves with them – whether his customers were asking for them or not. At one time, this is how the Hip made a name for themselves. This was how grassroots fanbases were built.
And third, Vortex is covered in flyers for local events, shows and businesses. Bert knew the kind of foot traffic the store took in, and he helped organizers and entrepreneurs alike in making their communities grow and thrive.
If you have the chance to say goodbye – take it.
It’s worth reflecting on all the music you discovered at Vortex. It’s worth taking a trip through all the music you yanked off their shelves. It’s definitely worth stopping by one last time, and grabbing a record or two while you still can – because you can. This is a bittersweet goodbye. It’s pointedly not anothersmall business crushed by big box stores. Nor is it the case of a community mainstay cast out by an encroaching condo cabal. This is the story of a place thousands of people loved – going out on its own terms. Few businesses stick to their personal principles and philosophies the way Bert Myers has. Few businesses want you to come in and stick around for hours, thumbing through the merchandise regardless of how much you intend on buying. That a store like Vortex existed at all is great. That we live in a city that supported it for 40 years proves that I’m far from the only one to have taken these life lessons to heart.
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