Beats, Rhymes, and Commerce: Remembering the Greatest Hip-Hop Shops

Oftentimes, shops in the outer boroughs and surrounding counties of New York City were the lone artery bringing music to a neighborhood.

Urban decay, the ensuing gentrification, the Internet, and the simple fact that running a niche-based hip-hop shop is truly a labor of love rather than something one did to pay the bills all played a part in closing the doors of places that were more than just somewhere to spend your cash; These were real life meeting grounds for like-minded people, from neighborhood superstars to the tourist stumbling in looking for the random record, magazine, DJ needle, obscure movie, sneaker, or t-shirt. Oftentimes, shops in the outer boroughs and surrounding counties of New York City were the lone artery bringing music to a neighborhood. Those who couldn’t make the hour (or more) long trek into the city had to rely on getting to their local mom and pop shop on release dates. The record store clerks knew you by name, knew where and how to get whatever you were looking for, and would even sell your demo tapes for you on consignment, giving you something to brag to your friends about. On the flip, hitting some of NYC’s finest boutique and niche hip-hop record shops always offered an experience or goods you could never, ever secure elsewhere.

Growing up in both New York City and one of its surrounding counties in the ‘80s and ‘90s meant I was fortunate enough to shop at some of NYC’s finest flagship niche shops and stumble into obscure places of business whose notoriety now only exists to people who lived within two miles of them. (Some of these places even had the all-knowing Google stumped.) From suburban shops in Westchester and Long Island to cramped, high rent sweatboxes in the East and West Village (with one detour to the West Coast), I present my 10 favorite defunct hip-hop shops of all time.

RELATED: What 30 of Your Favorite Record Shops Have Become
RELATED: Requiem For a Record Store

Where: Daly City, Calif.
Specializing in: DJ accessories, T-shirts, vinyl, in-stores/DJ battles

Pre-internet, you heard of record stores in one of three ways: in a magazine, via word of mouth, or in the Yellow Pages. Rap Pages magazine was my ear to the West Coast, so when I went to visit my pops out in San Jose in 1996, I hit up Cue's, a must for any serious hip-hop fan and DJ. Located in Daly City, Cue's carried the standard fare of records and DJ needs, but more importantly, it was a respected meeting ground and hangout for all who shared an interest in black wax.

The DJ battles were manic and routinely drew crowds, as did the in-stores. I still had my Boston Celtics green trademark Cue's "Keep Vinyl Alive" T-shirt from the '96 excursion up until about 5 years ago, when I lost it at the gym. Although I only went there once and left with just that T-shirt, the passion the patrons had for music in shops in the Bay Area was something I never saw back home. And the DJs out there were dead serious.

Where: Yonkers, N.Y.
Specializing in: Vinyl, CDs, demos and mixtapes from local artists

Music Man was known almost exclusively by Yonkers residents, as the selection was small and the Getty Square section of town where it was located was anything but a tourist destination. Instead, the local vibe benefited local artists. Neighborhood superstars like Bill Blass and DMX often sold demos and mixtapes in there as far back as the early to mid '90s. If my memory serves me correctly, a then on the come-up Warlox (who later became The Lox) also had some demo tapes in either Music Man or another local spot, one of which a friend of mine had and passed on to me. By the time I made an effort to get back over there years later, the store was gone. If nothing else, I'll always prop up Music Man for doing something that New York stopped doing—supporting its locals! They also held down consignment rap long before many others did.

Where: Mount Vernon, N.Y.
Specializing in: Hip-hop, soul and reggae vinyl, cassettes, rare and out of print hip-hop releases

A local record shop ain't a local record shop if its local heroes don't have an autographed photo on the wall or shop there. So when you saw the Heavy D & The Boyz-signed press photo and the Mt. Vernon HS basketball team press kit displayed behind the counter, or Pete Rock shopping, you knew Yellowbird Music had the town on smash. Mt. Vernon's large Caribbean population meant Yellowbird had the hardest to find of hard to find reggae and dancehall stuff, as well as ones and twos of current hip-hop 12"s (if you were able to snatch them up fast enough). But with the number of DJs hitting Yellowbird up for reggae and Jheri curl slow jams, many slept on the mass amount of obscure hip-hop that sat there for years, untouched. Yellowbird was a rap nerd haven, because if it didn't sell, it didn't seem like the store ever returned it to the distributor. The Son of Bazerk, Intelligent Hoodlum, and Alliance LPs were sitting in the window up until the store perished in a fire.

Where: New York
Specializing in: Pre-indie boom indie rap, 45s, tapes

When The Jungle Brothers said "Run to Downstairs Records five days a week," they probably weren't exaggerating. Located on Sixth Avenue in Midtown, Downstairs garnered a rep for being stocked with disco in the '70s, and logically, they opened up the doors to hip-hop in the '80s. Downstairs had disco breaks and 45s ad infinitum due to dead stock from that era, but also had some of the most obscure and independent hip-hop of the late '80s on both vinyl and cassette (long before the more well-documented indie boom of the mid-'90s). Mark the 45 King, my favorite producer at the time, produced the lion's share of releases on Tuff City records—Downstairs' Tuff City section was about a foot thick. I also acquired bizarre rap records there that I never saw before or ever again: titles like Boy Wonder: Imperio D - Set to Set an Example. Downstairs was not for the casual music fan; you had to get a kick out of digging through a lot of useless and entertainingly horrible indepdendent rap releases.

Where: Smithtown, N.Y.
Specializing in: Vinyl, CDs, rap mags, in-stores/performances

Long Island can make a case for being the most talent rich region in New York if we're talking the makers of rap classics. And despite its unassuming suburban landscape, it made sense that Strong Island had its own Fat Beats. The Cop Shop in Smithtown was it. Besides the standard hip-hop record shop offerings, what made the Cop Shop legendary were its in-stores. Roomier than Fat Beats (and exponentially more comfortable, with couches for your girl to sit on while you shopped), the sprawling storefront would still end up packed on a Saturday afternoon, when a who's who of talent would show up for performances. It was an important meeting ground for folks in Nassau and Suffolk who didn't want to spend an hour on the LIRR, only to get to Fat Beats and get shut down at the door (or sardine-canned into Fat Beats' stairwell in 100 degree weather). E-Nice (who ran Cop Shop) was cool enough to let me bring my MPC-2000 and play beats live for a D-Stroy in-store in '01, gave me one of my own in '04 and let me hop on DJ Muggs' in-store in '08.

Where: Jamaica, Queens, New York
Specializing in: Vinyl, breakbeats

The Jamaica, Queens location of Music Factory was liliputian compared to its Bronx counterpart. The selection was nowhere near as broad and it was primariily limited to music, but the staff was more selective with what made it to shelves and made no bones about giving an opinion on a record. Its remarkably cheap prices ($6.99 for an LP, $7.99 for a tape, and $10.99 for a CD) even had Hot Wax and The Wiz (both located around the corner) beat, so local hip-hop fiends didn't feel bad about passing up the bootleggers near Colosseum Mall and spending an extra $2 for the real thing.

Mr. Walt (Da Beatminerz, Black Moon) was employed by Music Facory once upon a time, so you can assume very little fluff made it to shelves. They were also the only music store outside of Harlem I can remember that carried the early Mob Style albums on cassette. The last time I was there was in 1993. The clerk pressured me into buying this new indie 12" with a sword on the label that was "about to blow up." I refused, he persisted, I caved in. A month later, Wu-Tang blew the fuck up. [Photo is of Manhattan location.]

Where: West Village, New York
Specializing in: Mixtapes and archived radio shows, vinyl, T-shirts, DJ accessories, rap mags, rap toys (a Notorious B.I.G. doll was once for sale), books, in-stores

Fat Beats' importance in the development of the indie hip-hop scene (as well as giving us an alternative to Bad Boy remixes and bottle service clubs) is undeniable, but that's not what puts it on my personal list. If you went to Fat Beats to buy an indie rap record, chances were the artist was the one selling it to you at the counter. That's some true blue collar hip-hop shit. Breeze Brewin (The Juggaknots), Ill Bill (Non Phixion), DJ Eclipse (Non Phixion), Q-Unique (The Arsonists), and DJ Sebb (who went on to produce for Prodigy and Tony Yayo) all worked in the store and proved that even your favorite artists all had day jobs at one point. Jokes aside, it was the official hangout for your average hip-hop head in New York City and a must visit location for all rap tourists in its heyday.

Where: Bronx, New York
Specializing in: Movies, DJ equipment, music

There is no doubt in my mind that the Fordham Road Music Factory location was the greatest haven for movies with hood appeal on God's green earth. The split level, warehouse-like music store made great use of its space, not only by going insane on everything from music and DJ accessories, but carrying the rarest of the rare movie reissues on VHS. Circa 1995, blaxploitation movies, mafia movies, Scarface-ripoffs and kung-fu flicks all became mandatory for anyone making rap records. Samples, referenes, imagery—these cult flicks all witnessed a revival 25 years after their releases. And the Bronx Music Factory had every last one of them. Even lesser known cinematic hip-hop gems like Fly By Night, Hangin With the Homeboys, and Fresh Records' Video Rap Pack I copped there. My last time in there was sometime in the mid-'90s; all I remember was an amalgamation of Bear jackets, door-knocker earrings, and baby strollers. And, of course, in true hometown fashion, Fat Joe and Terror Squad releases were inescapable in the store. One of my biggest regrets is that I never got to visit the legendary Times Square location.

Where: Brooklyn, New York
Specializing in: DJ equipment, movies, records, mixtapes, mail order, gear/jewelry

Fulton Mall's own Beat Street was NYC's largest, most diverse, all-purpose one stop. Musically, everything from Hot 97's major rotation list to small indie rap consignement cases like myself found a home for their products; DJ Kulcha gave anyone with decent records and some gumption a fair shake to get their shit on shelves. DJ and stereo equipment, electronics, movies, t-shirts and even some nice, gaudy jewelry (if my memory hasn't failed me) was for sale, making it the full-embodiment of not only hip-hop shopping, but of the vibe of pre-Giuliani/Bloomberg and pre-Downtown Brooklyn resembling Times Square. Proof? They shipped shit to correctional facilities, son. Beat Street had a good 22 year run before closing in 2006.

Where: East Village, New York
Specializing in: Sneakers, indie hip-hop clothing, vinyl

Bob had a spot in Philly as well, but the NYC location was housed on East 9th street in the former Fat Beats shop. Footwork was a shoebox, both literally and figuratively. Living up to its name and its owner's borderline psychotic adulation for rare kicks, Footwork's entire interior was about the size of a large U-Haul truck and was also a platform for all things Bobbito. His Fondle 'Em Records releases and highly collectible T-shirt line adorned most of the showcase space, but a select few indie rap 12"s of the moment and burgeoning mags like Ego Trip got some love as well. But it was essentially Bobbito's own little James Brown-style entreprenurial venture—the only thing he didn't do was cut hair in the back of the shop. Store clerks Vaz and DJ Eli held it down, and the fact that it was the first place any J-Zone music was ever sold further ensured it would leave a permanent imprint.