Used Kids Records has always been the consensus champion as far as Columbus record stores are concerned. Though established in 1986 on High Street, they are no longer located quite on campus, but have managed to adapt and survive in a new location, their third. The first two of these were situated within spitting distance of one another, across the street from OSU. Its current iteration is kind of a “best of” package in that it combines the space of the second with the charm of the first. Still, there’s always a great deal of nostalgia attached to any treasured act’s debut, and so too this holds true with Used Kids’ initial address, though often so crammed you couldn’t move.
Divided in two, each half shares the musty stench of a century old basement, both no larger than the average master bedroom. The guys working the counter are for the most part trendy, cranky elitists, but even they cannot diminish the singular experience of shopping for slabs of music here. And at any rate are probably on average a tad more approachable than Magnolia’s help. In the left room, upright racks dominate the center of the store’s cramped quarters, with one side devoted to popular used cassettes in the three to five dollar range, the other taken up by bargain tapes for a buck.
Fleshing out the remaining space, pegboard walls hold mounted display racks, with torn, faded posters filling in the gaps. Below these, used CD bins line two walls, with a third dedicated to brand new releases in both disc and vinyl. The truncated front wall, beside a door coated thicker with rock band stickers than our beer label fridge, a counter props up the surly help, often swamped past their heads with stacks they’ve yet to file. A lost gem spins on overhead speakers, a quality cut they’re well aware no one’s heard, justifying their smugness, this refined musical pallette of theirs, for even as they’re smirking at the merchandise you select, it’s just another component of this dungeon’s abrasive charm. Between the cracks, just enough room for promotional materials near the door, freebies, championing local bands, and on the right day room to shuffle sideways around a score of equally obsessive shoppers.
One door over, the Used Kids Annex devotes itself exclusively to vinyl, much of it vintage, mint. A glass case beneath the register featuring rare autographed items and limited edition stuff, a rack by the door for used singles and another for videos. Brighter, less frequented, and a shade less dank, the annex staffs itself unfailingly with someone far more friendly than whoever’s working the other side. As if merely a minor league circuit they relegate new hires to, to cut their teeth and acquire proper smarmy attitudes, only then gaining entry into the main chamber.
The annexed portion formerly belonged to a different record store altogether, SchoolKids, which few remember now. Used Kids envisioned this name as a terrific hook for playing off of their nearest competitor, a tactic that must have worked as the established rival was toast within a handful of years, and Used Kids readily snapped up that space, too.
Damages to the original basement location – I can’t recall at the moment if it was a fire or flood – forced a relocation slightly up the street, to a second story shop formerly owned by World Record. This would have happened at some point in the early 2000s. They were here by 2004 at the latest, as this is the year I finally summoned enough nerve to take one of our CDs up there and see if they would sell it. Ron House happened to be working the counter that day, too, adding to the intimidation factor. He’s a super nice guy – or at least always has been in my limited interactions with him – but is also a Columbus legend and I was basically shaking in my boots asking if they could possibly stock this thing. He handed me $8, no questions asked, and explained that they sell local discs for $10, that if it ever moved, they would take another copy. This was their policy at the time, and you have to tip your caps to them, they were the only record shop around that I’m aware of who would buy an unknown local album outright. Everyone else would agree to maybe stock it on consignment at best.
A guy named Greg Hall, who’d once worked at SchoolKids Records, swooped in to buy the operation in 2014, and, in the midst of a drastically altered campus landscape, elected to move to their current home on Summit Street a couple of years later. I think he made the right call, as most would agree the stopgap middle location (which nonetheless existed over a decade) was probably their least favorite. This spot has a lot more charm than that dim, vaguely industrial feeling loft ever did, and there’s plenty of space to move, a ton of great offerings, including an expansive selection of audiophile gear. I was a bit disappointed to see that the local section has been drastically reduced, but whoever was working that day explained to me that the stuff just didn’t sell well enough to justify the space. And you have to respect this, as times change right along with business models – just sticking around this long, as they and select few peers have managed, is impressive enough on its own.
