We were meant to be somewhere else the day we met Jason Keller, a buff guy, who’s as apt to welcome you with a beer as he is a handshake.
An interviewee had canceled, and reporter that I am, I dragged Andrew to the other side of town to scout out new voices for Mospratt Street. Actually, I think it was Andrew who dragged me. I wanted a nap.
But this guy, Jason, was standing in front of a store the two of us were sure had closed. I ran down the street to look for our next story, and by the time I’d come back, Andrew and Jason were buddies. We followed him into the shop - er, rather, time capsule.
Or perhaps the perfect retro Insta photo op. Let’s Boogie Records and Tapes at 3321 South Halsted, Bridgeport’s legendary record store, looks like Gen Z staged a record store and shot it with a Tokyo filter. It’s that cool.
Posters Jason’s dad, Neal, hung when he opened the doors in 1976 are still taped to the wall. His filing system is still in place, too, meaning if you’ve got the time to sift through racks, shelves and boxes underneath the shelves, you’re bound to hit gold.
Like when I did — but I’m not going to reveal the title because I don’t want you all running over and buying it. Let’s Boogie preserves its old schoolness yet mixes in just enough hipness to thrive: It accepts cash, PayPal and Zelle only, and all I carried was my notepad and pen (yeah, yeah, old school…). Plus, it’s open on Saturdays only. My gold was found at the end of rainbow ( I couldn’t resist), or, at least as part of one. I stood there running my finger over the words “Rainbow All Over Your Blues” as if I could smudge the song into being. I hadn’t heard it in years. My father used to sing it to my mother before they split, and when my siblings and I felt timeworn beyond our years, she’d dust off that song and sing it to us in her best falsetto because she couldn’t hold a tune to save her life.
Damn if Let’s Boogie didn’t get me right in the heart.
That’s why Neal Keller opened the shop. At least, that’s how I see it. Those aren’t his words. We’ll hear them in a bit from Jason. Neal’s been unwell for awhile, so Jason relayed his father’s story to us. For me, for many, music is what fills the liminal space in the universe. It’s what connects us.
Bridgeport needed that. And it needed rock ‘n’ roll.
‘He was seeing…that the neighborhood didn't have a record store that catered to the youth of the community,” Jason said. He accommodated their tastes, “but,” Jason added, “The neighborhood needed a store focused on rock and roll.”
Vinyl was where it was at. Despite this instant-download-gratification era, it still is. Neal, through Jason, explains why.
“He believes that that music that you can hold, music that you can touch, feels warmer. It’s the song or songs, but collectability and vinyl itself is an experience — trading with your friends, showing them the new record you got, posting now even to the internet to different blogs, different websites, different levels of social media. People want to talk about their haul, people want to talk about what they've inherited. People want to talk about what their great white whale is.”
People like this girl want never to let go of those sweet song memories she can hold in her hands and close to her heart.
Thanks, Let’s Boogie.
The story was so good about this intergenerational record shop, we’re going to tell it in two parts.
On Friday, listen to Neal’s story — as told through Jason — about why he opened the store, what Halsted Street was like back in the day and how much he misses the friends he’s made during the past 45 years.
Next week, catch Jason as he shares what it’s like to carry on his father’s legacy.
Catch Mospratt Street Fridays just before 6:25 p.m. on Lumpen Radio or 105.5 FM on your radio dial.
Love this? Give us some love and share with your bestie.
See you next week.`