Mount Vernon Records opens as a ‘community store’ for all

West Read street retains a quiet mystique which harkens back to early Baltimore days. While walking past the cozy brick and mortar buildings, I spy an old-fashioned pub, a barber shop, a deli, a bakery, and a cafe. This little Mount Vernon enclave feels like something from Rick Steves’ Europe and less like any place else in the city. Nestled amidst the quaint shops is the newly minted Mount Vernon Records and despite a bit of drizzle folks have shown up to celebrate its grand opening on a chilly autumn day. Glizzy’s Hot Dog cart rolls up offering a yummy reprieve from the comparatively chilly weather with mustard, ketchup, or relish.

I find William Hicks, one of the partners in Mount Vernon Records, very busy greeting old friends, patrons, and random folks walking by who are curious about all the new commotion. A smooth R&B number called “Park Bench People” by Freestyle Fellowship pumps out of a mini speaker at the shop’s entrance where artist Tracey D Cooper sits chatting with a friend amongst a collection of his lush and evocative paintings, collages, and prints featuring stoic and mirthful faces staring back at you over splashes of aqua blues, grapefruit pink, black, yellow, and red.

Hicks sports a winter hat, jeans, and a retro long-sleeve t-shirt with blue sleeves like one would wear for a softball game in 1986. He’s presently tied up with his hosting duties so I busy myself browsing through a few record stacks. I spot Depeche Mode’s German import 12-inch version of “Behind The Wheel,” which regretfully I’m too cheap to buy. I giggle a bit seeing the soundtrack from “Goldfinger” because it inevitably leads to thoughts of Beyoncé singing Goldmember in the third installment of Austin Powers.

There’s an array of keyboard-pianos, samplers, a surprising amount of lovely decorative plants, record players, and a rack of slick designer t-shirts. There’s even a shelf of random DVDs including “The Office,” “Pirates of the Caribbean,” and 2006 German drama “The Lives Of Others,” which I saw in the theater on a really crumby date once.

I manage to pull Hicks away for a few moments to chat in the drizzle which has now subsided. I ask him about the store’s delightfuly eclectic arrangement as compared to most record shops who hold off on the foliage. He speaks with an optimistic urgency while keeping an eye on the shop.

“We’re more of a boutique,” he says. “I don’t wanna be a place where somebody spends 60 hours one time and never comes back. It’s about showing off different flavors and different tastes. We’re gonna rotate the records, gear, and clothing, and host quarterly art exhibits. This current one runs till December.” He pauses to crack a smile and wave to a few familiar faces passing.

“Most record stores are such that you go through their collection once or twice and you’ve seen everything and there’s no reason to go back. I’d rather have somebody come down three times a week, look through fifty records and maybe buy one, but next time come back and say oh I didn’t see this here!”

I ask if the gray skies and drizzle trickling off from the much greater havoc of Hurricane Ian has put a damper on opening day festivities? William gives a bittersweet grin.

“Well it was supposed to be a grand opening, but Ian came through and decided they wanted to mess everything up, so we had to scale things back a bit.”

We stand on the sidewalk continuing our chat as the rain comes to a temporary halt and I question what the goal of the operation is. William nods like one who realizes they’re going to have to repeat this mission statement a few million more times.

“One of our main goals is to make sure that we have a big local presence,” he says. “We wanna build time for people to come in and say hey I have this instrument and I don’t know how to use it. I would like to learn more about this.”

Hicks and his business partner Doc plan on offering DJ classes as well as classes on music production, so you can utilize that crazy keyboard your parents bought you with 900 buttons that don’t make any sense.

More folks start to pour into the store. Hicks keeps one eye on me, and another on the door. He’s steadfast in his desire to make the shop an accessible place for all people.

“We want to make a community store for people,” he says. “We’re gonna work on an individual scale for each person. Someone who is 16 years old doesn’t have the same amount of money as someone who’s 45. My partner Aaron ‘Doc’ Spence and I wanna get products and instruments into the hands of the people who really want them. Not everybody can afford a Moog (keyboard) but everybody can probably get a Behringer. If one person has more accessibility then everybody has more accessibility.”

I ask him what the main draw was for moving to this little hidden gem of a street? Hicks explains: “Read Street was the original hub when I first moved here. This is where everyone hung out back in the day, and apparently it was always like that”.

I ask what he means by hub, but just as he begins to unpack this a man walks up and gives Hicks a big hug cheerily exclaiming “TOLD YA I WAS COMING THROUGH.” Hicks gives a warm smile to him and continues.

“This was the place to see what was going on for the weekend. You found out where the parties were, and you’d meet up with some friends and have some coffee. Read Street was the block! We used to always call it ‘the artery’ because you’d come off of MLK and you could come over here and stop and find out everything that was happening in the rest of the city, and you could shoot south to Fells Point or Federal hill, or go north up into Charles Village.”

You can see the wheels turning as reels back into his memories. He paints a picture of what it was like back then.

“I’ve been living in Baltimore since ’92. I used to go to the original Modern Music that was right up the street there!”

He grins while pointing over my head to the former location of the much beloved record shop.

“There was also another record store down the street called Twelve Inch.”

We talk about the past few years, and the comparatively dormant times which have transpired since the early ’90s when West Read was the place. Hicks’ eyes light up as he talks of the coming days.

“Now it seems like it’s coming back into that resurgence. We have a Goldsmith that’s opening up next door to me! Across the street’s the new bakery that’s opening up! Last year there were four empty buildings here, now there’s just one, so it’s really happening! ”

A person walking by with their dog shouts “Nice to see you! Best of luck with everything!” Then, before Hicks can respond, a gentleman in a grean beanie hat and matching green flannel shirt walks up and high fives Hicks, saying “What’s up?!” It all kind of feels like the end of “Miracle on 34th Street.” You can see there’s lots of love here.

I mention to Hicks as he heads back into the shop that there’s something in the air in Baltimore that never seems to die down. Something which really pops off every now and then. He takes a quick excited breath.

“Right now we’re at the wave where it’s starting to come back on the upswing,” he says.

A potential customer peeks into the store and Hicks gleefully shouts “Welcome to Mount Vernon Records! Please, walk in!” I let Hicks get back to playing host, a role he seems born for.