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In an LA music store, I found my holy place

A thriving temple to music, the obscure, the unknown, the treasured

‘H i p-hop, you have a call on Line 1.”

Think about that for a second. When is the last time you were in a music store and heard such an announcement over the PA system, paging a department as if you were in a sprawling supermarket? It hasn’t happened in a long time, or quite possibly ever, right?

Such is the robust culture and vitality of Amoeba Music, a California chain of independent record stores with three locations, the largest of which is in Los Angeles in the heart of the action along Sunset Boulevard. Across more than 43,000 square feet in a cavernous space, the eye scans aisles upon aisles of music and related paraphernalia, from CDs, vinyl, and DVDs to posters, audio gear, and T-shirts.

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For music nerds, especially this one, Amoeba might as well rhyme with mecca. It is known worldwide as one of, if not the greatest record store, a reputation that cofounder and co-owner Marc Weinstein takes seriously.

“We are a major destination for people who come to LA,” Weinstein says. “We have entire tour buses that unload in front of our store, and everyone comes in and spends an hour or two. It’s really a big subject, and to do it justice, you gotta have a big space and a lot of titles. Our size was always about being as complete as we could be and not about impressing anyone or making more money.”

That strategy paid off. Amoeba turns 25 this year, a milestone that commemorates when Weinstein and business partner Dave Prinz, both New York natives, first opened a store in Berkeley in 1990. A San Francisco location arrived in 1997, followed by Los Angeles in 2001. All three are still afloat, and the LA branch employs 250 people.

Weinstein points out that Amoeba is noteworthy in that nearly every aspect of the business revolves around a love of music. That’s apparent in the sheer volume of the inventory, not to mention the dedicated and helpful staff members, half of whom Weinstein says are musicians.

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“We’re all about being a one-stop shop,” he says, “because that’s what we feel record-store geeks like. It has everything to do with the people involved. I don’t take a lot of credit for what Amoeba is today. It’s become its own culture. How many stores can you go in where there’s so much love for the product on both sides of the counter?

On a recent trip to Los Angeles, on one of its famously sunny days, I finally made my maiden voyage to Amoeba. A line had formed outside the entrance for a performance later that night by indie-rock stalwarts Death Cab for Cutie.

43,000 square feet of space for aisles and aisles of LPs, CDs, DVDs, posters, and related paraphernalia.James Reed/Globe Staff

Right after entering, I suddenly stopped at the sight of something unexpected. Shopping baskets? The thought bubble above my head would have read, “Do people really fill those up here? What about downloads? Aren’t record stores an endangered species?”

Indeed they are, but everything we’ve heard about the sad state of brick-and-mortar music shops seems to be suspended here. Customers of all ages and ethnicities floated through the aisles as if picking up ingredients at Whole Foods for dinner that night. I was stunned to see 17 (!) checkout counters and folks actually queuing up at the sign that read “LINE FORMS HERE.” (That’s unheard of in Boston, which lost its final big-box music retailer, the Virgin Megastore on Newbury Street, in 2006, leaving the local chain Newbury Comics as the last man standing.)

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Amoeba is miraculous for the way it treats music not just as a product to be peddled, but as a cultural commodity and something to discover and treasure. Its three stores have survived online music piracy and the rise of streaming services. The company does a significant amount of outreach, from free live performances to a regularly updated blog to a video series called “What’s in My Bag?” in which artists discuss what they’ve just picked up at Amoeba.

Weinstein says the inventory breaks down to around 80 percent CDs and vinyl, and its mix of new and used items helps to ensure it never grows stale. Weinstein and his staff also routinely travel across the country to buy records from estate sales and private collections.

It’s initially overwhelming but refreshing to engage with music in a store of this magnitude. At the risk of sounding old beyond my years, it’s different from buying online. Surveying album covers in your hands or stumbling upon another artist when you were searching for someone else, you find your mind open to possibility. Amoeba stocks music you never even knew existed. Jazz singer Sarah Vaughan did a whole disco album of Beatles covers in the late ’70s? Add to cart.

I spent three hours on that first visit, walking out with more than $250 in CDs and LPs across multiple genres (rockabilly, soundtracks, soul, avant-garde). I never even ventured to the mezzanine, a smaller second floor with a vast array of DVD, Blu-Ray, VHS, and even LaserDisc offerings. (I made it up there a few days later — and spent another $100.)

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At the register, the clerk eyed one of my LPs whose unusual cover photo featured a rather rotund woman billed as “Gloria Spencer: World’s Largest Gospel Singer (615 Pounds).”

As he walked me to the door, his parting words summed up the entire Amoeba experience: “Hey, let me know how that record is the next time you’re here.” He cared about it as much as I did.


James Reed, a Globe staff music critic, can be reached at james.reed@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @GlobeJamesReed.