Right, someone brought up “Le Lock Groove Paris” recently, and it took me back. It wasn’t exactly a planned expedition, more like chasing a rumour, you know?
It started ages ago, chatting with this old DJ friend. He was going on about this tiny spot in Paris, barely a shop, more like a guy’s basement packed with vinyl. He called it “Le Lock Groove” because the owner was obsessed with records that had those repeating loops at the end, or maybe that was just the vibe of the place – stuck in time. My friend couldn’t remember the exact name or address, just “somewhere in the Marais, near the weird smells.” Helpful, right?
So, years later, I found myself in Paris with an afternoon to kill. This vague memory popped into my head. Why not? I had nothing better to do. Forget phones and maps for a second; this felt like old-school detective work. I started wandering around the Marais district. It’s a maze, lovely place, but a maze nonetheless.
The Hunt Begins
I ducked into a few proper record stores first. Asked around. Most folks just shrugged. A couple of older guys knew of places like that, back in the day, but weren’t sure if any survived. One guy, polishing some ancient jazz record, squinted at me. “You mean old Antoine’s place? Nah, he closed up shop years ago. Or maybe…” He trailed off, more interested in his record.
I kept walking, following my nose like my friend suggested, literally. Down alleys that smelled faintly of damp stone and baking bread. I was about ready to give up, grab a coffee. Then I saw it – not a sign, nothing obvious. Just a slightly ajar basement door down a narrow side street. Music, faint but definitely vinyl, drifted out.
Finding the Groove
Took a deep breath and went down the steps. It was exactly like my friend described. Tiny. Cramped. Shelves overflowing, stacks of records everywhere. Dust motes dancing in the single beam of light from a grimy window. An old fella, looked like he hadn’t left the room since 1978, peered at me over his glasses.
I didn’t even know what to ask for. I just mumbled something about “lock grooves” and unique pressings. He didn’t say much, just nodded towards a corner crammed with 7-inch singles and weird experimental LPs. So, I started digging. It was less about finding a specific ‘lock groove’ record and more about the act of searching, you know? The smell of old cardboard, the feel of the vinyl.
- Spent maybe an hour in there.
- Found some interesting French psych-rock I’d never seen before.
- Picked up a weird electronic record that did, in fact, have a pretty cool lock groove on the B-side.
Paid the old guy – barely spoke two words to me the whole time – and stepped back out into the Paris afternoon. It felt like blinking back into the real world.
Was it life-changing? Nah. Was it the legendary “Le Lock Groove” my friend remembered? Maybe, maybe not. Could have been just another dusty basement shop run by a vinyl obsessive. But the whole process – chasing a half-remembered story, the hunt, the digging through crates – that felt real. Way more satisfying than clicking ‘add to cart’. It’s funny how sometimes the searching is better than the finding. Makes you think about how much we just expect things instantly now. That whole afternoon was anything but instant, and maybe that’s why I still remember it.