Peaches Was Delicious

Kids, you have no idea. Peaches was amazing. No, it didn’t sell that aromatic, sweet, juicy delicacy that Georgia prides itself on. Instead, this amazing store sold vinyl. The 33 and 1/3 variety. I recall this new store’s grand opening in 1975 because I was there. Located on Peachtree Street, just past what was then Midtown, it was gigantic and had jazz, blues, rock, pop, country, opera, and more, and it had lots of it all.

The thrill of a late-night trip to the world’s largest record store to get the newest release by the Stones, Chicago, Doobies, Zep, The Who, or other great artists was such a wondrous treat. That was a privilege, nay, the wonder of music before there was streaming. When albums were released, usually on Thursday at midnight if I remember correctly, my friends and I would be there. Yet Peaches Records and Tapes didn’t just have new releases, it had every Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Status Quo, Uriah Heep, etc. album there was. They had several of each album as well. The prices were fine (albums $4.99, tapes $5.99), and they had employees who knew their stuff. 

Now, whether Peaches was the largest vinyl store in the world or not (Tower Records was pretty big), this was before Al Gore had invented the Internet, so verifying puffy claims was not possible; but why would they lie? The company’s first record store opened in Los Angeles in 1975, before opening the Atlanta superstore later that year. I had always assumed that Peaches was an Atlanta-based company, because, well, c’mon. About 50 stores were opened nationwide before bankruptcy was filed in 1981. Some stores, including Atlanta’s superstore, survived the bankruptcy, but all were gone by 2001, except a still-open novelty record store in New Orleans. No, CDs weren’t the death knell of Peaches, as they didn’t come out until a year later. It was bad management that did them in. 

More record trivia. How big was a regular album? Twelve inches. Were you fooled by Aerosmith’s cover of the rhythm and blues song by Bull Moose Jackson, “Big Ten Inch Record?” That song referenced a 10-inch vinyl album known as an EP when the song was released in 1952. It’s not hard to understand why record stations wouldn’t play it in 1952, because they were still reluctant to play it in 1975 when Aerosmith covered it. I’d suggest you give it a listen if you like double entendre in a song. Here’s a short snippet: “Got me the strangest woman, Believe it, this chick’s no cinch, But I really get her goin’, When I whip out my Big Ten Inch, Record of the band that plays the blues.”

If you didn’t learn this from me, where would you ever learn it?

Kelly Burke, attorney, former district attorney, and magistrate judge, writes about the law, rock’n’roll, and politics or anything that strikes him. Contact Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com to comment on this article or suggest articles that you’d like to see, and visit his website at www.kellyrburke.com  to view prior columns.