By the late aughts, the record store we loved had been eaten by two things: a wave of CD-era liquidation that fired every buyer we'd ever apprenticed under, and a brand-new internet economy in which any storefront with a Shopify theme could list a thousand titles it had never touched. We'd spent the previous decade at the buying desks of Turntable Lab and Sound of the City — grading sleeves, calling distributors in Tokyo at four in the morning, arguing over which Mobile Fidelity cut to stock. We knew, intimately, that the distance between a record sitting in a warehouse and a record playing cleanly on a customer's table was made up entirely of human decisions, and that the new economy had quietly removed the humans.
So we opened our own. The first shipment, in November 2009, fit into a single banker box and went out to fourteen customers. The packing list was written by hand. Every record had been inspected. We answered the phone ourselves. Sixteen years later the operation has grown — a 38,000 square-foot climate-controlled facility in Long Island City, a 47-person staff, a wholesale arm that supplies 2,400 independent shops — but the founding premise has not moved an inch. Every record is still inspected by hand. Every used copy is still listened to by a human ear, graded against a four-tier system we publish in full, and shipped in a mailer we engineered with IPG to reduce in-transit cracks to seven hundredths of one percent across 2.1 million shipments.
The team that surrounds us now is the reason the work is honest. Six grading specialists keep the standard. Three mastering consultants — trained at Abbey Road and Sterling Sound — review every listening copy against the original analog tape, the way a sommelier opens a bottle against the vineyard's own cellar. Forty-seven people, in total, each of whom could be working anywhere else in the trade, choosing instead to do this one thing carefully.
This page is the place we say so plainly. We are not the world's largest anything. We are a house built from the sleeves up — by three record-store buyers, for people who still believe a record is worth the trouble.
— The Founders, Heavyweight Records, Inc.