Listening to music is often a private affair. Headphones tune out the din of the world, providing a transcendent, solitary space. But in decades past, the act of buying music was a public one, a sign of your commitment to the tunes you love. Kevin Koga, a local deejay and record enthusiast, reminisces about going to the local music shop in Wahiawā, which, at the time, specialized in early urban and hip hop records. “I would ditch school on Tuesdays and head down to Choice Cuts, because I knew what time the mail would drop off the new records,” he says. Music from tinny overhead speakers was punctuated by the clacking of upright plastic security cases holding CDs. “What year did this album drop? Who played on that?” strangers would ask, as they passed each other in alphabetized aisles in search of that same rush of discovery. This public retail experience informed how listeners related to the music they purchased.

Many would argue that the shift of music to its present state—that of existing online as a series of ones and zeros—served as the death blow for the record store. This shift destabilized not only the items that such stores sold, but also the very foundation on which the establishments were built: connecting to music—and others—in a real and meaningful way. Music retail today is completely integrated into the listening experience. Anyone with the right technology can now hear something new, give it a thumbs up, click to buy, and have it in their workout mix in a matter of seconds. Because of this, the physical location of music has become nearly obsolete.

Music stores in Hawai‘i are unique and fragile. The state’s population size has always been a limiting factor for any market, and O‘ahu record shops and music stores have faced the challenge of enduring in a changing marketplace, one that forces them to adapt, or face the inevitable.

Hungry Ear Music opened in Kailua more than three decades ago. Selling new and used music in all formats, and releasing local music by a variety of bands, it was an oasis for record lovers on the windward side. In the last decade, however, Kailua has developed into a sprawling tourist mecca, forcing Hungry Ear to relocate to Honolulu in 2014 in order to survive. After only two years at its University Avenue location, the property that housed the store was demolished to make way for University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa student dorms. Space in Hawai‘i, retail or otherwise, is costly; Hungry Ear is still searching for an affordable place to call home.

For many record seekers on O‘ahu, Jelly’s, with its locations in ‘Aiea and Kaka‘ako, was the destination for delving into the island’s largest collection of music, along with collectibles, comics, and books. In the ’90s, it was the meeting place for anyone who listened to Radio Free, which played new music by local artists who might not have received airtime otherwise. In 2015, Jelly’s closed its ‘Aiea location, consolidating its supply into the Kaka‘ako shop, which closed briefly before opening a year later as Idea’s Music and Books. Idea’s remains the largest record store on the island, but it is slow to adapt to changing tastes and consumption methods.

Although the shift to digital may have rendered the pilgrimage to record stores obsolete, it didn’t sate the desire for music. Music consumption today is as unbridled as ever. According to a 2016 Nielsen music report, music-streaming apps, like Pandora and Spotify, now comprise the main method for listening to and interacting with music. In October 2016, Pandora had 77.9 million monthly active listeners. As this shift to music streaming platforms occurs, digital sales have decreased, giving physical album sales back market share. This has revealed an unexpected trend: In 2016, vinyl sales marked their 11th straight year of growth.

John Friend and Kevin Cruze debuted the transient pop-up Secret Record Store in 2013, transporting crates of music to various locations so that generations of music fans could continue the hunt. “People [browsing through records] open up in a way different than any other retail space,” says Friend, who started working at Jelly’s in 1985, when he was 15. Today, he and Cruze continue to haul records for their ephemeral shop to places like Bevy in Kaka‘ako and Downbeat Diner in Chinatown, where posters announce the dates to stop in and thumb through vinyl covers.

As technology allows for greater convenience and access to music, the amalgam of physical place, people, and art is becoming a rarefied thing. Hungry Ear, Jelly’s, The Beat, Stylus Hawaii, and many other record stores gave people a public square to explore their beloved music. They were meeting places where fans championed the music they loved. Today, this resource is stewarded by a small but passionate group determined to provide listeners a place to fall in love with music all over again.