Last weekend I visited Big B's CDs & Records, and for the first time I can remember, departed without scanning racks marked "Alex's Picks" and "Marco's Picks."
Not that I didn't double-check to see if those sections still existed, as some overlooked vestige of the days when Alex Vaughan and Marco Brizuela co-managed the finest record store in Las Vegas. But like so much of the Maryland Parkway institution's throwback charm and independent allure, those recommendations vanished in a dramatic staff purge that began in December.
Proprietor Brian Snyder estimates that 30 employees—Vaughan and Brizuela included —have resigned or been laid off since then, and listening to him talk, it sounds as if the shake-up might not be complete. Why? Because Snyder, largely an absentee owner operating behind the scenes in recent years, began to suspect something was amiss at his beloved Big B's.
"The vibe wasn't right in here," Snyder says. "I couldn't put a finger on what it was, but I believe there was some kind of accounting issue with employees taking money and running a business inside the business ... I was getting pushed out in my own store, and I couldn't get answers. But there's still an investigation going on, and it takes time for the truth to come out."
Brizuela declined to comment for the story, saying only that he left his post at Big B's to pursue his rock band, the Bleachers, full time. But Vaughan vehemently defends his innocence, along with the integrity of Brizuela and the staff they managed at the store.
"With Zia [Record Exchange] coming into the market and being a major competitor with a large advertising budget, we took a blow," Vaughan says. "When school ended last year and the college kids went away, we started to see a slow decline in our sales. And with that decline, the owner started to formulate these unfounded impressions that there was something suspicious going on with most of the older staff that had been there, and it culminated in his belief that there was some sort of embezzlement, theft, giving too much stuff away to your friends, whatever it was, which is completely unfounded."
"It was very frustrating because the proof was right there in the paperwork, but he wouldn't accept it," Vaughan continues. "And the more we could prove that his impressions were unfounded and completely unquantifiable, the more he would turn it around into something else. He was just adamant, and anyone that had been there for any period of time was under the cloud of suspicion."
Though Vaughan, now pursuing a career in photography, concedes he is hurt by the developments, particularly public accusations he was dishonest, he insists he will still remember his time at Big B's with fond memories.
"It was the longest job I ever had—seven years—and it was an incredible experience," says Vaughan, a 38-year-old British native who moved to the states at age 10. "I can't tell you how much of a pleasure it's been to serve Las Vegas and provide something that culturally, we need so desperately. And to have the incredible staff that we had, a family of music-loving friends, we were overjoyed to share that musical experience with the public."
For his part, Snyder laments the loss of longtime friendships with Vaughan, Brizuela and others, but defends his actions. "I know there's a lot of people out there who think I'm the bad guy, but I tried to be forward and honest with them. I came to Marco as a man and I came to Alex as a man, and said 'Let's work it out.' But when I came to them with my concerns, I got a lot of dead stares and 'I don't knows.' "
Regardless of whose version you believe, one point is indisputable: Big B's isn't what it once was. Used CD stock has dwindled, operating hours have been truncated and the lively spirit has been stripped from the 3,000-square-foot music lover's paradise.
Brizuela's departure severed the shop's ties with key California distributors, who provided much of the new, promotional product Big B's was able to offer at used prices, while Vaughan's exit left a notebook full of regular costumers with special-order needs in sudden limbo. Throughout one critical pre-holidays week in December, a "closed until further notice" sign greeted would-be patrons at the door.
Snyder now spends much of his time working behind the counter, perpetually training new employees and trying desperately to keep the doors of Big B's open in the face of a changing marketplace, a culture of music downloading and a widespread local perception that he sabotaged one of the few landmarks Southern Nevada's music community could not afford to lose.
"We had something great going," Snyder says. "But I'm a survivor, and I'm just doing the best I can every day to be here for the community. I did what I had to do. Now hopefully, we can have a silver-lined, new beginning."