A record store you have to know about to find.
Relove Records doesn't shout from a high street. It lives inside The Refill Stop — the New West shop where neighbours bring their own jars and bottles — a few minutes' walk from the SkyTrain. Push past the soap and the dispensers, and there's a wall of crates waiting to be flipped through.
It's a small, deliberate selection. Not a warehouse of filler — a collector's shelf. Britpop singles that never made it to streaming, Japanese pressings with the obi strip intact, the kind of original you usually only see online with a buy-it-now price you wince at.
The refill-store setting is the whole charm: a place built around using things again, hosting a shop built around records finding a second turntable. Sustainability and crate-digging, under one roof.
Re-loved, not resold. Every sleeve here was picked because someone wanted to hear it again.
