On August 17, a Facebook post by De La Salle–College of St. Benilde student Sol Samodio sent ripples across Manila’s music community. The post revealed that Mang Greg’s CD shop, a long-standing fixture inside Cartimar Manila Shopping Center on Recto Avenue, is set to close by the end of August. The beloved secondhand store, originally founded by the late collector Greg Chua, who passed away in January, has long been a destination for fans searching for rare and affordable CDs.
Samodio’s online post detailed the circumstances of Chua’s shop. “[Ariel Valenteros] took over Mang Greg’s CD shop after the collector’s passing last December 2024,” she wrote. “Unfortunately, Mang Ariel has been struggling to generate sales, and due to a dispute with the rent, he’s been left with no choice but to close the shop by the end of August. He hopes to find someone who can purchase the collection and take over the business. The shop has been a staple for physical audio format collectors like me, and the thought of it closing soon is truly saddening.”
For longtime patrons, the announcement felt like more than the shuttering of a store. Mang Greg’s shop had become a community hub and an unlikely landmark for collectors who found joy in browsing brown boxes stacked with discs.
The store’s potential closure sparked broader questions: Is physical media truly on its last leg,, or does its continued revival suggest otherwise?
A Shop That Felt Like Home
For many in Manila, Mang Greg’s shop was a refuge for the wandering music listener on a weekday afternoon. I first visited in 2019, drawn by word-of-mouth from a friend who promised it was worth the trip. Within Cartimar’s crowded maze of shoe stores and electronics stalls, the shop stood as a small sanctuary for music lovers.
Mang Greg himself embodied that spirit. His humble, soft-spoken presence made everyone feel welcome, whether they were seasoned collectors or students browsing out of curiosity. The store was messy in the most endearing way: boxes taped shut, towers of jewel cases stacked haphazardly, covers faded by time. Yet the disarray felt intentional, as if the collection was curated by instinct and heart rather than order.
The joy came in the finds of his endless catalog of CDs. Among my own purchases were The Cardigans’ Life, The Strokes’ Is This It, Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Fever to Tell, and Death From Above 1979’s You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine. My friend Kenneth Paras, a busker with different tastes, still managed to leave with something new each time. That was the essence of the place: you entered expecting one thing but always discovered something else.
The surrounding Cartimar community reinforced the feeling. Other shops like Middle Finger Records and Rectoduction Store carried their own eclectic mixes, from Britpop to Filipino indie releases. Together, they created a microcosm of Manila’s musical underground with Mang Greg’s shop as its anchor — a “save point” for those navigating the district’s chaos.
The Fall and Rise of Physical Media
Record stores have always been about discovery. For decades, they provided not just music but a physical connection to culture and community. In the Philippines, however, the last decade saw the decline of official chains such as Odyssey and Astrovision, alongside shrinking CD shelves at Fully Booked in Bonifacio Global City and in SM Department Store video sections. The shift to streaming platforms left many shops with dwindling sales, and rows of discounted CDs became reminders of a disappearing era.
Streaming undeniably transformed listening habits. It encouraged immediacy, convenience, and a near-limitless catalog. Yet for collectors, the digital shift stripped away something essential: the tactile experience of handling an album, the artwork, the liner notes, and the quiet thrill of walking into a store not knowing what treasure might be hidden in a dusty corner. Many feared physical media was on its way to extinction.
But the story has taken a turn. In recent years, a wave of independent and specialty stores across the Philippines has fueled a resurgence. Shops such as Tokyo Music Club in Baguio, Pavement Records and Filla Kill Shop in Cebu, Ted Ellis at Espacio Hotel in Taguig, Backspacer Records in Pasig, and Good Vibrations in Cubao Expo, Quezon City, have become destinations for crate-diggers and new collectors alike. Each space offers something different, from curated imports to local independent releases.
Together, they demonstrate that physical media is not only alive but thriving, sustained by a new generation of listeners who see value in tangible music formats. The closure of Mang Greg’s store, then, does not reflect a death of the medium but rather the struggle of one shop caught in difficult circumstances. His shop may vanish from Cartimar soon, but the wider scene shows resilience and his impact has affected many owners to continue his mission.
