IT'S the end of the world as some people know it, but most of us feel fine, writes Jim Carroll

The sandwich board man walks up and down the block barking the bad news: "closing down sale, everything must go". On the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, as at every one of its 89 stores across the United States, Tower Records is getting ready to turn off the lights for the very last time.

Tower Records filed for bankruptcy in August, its second time in two years to run for financial cover. This time, however, there was no get out of jail card for the chain.

The company was sold at auction and the new owners decided to sell off Tower's existing stock to pay creditors, who are owed over $200 million. Fixtures, fittings and anything else which can be turned into cash will, in time, also be up for grabs.

The store on Sunset, one of the few sites owned rather than leased by the company, has already been sold for $12 million. When the dust settles, 2,700 employees will be looking for new jobs.

While the stores in Dublin and Japan which trade under the Tower name will continue in business (and there's an online entity which has also licensed the Tower moniker), the bright yellow signs will vanish from American streets when the last CD leaves the shelves.

Inside the store, it doesn't take much forensic accountancy to understand why Tower hit the wall. Even with a hefty 25 per cent discount on absolutely everything in the store, its CDs and DVDs are still expensive. Drive down Sunset to giant indie Amoeba Music and you'll find the same stock at much lower prices, even without 25 per cent slashed off the top. Go to any of the big box stores such as Best Buy or to one of a plethora of online retailers and you'll make even more savings.

In the end, Tower just could not compete. Changes in the business of buying and selling music eradicated every single one of Tower's unique selling points. The size and variety of its inventory? The long tail of the internet swished that advantage right away. Its long opening hours? The internet is open 24/7 and you don't have to worry about parking your car. The specialised knowledge of its clerks? That was not enough to compensate for some of the unfriendly numpties posing as Tower employees.

Of course, it was different back when the stores first opened in California in the 1960s. Back then, people flocked to Tower because it was a community centre for those who wanted to know about rock and alternative music. There simply wasn't anywhere else to go.

Now, it's a different matter. It's quite revealing to read nostalgia-ridden interviews with or blog entries by one-time Tower regulars. The fact that they haven't visited the store in years is telling. The computer in the corner is the new Tower store. Music is both everywhere and nowhere at once.

Tower's demise is a further sign of the crisis which currently faces the record industry. At the recent In The City industry convention in Manchester, Sony-BMG chairman Ged Doherty predicted that we ain't seen nothing yet.

Doherty figures that the value of CD sales will be 50 per cent less in three years than it is now. Even the rise in digital sales is not enough to offset that revenue collapse.

"We have to reinvent, we're running a business model that is so out of date it's not true," Doherty said. "For years, record companies and major labels have had it all their own way but that's changing and we have to change with it." While Doherty's frank comments have kicked off some interesting debates, it really is a discussion which is about 10 years too late. It will be interesting to see how Doherty intends to reinvent Sony-BMG, but his peers will probably take their chances with more catalogue pimping and reality TV punts. As this drama plays out, Tower will not be the only casualty. It might be an idea to stock up on sandwich boards.

jimcarroll@irish-times.ie