Institute Records and Curiosities

Institute Records and Curiosities in Cynthiana, Kentucky, brings together records, physical media, vintage clothing, art, and the unusual objects that fit the shop’s name. In this interview, Zac Hruby discusses the community around the store, buying collections, and keeping a small-town shop culturally alive.

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Interview with Institute Records and Curiosities

How Institute Records and Curiosities began

Believe it or not I am an archaeologist by trade and teach part time at U. of Cincinnati and NKU. I used to have a full time job at NKU, but they went broke after COVID downturn and they laid me off, and now I just do a few online classes to keep my affiliation. I am one of the most famous people in the world in my miniscule field of study: Ancient Maya and Central Mexican ceremonial flints and obsidians. This means that roughly only three people on earth know who I am haha (just google Zachary Hruby archaeology, and you will see what I mean... pretty obscure). Anyway, when I lost my job, my wife told me I should open up a record store to make myself feel better, and Institute Records and Curiosities was born. It is named after my punk/alternative band The Zac Institute, which I started in the 90s in Humboldt County California, precisely because nobody wanted to play with me. I started by recording myself with friends and street people.

The Rohs Opera House and Cynthiana

The shop is located in the famous, haunted Rohs Operahouse! They do ghost tours in the building and they say that somebody was shot in the front door of our shop, and that his ghost visits the property. People have heard laughing in our shop long after we have left. My wife notes that the TV in the shop turns on by itself overnight. The records are often out of place (pushed forward in the crates) after I have organized them the day before when I leave for the day. The town itself is sort of spooky. Cynthiana is where the creators of The Walking Dead comic are from, so we have the largest Walking Dead mural in the world. We have a festival called Witches Day Out. It was originally a zombie celebration day, but the corporate owners of the Walking Dead properties told the town to desist haha. Witches Day out is a large craft and arts festival centered around spooky halloween stuff and my wife loves it, because she and her twin were born on Halloween.

Why the shop is open three days a week

The shop hours are limited in our town. People don't shop much unless it's Thursday, Friday, and especially Saturday, so we are only open three days a week.

Zac, "Institute Records and Curiosities" — the "and Curiosities" is doing real work in that name. What ends up on the shelves alongside the records, and how did the shop end up that way rather than a pure record store?

As I mentioned, I am a Mesoamerican Archaeologist and rock hound. It isn't for sale, but I shipped the largest known quartz crystal cluster ever found in Guatemala to the United States. It is presently placed in our front window of the shop, and I let people fondle it if they want to. For sale I have original "outsider Artworks" by Jess Hilliard who was a punk rocker in Berkeley in the 90s, but then he moved to Ohio. You can look him up on Instragram and his book is available on Amazon (called Hi, Friend). These are some weird collage pieces and we sell smaller versions of his art cards for $4 a piece! We have Ghanian movie posters, weird midwestern vintage paintings and curios, Justin Bieber Christmas decorations, lots of Star Wars and MArvel Toys, kiss memorabilia and vintage tour programs. We also sell DVDs, VHS tapes and players, Cassette tapes, and CDs. We support physical media of all kinds to fight against the streaming corporations and their fleecing of the public in general. Half the Store is vintage clothing and weird T-shirts, which my wife, Lindsay Powell, curates and supplies. She also block/lino prints the shop logo on T-shirts and jackets, which are used but she upscales them with spikes for the punk rockers out there. The shop is very small, so we have to be choosy about what we display at any moment.

Cynthiana is a small town — one where a record shop is a genuine local landmark, not one of six options. What does it mean to be the record shop in a place like this, and who's actually walking through the door: locals, folks driving in from Lexington or Cincinnati, both?

We do get customers from "The Big City," with some from Cincinnati, but mostly Lexington. The shop is mostly frequented by locals, who shop with us for gifts and to build their collections. I pride myself on keeping a more boutique selection that is cleaned and sorted to keep things easy to find. We have several local collectors that keep the music community alive and we often have lively community conversations in the shop. I keep an outside speaker and DJ for the people walking down Pike Street as they go about their daily business. We don't make much money, but at this point it is more of a community service, and I think people in town like having a culturally interesting place to visit.

When somebody walks in with a box to sell, what makes it an easy yes for you in the first thirty seconds — the tell-tales you look for before you've even started pricing?

Well, most of my customers are all american meat and potatoes rock lovers. Classic Rock, Hair Metal, and 80s New Wave are instant. I keep a strong jazz collection, which is one of my favorite genres, so jazz is also an instant. My basic rule is: I'll buy it if I can sell it.

What does the buying process at Institute look like for a whole collection versus a handful of records — do you handle them differently, and is it worth someone calling ahead first?

I travel all over the region picking up stock, so I do urge people to call first, but it is usually to set up a meeting time. I do housecalls so that people don't have to haul around 500 pounds of albums. I usually give people three options: 1) I ask what they want for the records and based on a quick look I will pay them and be done with it to save time, 2) I look over the records for five minutes and propose a price based on the quick assessments (which honestly is always within 25-50 bux of the assessed value); and then 3) the slow way, where I price each album with a base grade. For the third option, I usually try to secure a promise that they will sell to me if I spend all that time. The benefit of the last option is that I have already essentially priced the records and cut out time when I am bagging and tagging them. If it is a good and clean collection, I pay 50% of retail, and less if it's dirty, damaged, or low demand records.

Kentucky has humid summers and cold winters, and a lot of collections lived in a basement or an unheated attic before they got to you. What's the damage you see most in local collections, and what would you tell a seller to do differently going forward?

It's always water damage from flooding. Spores, wavy jackets, and discoloration. I can't accept them if the paper is disintegrating. Smoking is sometimes a problem, but not as often as I thought.

A lot of people inherit a stack of records from a parent or grandparent and assume there's real money in it. What's the honest picture from what walks through your door — how often does an inherited Kentucky collection turn out to have real value, and what's usually in it when it does?

Most collections only have 20% sellable albums. That's why I do housecalls, so people don't bring down 400 pounds of Mantovani and Andy Williams records. Most of the time there are some incredible gems in these Kentucky and Appalachian collections: Classic country, super rare Rockabilly and soul, and especially BLUEGRASS. Some of these small batch bluegrass records from the 50s, 60s, and 70s are amazing.

Beyond the records, what's the strangest or most memorable "curiosity" that's come through the shop — the thing that's still there because it's too weird to sell, or the piece a customer had to have on sight?

I have the giant Crystal (not for sale) and a Giant Ghanian Bladerunner poster. The great stuff for sale are rare SF Bay Area hippie paintings, Outsider art, and folk art.

Opening a record shop in a town the size of Cynthiana is a very different bet than opening one in Lexington or Louisville. What made you decide to do it here, and for someone thinking about opening a shop in a similarly small market, what did you learn early on that made the difference?

Well honestly, I keep it small right now because the economy for small change business has been terrible. If we can get things going again, I would like to expand and make it a destination for out of towners. Like Plaid Room up in Loveland Ohio. Well, maybe not that big, but I need to invest in new vinyl, probably jump on the RSD bandwagon on a small scale, and get a bigger shop to put out more stock. I have a huge backstock, but can't display it because of space. For now, I am just keeping it going, biding my time, until the economy takes a turn for the better, one hopes. I can't guarantee the shop has exactly what you are looking for, but I can guarantee we will have something that you will want.

Last updated: 2026-09-29

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