Music Expert Ran D.C. Record Store

Nesim Revah loved classical music. His store, Serenade Records, at 18th and M streets in Northwest Washington, was a mecca for local audiophiles for a generation.

He stocked one of the largest collections of classical records in the country. With a mail order business that attracted European and Asian customers, Serenade was considered to be one of the world's leading sources for hard-to-find recordings, according to a Washington Post profile of the store in 1998. Mr. Revah's ability to pronounce the name of an obscure opera, in pitch-perfect German, broke the ice with tourists from that land while he and his family vacationed in Morocco.

He also kept up with changes in the music world; Serenade became the first store in the Washington area to sell compact discs after Mr. Revah traveled to Japan to buy them before CDs were distributed in the United States, the Post article said, and the business later added videodiscs and laserdiscs of concerts and operas, stocking jazz, pop and rock recordings as well.

"My first concert ever, as a small child, was Cher at the Kennedy Center," said one of his daughters, Suzan Revah of San Francisco. "Years later, in college, he offered me tickets to the Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation concert -- but only if he could go with me."

Mr. Revah, 82, an adviser to thousands of music lovers at his own store, and later at the Bethesda Barnes and Noble bookstore's music department, died of multiple organ failure Aug. 21 at the Specialty Hospital of Washington.

He was born in Istanbul, a Jew in a secular Muslim nation. He attended two years of college there, studying economics, and attended the Istanbul Conservatory of Music before serving as a lieutenant in the Turkish army. In 1962, he moved to the United States, seeking better educational opportunities for his children, said his wife of 56 years, Matilda Revah.

"There were not too many universities in Turkey to accommodate every applicant, and it was very difficult to get into one," she said.

In Washington, Mr. Revah quickly sought work with Littman Danziger at the Disc Shop on Connecticut and Florida avenues. Danziger, who catered to an international clientele, essentially sponsored him, running a help-wanted ad in The Post for six consecutive months, asking for someone who knew classical music well, who understood electronics well enough to sell stereos, and who could speak Turkish, Spanish and French.

When it came time for Mr. Revah's citizenship hearing, Danziger testified that no one else answered the ad who met all the requirements, except Mr. Revah.

"He worded the ad so that it would be next to impossible for someone else to have the qualifications," said Danziger's son, Arnold, who also worked at the shop. "Mr. Revah was very good, he knew classical music and stereos very well. My father just took him in, and he became a model employee."

By 1970, he was ready to set out on his own, and with the arrival from Turkey of his brother-in-law Leon Dana, Mr. Revah made his entrepreneurial move. The shop they originally opened was on E Street NW, next to the National Theatre, later moving to Pennsylvania Avenue and then suburban Aspen Hill.

"We had very much respect for each other," said Dana, who had owned a pharmaceutical business in Turkey before emigrating. "In the beginning, he had the experience in the [music] business, but with his help, I learned. We made joint decisions."

The stores were family run operations, with children and other relatives at the counters or sorting through the racks. The business closed in 1998 after the partners sold their mail-order business. Mr. Revah then began working at the Bethesda bookstore where his old customers, and new ones, found him until a few months ago.

Mr. Revah, a volunteer with the American Turkish Association and a member of Magen David Sephardic Congregation in Rockville, fulfilled the image of a patriarch. Survivors, in addition to his wife and his daughter Suzan, include two other children, Sara Revah of Gaithersburg and Sami Revah of Los Angeles; a sister, Ida Dana of Washington; and two grandchildren.

"No one will ever say that my dad was a pushover," Suzan Revah said in her eulogy. "He had a firm hand, and he commanded and demanded respect. Certain things were non-negotiable. Period. . . . Respect the culture. Respect your manners. Respect the law. Respect the pecking order. Respect your elders."

But he also had a wild side. He took his family on Club Med vacations, and he bought a Datsun sports car in which he ferried his children to school, often with a Russian wolfhound in the back seat. When he bought his dream house in Bethesda, he threw extravagant parties, entertaining his guests with belly dancers or by dancing the tango himself.

"He became so fully American that when he visited his homeland, Turks would ask the man in the baseball hat and sneakers where he was from," his daughter said, "and they were always awed by his response."