Yeah, the title was "borrowed" from Larry Norman. Once upon a time, not too long ago, but actually quite a while ago now, I used to write a lot. I liked to think I had something to say about the music I listened to and the musicians I admired..
As I got older and less relevant, my passion for music remained, but I found myself further and further removed from anything current, and I really had nothing left to say. There were only so many ways to say "meh" when listening to a lot of new music.
When I was younger, I had a lot of records. To me, it was a lot, just under a thousand, collected mostly new, with a few used thrown in for fun. They took up a lot of room and eventually, through a terrible accident back in the nineties involving a crawl space and a broken sump pump, I was left with a couple of dozen salvaged records that sat in a box for a couple of decades, because I just didn't listen to my old records. When CDs came out, I jumped on that bandwagon, hard, to get away from the pops and clicks that drove me crazy, and for quite a few years, went a little crazy. I still have a couple of thousand hanging on shelves in my studio. They look impressive, but I have a little solid-state drive smaller than my mouse that holds all of it in digital form, and honestly, there's a lot of stuff that never gets played - a lot.
What I missed from my vinyl was the gatefold, the large cover, the liner notes, the readable lyric sheets, the credits, and the thank-you sections. What I didn't miss was the sound. Oh, I know there are those who will go on about the warmth and all that. Fine, you do that. I applauded the new kids who recorded in digital, then wanted a vinyl release. I became a grumpy old fart who loved to shit on those who were on the vinyl bandwagon, waving the vinyl flag.
Then, a couple of years ago, we finished the basement, and I set up my old stereo and turntable. I went looking for my little box of vinyl, and after blowing out a few spider skeletons and bits of dust, I set them up on a shelf. The few I had managed to save had special meaning, so I looked for something to put on. With a pop and a click and the occasional tick, I sat in my chair for 22 minutes and read along while the music played. I was transported back to a place and time when I was excited to hear things from start to finish. Then I had to get up and turn the record over and hear the rest. I still hated the clicks and pops, but there was something calming and familiar too. I let it slide. I just made it part of the experience
My wife noticed too, and immediately said, "You're not going to go out and collect records."I sheepishly looked at her and pointed to the small area of available space on the shelf. "I won't," I assured her. My fingers were crossed.
I try not to get anything I already have on CD or digital, but I do on occasion. I don't buy new vinyl, unless I find older sealed stuff, but even then it's not often. What I look for are the clearance bins; the dollar store castoffs, the stuff that's been well-loved and is one step from a dumpster. I have a few cleaning systems at home, and while I'm no expert in water baths or solutions, ultrasonic tech, or vacuum systems, I have enough stuff to get things relatively clean. Sometimes I'm able to get things to where I can listen and enjoy, even with the clicks and pops that are inevitably still present.
It's my happy place.
I still get a giggle out of new vinyl releases and how expensive they are. I'm still a grumpy old fart in that regard who doesn't get it. But, I suppose if you're happy, I'm happy for you.
Me, I'm in the weeds looking for lost treasures and things I haven't heard from my youth. Lend me your ears, and I'll sing you a song... yeah, I borrowed that too.
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