More Confessions of a Vinyl Act, Part 3
OK. The crisis has passed. As relapses go, it was relatively harmless. I did not log onto eBay and search for every missing Blue Note and bid like a madman. I did not head into Manhattan armed with enough cash and credit cards to buy out the Jazz Record Center. I didn’t really do anything except lose a night’s sleep and move a bunch of Jimmy Smith records from one shelf to another.
As I am left to ponder this latest chapter in my ongoing struggle with vinyl addiction, I believe what I had was not a relapse of vinyl addiction but something more akin to a full blown existential crisis. Why am I here, what am I doing, why do I have 10,000 records, why do I care if a single one of those records has a New York USA address on the label rather than a 767 Lexington Avenue address? You know, the usual kind of existential crisis.
The trigger was the cataloging of the Blue Notes and the process of