For the Love of Vinyl

I often wonder why, for me, listening to jazz means putting on a record and not popping in a disc. I know I prefer the sound of the record, but I’m no audiophile and, to be honest, I’m not sure if given a blindfold test I would necessarily be able to tell the vinyl apart from the CD. My preference, as I’m sure it does for all record collectors, goes beyond the sound.

 There’s the tactile: The actual feel of the record and the placing of it on the turntable and the taking of the needle and the placing of the needle on the first groove. Playing a record is part of a lifelong ritual of listening to music and it provides continuity and a link to the past.

There’s the album cover and the sliding of the record in and out of the sleeve and the liner notes and the label and all of the things that take the record back to the time when it was conceived, created and cared for. There’s the notion that this particular copy of this particular record was actually sitting on a store shelf back in the 1950s or 1960s when the music was alive and vibrant and the artists were at their creative peaks.

 Then, of course, there are the memories: The associations we make with the records and how the music may have helped to shape our lives or get us through hard times or forge our relationships with friends or family. When I moved into a new house a few months ago, the first thing I did, naturally, was set up my records and my record player. Then came an important decision: What record to play first to christen the new house. I chose My Favorite Things by John Coltrane.

 Sitting in this new house, preparing for this major transition in my life, listening to My Favorite Things, my mind immediately went back to another major turning point in my life and I remembered how this record helped me through it. The memory was so vivid I could feel my eyes fill with tears. It was back in 1970 and I was starting Queens College. I didn’t want to be there but I didn’t get accepted anywhere else. I was 17 and I had just broken up with my girlfriend and I was lonely and heartbroken and shy. I was sure everyone on campus knew this and was staring at me. I would dread any break between classes. Then I discovered the music library: I could go there and listen to any of the records and put on headphones and, basically, hide out until my next class.

 That’s where I discovered My Favorite Things. Every time I had a break I would walk with great purpose toward the music library, as if I had an important meeting scheduled there. And every time I would ask them to put on My Favorite Things. The person behind the counter would get the record, pull it out of its sleeve and place the cover in a holder facing the entire room so anyone else could also listen to My Favorite Things through their headphones.

 The music was like a salve: It healed me, lifted my spirits, gave me the strength to face the rest of the day. Music has that power, doesn’t it? What was it about that music at that time that moved me?  I’m not sure I could say: I just know it did and it helped. That record became a part of me, just like so many of the other records on my shelves and in my memories.

 What are some of the records that have shaped your lives? We’d love to publish some reader stories. Send us a note. See you tomorrow. — Al