Final Vinyl
The past year has been spent transferring a sizable collection of LPs to computer. After downsizing apartments, there is not enough room to house the nearly 500 albums. It is nearly done. All that remains is to take leave of them.
We were raised on 45s (single songs on a 7 inch vinyl disc traveling at the rate of 45 revolutions per minute) and albums (12 inch vinyl discs at 331/3 rpms). Being a late boomer, as well as a late bloomer, albums held greater interest for me. There were 10 or 12 songs. There was a cover with cool photos or psychedelic art. There were notes, explaining the music and the musicians. Although rock records were light on notes, some provided lyrics, and that was really cool. My memory is that the printing of lyrics started with Sgt. Pepper. It was puzzling that Dylan and the Stones didn't print their lyrics. It does not seem odd anymore, now that Dylan has made it clear that he's just a troubador, not a poet, a saviour or standard-bearer of the revolution. Still it would've been great to read the words. You would find jazz records and comedy records in the house. It was by no means clear how they got there. My family never listened to jazz - they were present for their hipness quotient. We all listened to the comedy and broadway albums. As a teenager Mr. Manso, my trumpet teacher, assigned the Dance of the Ballerina, a solo from Stravinsky's Petrushka. Upon later hearing Frank Zappa reproducing Stravinsky, it hooked me on both Zappa and Stravinsky. After that, my interest in concert music took hold, with my gathering up the complete symphonies of Beethoven, Bach choral works, Stravinsky ballets, Copland concertos.
These albums from young years, Chubby Checker and The Monster Mash, through my early twenties, the great creations of Stevie Wonder, are lodged in my memory: the music of course but also the cover, the notes, the photos, the label. It is difficult to relinquish these old friends, whose spirituality has enriched my life, helped me through tough times, and served as virtual companions in days of grief or loneliness.
Technology trudges forward. We've made a quick run through CDs moving to digitized, free floating, transferable files - zeroes and ones, compressed and decompressed, creating a semblance of music. Like some digital artwork, if you listen closely enough you can hear the individual pixels. But rather than be a slave to the past and pay rent to house boxes of vinyl and cardboard, the choice has been to embrace the new, make it serve my needs, learn to love its quirks -- like the elusive wireless signal -- and allow it in to that place where Dizzy Gillespie and his bent trumpet used to stand.
Ah, have you hugged your ipod today?
We were raised on 45s (single songs on a 7 inch vinyl disc traveling at the rate of 45 revolutions per minute) and albums (12 inch vinyl discs at 331/3 rpms). Being a late boomer, as well as a late bloomer, albums held greater interest for me. There were 10 or 12 songs. There was a cover with cool photos or psychedelic art. There were notes, explaining the music and the musicians. Although rock records were light on notes, some provided lyrics, and that was really cool. My memory is that the printing of lyrics started with Sgt. Pepper. It was puzzling that Dylan and the Stones didn't print their lyrics. It does not seem odd anymore, now that Dylan has made it clear that he's just a troubador, not a poet, a saviour or standard-bearer of the revolution. Still it would've been great to read the words. You would find jazz records and comedy records in the house. It was by no means clear how they got there. My family never listened to jazz - they were present for their hipness quotient. We all listened to the comedy and broadway albums. As a teenager Mr. Manso, my trumpet teacher, assigned the Dance of the Ballerina, a solo from Stravinsky's Petrushka. Upon later hearing Frank Zappa reproducing Stravinsky, it hooked me on both Zappa and Stravinsky. After that, my interest in concert music took hold, with my gathering up the complete symphonies of Beethoven, Bach choral works, Stravinsky ballets, Copland concertos.
These albums from young years, Chubby Checker and The Monster Mash, through my early twenties, the great creations of Stevie Wonder, are lodged in my memory: the music of course but also the cover, the notes, the photos, the label. It is difficult to relinquish these old friends, whose spirituality has enriched my life, helped me through tough times, and served as virtual companions in days of grief or loneliness.
Technology trudges forward. We've made a quick run through CDs moving to digitized, free floating, transferable files - zeroes and ones, compressed and decompressed, creating a semblance of music. Like some digital artwork, if you listen closely enough you can hear the individual pixels. But rather than be a slave to the past and pay rent to house boxes of vinyl and cardboard, the choice has been to embrace the new, make it serve my needs, learn to love its quirks -- like the elusive wireless signal -- and allow it in to that place where Dizzy Gillespie and his bent trumpet used to stand.
Ah, have you hugged your ipod today?
posted by Evan Sarzin at 6:52 PM
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