Floored by vinyl
I turned 40 this weekend. My best friend Jamin gave me vinyl. Records. Gave me a CD also, I guess to cover his ass in case my turntable no longer turned, but the records caught me by surprise. Stevie Wonder, Sufjan Stevens, Jolie Holland; stuff that would’ve been great on CD anyway, but there I was, just like it was 1985, unwrapping this large square package. I’m still increasing my appreciation by the hour.
At first I was bummed since I cant rip them to my Todd-pod, but every morning and night I’ve been listening to them in a way I wouldnt do with CDs or mp3’s. Sitting on the floor, unfolding the covers, feeling the raised cardboard bumps of the fish and bubbles on Stevie’s “Original Musiquarium,” Sufjan’s loco rant on the back of “Michigan.” Reading lyrics and band members instruments like it was important, like it mattered. I know most of that is being old and crusty, but music has become just a collection in my pod, a collective library to tap into music in general, not to savor the tastes of individual ALBUMS and ARTISTS.
What a concept.
I got some bourbon too, which is cool in its own way.
