So … I bought a record player. I resisted for a long time. My reasoning: I didn’t know how to choose one, I was afraid of what it would cost for a decent one, but most of all, I knew that I would so easily and continuously be drawn into buying more records than I probably should.
Well, it turns out, those weren’t good enough reasons to hold. Not anymore.
Like many people of my vintage, I grew up with a record player at home. I started buying records in the 1980s. In the 1990s, I parted ways with my entire record collection (gasp!) and most of my belongings when I moved across Canada to British Columbia. I haven’t owned a record player or records, since.
Until last month.
Why, a return to vinyl, decades after I had let it go? My answer is three parts solidarity and one part drug-induced insight. Solidarity, part one: with people making music and wanting to support them more than music streaming platforms. Solidarity, part two: with independent sound recording and music publishing (some statistics for Canada, if you’re curious). Solidarity, part three: with the vibrant community of record store owners, operators and patrons here in Montréal and beyond. As for drug-induced insight: well, when locked up at home for weeks on post-surgery pain medication, thoughts can happen, things can happen … and in my case last month, a record player happened.
The photo above: one of the first records that made it’s way home with me … not a record I knew, one I found, gave it a listen, liked it, wanted to keep it. And that is the first and the last reason for the record player, of course: for the pleasure of listening to music on vinyl.
As for the records that I’ve bought and played this past month (more than I should have, like I said), well … they’ve brought back memories, anchored me to the present moment, made me feel and contemplate things that have surprised me (that’s not the pain meds talking, either, those are done, thankfully). And of course, there has been some dancing around the house.
It’s curious, the way that one thing can lead to another, sometimes … and that ends my tale of records, drugs, solidarity (and a few other things).
a few words ... from Montréal 