Visit Your Friends

I often get asked why I prefer vinyl over any other format, especially given my investment in my collection and the equipment to play it with. It’s a constant journey. But why undertake the journey at all? Especially when I can ask Alexa to play any song I want to hear and even hook her up to a decently priced system to play it on. It’s a good question. I’ve talked about it before, but I usually approach it from the love of the format—the warmth of analog and the tactile feel of holding a record.  

A line from the movie Almost Famous captures what I’m trying to say: “If you ever get lonely, you just go to the record store and visit your friends.”

That line is at the heart of why I love vinyl records and have for well over forty years.

I had a tough time as a teenager. I know I’m not alone when I say that. I was lonely, self-conscious, and had a hard time in social situations. When I see a picture of old high school get-togethers or pool parties that former classmates post on social media, I’m never in them. I was too shy and insecure to go. I had a lot of fears back then. I can tell you exactly where I was while everyone else was being a typical 1980s teenager. I was at home listening to records. If I didn’t have a record playing, I was listening to WBCN out of Boston to DJs like Mark Parenteau of Charles Lacquidera. It’s fair to say that my collection was fueled and kickstarted by the playlist at WBCN. When I fell in love with the song, I fell in love with the artist or band, and I would buy their records. In many cases, all of them – the entire discography. It wasn’t easy; I had to save every penny I earned to do so, but what else did I have to spend my money on? I was home most of the time.

“If you ever get lonely, you just go to the record store and visit your friends.”

My memory leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to some things, but I can tell you why and when I bought almost all the records in my collection. Some records are more special than others. Even if I don’t quite understand what made it special or why they evoke certain feelings. I was an introspective teenager and often read more into things than were there. Music reached me in ways other things didn’t. Coming home from the record store and putting a new record on my turntable was exciting. Reading the lyrics was a search for the meaning of life or why I felt the way I did. I was a lonely kid who went straight home every day to escape into his growing record collection. 

Over the years, I’ve told close friends that I probably wouldn’t have made it if it hadn’t been for music. I can’t say with any certainty that this is true, but it’s how I feel looking back. Listening to music was, in a sense, a conversation. It was a one-way conversation, but a conversation nonetheless. The song, the delivery, and the lyrics spoke to me. I put all my fears and anxieties into the experience of listening. In doing so, I gave the songs a deeper meaning. With every listen, the bond grew. Some of my most cherished album possessions are the ones that helped me through those years with repeated listens. When I put Ozzy’s Blizzard of Oz on my turntable today, a record I’ve owned for over forty years, I can remember the feeling and excitement of playing it for the first time. I can still escape into it.  

I miss the record stores of the past. Back when vinyl was king and a record store was full of sealed records, both old and new. I would spend hours in them, moving through the alphabet, looking for some of the songs I’d heard on WBCN the day before.  

Today, at the end of the day, I still set aside my stress and anxieties, go into the vinyl room, and visit my friends.