Stuff is happening faster than I can responsibly blog. So fast and far and wide, in fact, it makes me wonder if it's actually happening at all. You know how it is when you learn a new word and you suddenly begin hearing that word
everywhere?
Maybe it's some hardcore
Baader-Meinhof business, some of that crazy cosmic unconscious
plate of shrimp stuff. It's certainly possible that the thing was there all along—just chilling, waiting to be used, enjoyed,
listened to—like some wonderful, little beat or sigh that had gone on for so long unnoticed until someone else—the great and eternally unknowable
other—pointed it out for you, or you heard it through a new and unfamiliar system, or whatever. Like Nina Simone holding that last note until you're left with such dazzling, crippling silence you can't help but cry, you can't help but cry it hurts so bad, it's so beautiful how much it hurts so bad. Maybe it's just because I've been looking for it—
wanting it—but lately it sure as hell seems like vinyl is everywhere. Everywhere! Have you noticed it? It's not just me, is it?
It's not just me.
Earlier this week,
it was reported that mainstream retailers like Best Buy and the Oregon-based Fred Meyer chain are testing vinyl sales in their stores. I hope vinyl passes these tests. If things go well, it would mean that our aunts and uncles, our brothers and sisters, our neighbors and friends—countless numbers of people, old and young and not necessarily audiophiles—would be exposed to all the beauty and pleasure that the format offers. And
that—I feel quite certain, ladies and gentlemen—would be a great thing for music and, consequently, a great thing for hi-fi. Even more: Such exposure to vinyl would be a great thing for the whole damn world. The Whole Damn World, dudes.
I do declare.
Because there's nothing that brings joy like music. And there's no recorded format that brings you as close to the music as vinyl. So close, in fact, that it's almost like picking up an instrument and creating. Selecting an album and pulling it gently from its sleeve, resting the record on the platter, setting it spinning and carefully lowering the needle, hoping that you hit that groove just right, and sitting back to
listen. It is a very special experience, and one that I'd like to share with my friends, one that I'd like to share with
the world, really.
More and more, it seems like the world is looking for something like this. The world is looking for a
quality experience, something that requires some thought and care and dedication. It almost makes me feel thankful for MP3s. In their latest issue,
Rolling Stone published an article called "
Vinyl Returns in the Age of MP3," which argues that
this silent return to vinyl is due in part to "a growing disillusionment with CD and MP3 sound." I think this is true. I think people want and deserve better. We want something to love, and no matter how convenient an MP3 might be, it is nothing to love.
And it's about more than sound. It's also about the acquisition, the exploration, the hunt. We quickly download distant, invisible MP3s from the great, dark internet. I know how easy it is to get caught up in the web, clicking and clicking from link to link to link, winding up somewhere far from your original destination. It's cool. There's a lot to learn on the internet. Relationships can even be formed. But the connection is so delicate, so temporary, so easily lost and so quickly forgotten—deleted. The search for vinyl is something completely different. If you get into vinyl, you may very well find yourself in new and unfamiliar places, meeting people—real live
people, people who love music as much as you love music—sharing ideas, exploring histories,
listening, discovering, forming actual lasting bonds not to be easily lost or forgotten.
Chris Sommovigo wrote today. He's starting a new website, "a little labor o' love project," called
Big Black Disk. It will have three related goals:
1. Preserve vinyl
2. Preserve the independent music store
3. Cultivate new hi-fi lovers
Right now, Chris is looking for writers who are passionate about music and passionate about vinyl, and he expects to go live before the end of summer. I think he is onto something. The hope is that as CD sales decline, vinyl sales will rise. And, as the large chain stores die, independent shops will thrive. This makes sense to me, and it can only be good for music.
In our July 2008 issue—our "Vinyl Revival" issue—I have the great pleasure of sharing my introduction to the format. It came from a couple of friends. It was all about having a good time. I hope that I've successfully communicated the importance of genuine friendship and simple fun, the satisfaction and joy gained from the appreciation of music, vinyl's special way of fostering and enhancing that experience. There is nothing like it. Nothing. While other formats are about convenience or portability or perfection, none remembers the music like vinyl, serves the music like vinyl. And, besides: Vinyl is
cool, vinyl is
fun. In that
Rolling Stone article, Shelby Lynne is quoted as saying, "We're all taking music for granted because it's so easy to push a button. I mean, come on—music is supposed to be fun."
Vinyl has a way of reminding us to enjoy life. Inevitably, as audiophiles—as people—we will be distracted by other things—by meaningless sounds, by differences, by ourselves—but it's very important for us to remember music. Remember music. Remember it and share our love for it. Not only will it help to keep our hobby growing, but I am certain it'll also help to make our world a better place.
