Vinyl Memories

For my birthday, my lover purchased me a vinyl of an album that I had become obsessed with, Fusion Adventure by Leandro Piccioni. An Italian synth musician from the late 70s who was as well-known as The Beatles, if only 40 people listened to their music. There weren’t a lot of presses of this album and the fact I owned one made me handle it as if I was a kid with a ladybug on their wrist. Terrified of destroying this unique piece and having it be forever lost.

I bought a cheap victrola from an unnamed omnipresent corporation and hooked up my speakers and dropped the needle. Sweating and excited to hear the jaunty tunes of this rarity, I waited with bated breath to hear the sounds of synth filling my room. And while I received my request, I wasn’t met with Ballando Ballando but instead a sweeping and grandiose orchestration. Chords and progressions without much a clear tune, music that sounds like you’re in a space museum.

Turns out, my wonderful lover didn’t read the purchase and got me Grandi Immagini by Leandro Piccioni. An honest mistake since the two have nearly identical sleeves and she wasn’t too familiar with the site to buy them. Even though it wasn’t the album I had desired, I’m still glad she got me the gift. It set off a chain of events that has really left a good impression on me.

I have been a person who wasn’t very interested in owning or collecting things. Items take up space, collect dust and can be lost or broken. And for someone with autism, breaking or losing a treasured item can really ruin my…month, so I would rather not risk it usually.

Even though I was holding the wrong vinyl in my hands, it felt precious, like I was responsible for it now. Heck it wasn’t even on Youtube. I tucked it away and went and bought another Vinyl, Kilimanjaro by The Rippingtons

The bright and flashy cover of the album really stood out, like a piece of art. Then I realized; it /is/ art. My brain made the connection that vinyls are effectively posters you can display and play. I immediately realized why people would collect these and show these off, they are such unique and interesting conversation pieces. To have a vast array of them would be a dream, sure it means having physical items, but they are things I can show off and display for friends and family alike.

I developed a hobby, something that had frankly eluded me for the past 27 years. I don’t count furry, that’s different. I set out and bought a wonderful array of vinyls just to start with. And I started to look at the little collection I had with a very proud smile. It’s like how my dad looked at a bike he had just assembled. Proud, protective and can’t wait to put it to use. And I did just that!

Laying in bed, listening to one of said albums and smoking some mids I made a realization tying back to the feeling responsibility. Preservation of media. The albums I owned were few, these weren’t big name productions and widely listened to genres. Some albums were just LPs that a group had made and immediately disbanded after. Some musicians long gone. Had it not been for these vinyls (and the internet) their love poured into these grooves would soon be forgotten. There aren’t going to be more of these made, I owned one of an ever-dwindling number of physical releases. These were mine to care for, cherish and love. They might not be mint, but they were mine. Mine to love, to play and let their memories live on. Mine to hopefully pass to another, and from their hands to another. Until the disk is so loved it is but a memory of its former self or lost in an apartment fire caused by improper Christmas light socketing.

All I can hope for in this world is that maybe someone would care about something I made to pass it on even when I’m gone. It doesn’t have to be vinyl, or art. It can be something as simple as a sentiment, or an anecdote of my antics. That’s why I try to better my art and be a good person to those around me.