The Record Collection
Evidence of my advancing age compounds daily. I check the forecast every night. I have lawn care products delivered to my house. I groan every time I sit. There’s a diminishing amount of fried food I can eat in one sitting. I tend to wake up no later than 6:30 am, even on weekends. I worry about how much our driveway is settling. But, nothing is greater evidence of my near four decades on this earth than my new hobby.
I started a record collection.
Those who know me best know that collecting records is wildly out of character. Yes, I enjoy music. I have nearly 8,000 songs downloaded to my phone so clearly music is an interest.
(Yes, I still buy whole albums. No, I don’t subscribe to a streaming service. Streaming kills my data plan. No, I don’t have unlimited data. Why would I need unlimited data? It’s not like I need to stream music or anything – I have all my music downloaded. You’re not going to convince me to start streaming. Go Tik Tok something and leave me alone.)
A record collection is out of character because it violates two of my core principles: minimalism and being cheap. The fewer physical items cluttering up my life, the better. It makes me happy that I can hold all my music on a SD card that’s smaller than my fingernail. I like spending the least amount of money possible to achieve a result. No matter how much money I have I will always buy the 11-pack of Hanes socks because A) that’s the cheapest means to an end, and B) who can resist that free 11th pair.
Records, on the other hand, are the most expensive, least convenient way to listen to music. They take up space, require cleaning, are easily damaged, and you must flip them over every 20-minutes to keep playing. You can’t listen to them in your car, or on a plane, or while on a walk. They cost more money than digital music, sometimes significantly more, and finding some records can be challenging.
And yet, I’m hooked. Totally hooked. When we travel, I Google whether there are record stores in the area. Yeah – I’m that guy. And I’m pretty sure I know why I’ve become a record collector.
I’m old and nostalgic.
When I was a kid, I loved going to Best Buy and walking up and down the aisle of CDs (real thing – look it up kids), flipping through all the stacks, discovering some album that I didn’t even know I wanted until it appeared in my hands. I miss that. Despite the convenience of Amazon (and in every other aspect of my life, I love the convenience of Amazon), I miss searching for and discovering music. I miss walking into the store with no particular record in mind and walking out with four albums I’m genuinely excited about.
My nostalgia and age is further proven by the records I’ve chosen to buy. Over half of the records in my collection came out before I was born. I’m not buying the music of my youth (although, if someone has the Alice in Chains Unplugged LP, let me know), I’m buying the music my dad listened to. I’m buying the music that played in our car when I was a kid. And I love it.
Do you remember how awesome the Huey Lewis and the News, “Sports!” album is? Or, how many ridiculously great songs are on the first Boston record? Or, how great Ann Wilson sounds? I didn’t. But I’m glad I remember now. I’ve had Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin in my digital collection for years, but there’s something about pulling those records out from a smoke-tinged dust jacket that makes them better. Somebody loved those records, loved them enough to take care of them so that 50 years later, some dude suffering from a pseudo mid-life crisis could enjoy them and remember hearing those songs for the first time on classic rock radio in the back of his family’s Dodge Caravan.
I guess that’s why my record collection makes me feel old. Young people can’t be nostalgic. As George Carlin once said, “you can’t be nostalgic for ‘a little while ago.’” The young can miss stuff, but true nostalgia is reserved for us “olds.” And I’m good with that. Actually, I’m more than good with that. Listening to those records and remembering those songs makes me happy. Which is good, because the cracks in our goddamn driveway are a real problem.