Dear Readers,
I admit it. When Jerry commented to
last week's entry, saying that vinyl wears out with every single trip around the platter, it kind of shook me up. My heart raced and blood rushed to my head. I began to sweat. What had I done? What was I getting into? How would I afford this? Had I stepped into AlexO's bottomless pit?
While some queer, poetic part of me enjoys the idea that vinyl is this living, breathing thing that slowly dwindles and decays over time—like a flower, like love—I would really prefer for my records to last the next fifty or so years, and sound just as good tomorrow as they do today. I don't want to watch them die, listen as they weep and sigh death's dark song.
Screw the bad poetry! I want perfect sound forever.
Is it true, then? Is it true, what they say? Am I killing my records simply by listening to them?
By loving them? Should I ditch the vinyl, and run back to CD?
I'm only messing with you. I've already made up my mind about this. I love vinyl like I love life. Still, I've also already discovered that some albums in my collection are nearly impossible to listen to. Though the vinyl looks fairly clean—no scratches to be seen—the sound is contaminated, absolutely infested, by cracks and moans. When I listen to good, clean vinyl, I become immeasurably comfortable and relaxed, I settle down into this strange state of absolute quietude, like that delicate space between sleep and wakefulness. Seriously. But, oh, when I listen to the other vinyl—
the bad, dirty vinyl—I'm driven into some sort of crazy hell. Dudes, it is a hell worst than hell. All kinds of angers, anxieties, and frustrations take shape and rise within me. The heat, the sweat. There's nothing to do but get up and pull the poor needle from the wretched record and drink a beer (Dale's Pale Ale).
But I want another answer. I want to be able to listen to
Celia & Johnny, I want to be able to listen to side two of John Handy's amazing
Projections, I want to be able to listen to
Nashville Skyline—again and again and again. Forget
want. I
need to listen to these albums. And I need to listen to them without worry, without having to keep a diary of how many times I've listened, detailing like H. H. Holmes my many twisted murders.
So, what's the answer? Should I really be worried about record wear? Is there anything I can do to prevent my records from dying? What have your experiences taught you? What should I do to bring certain other records back to life? And when's Carlos Delgado going to start hitting again?
Please let me know.
Sincerely,
Concerned
