They beckon.
From musty boxes at flea market stalls to cobwebby shelves of estate sales, old vinyl record albums are an irresistible treasure. Risking an Aqualung -like asthma attack or the symptoms of Crazy Eyes from all the dust is worth every benedryl tablet. So much so, we recently purchased a brand new turntable instead of a better cd player.
More than a Harvest of good music, the shiny black vinyls with their finely etched mesmerizing concentric rings evoke a special connection to my youth. Even the imperfect ones with audible scratches give a special Memory Lane ambiance; an album scarred from the accidental rushed placement of an armature too Close To the Edge, or from a needle sent bouncing across the record from too many dancing pre-teen girls on a pier and beam floor during an especially rambunctious pajama party will forever carry that remembrance with each replay.
Alas, our secret collecting vice has caught the attention of a new audience looking for funky campy musical Kicks. Suddenly, prices have begun to skyrocket on old goodies from the fifties, sixties and the seventies; a recent Dion find was marked thirty bucks. We passed. Part of the allure of album collecting is paying only a Buck or two; anymore than that and you no longer get that finder's glow, that sudden rush of pleasure at finding a Diamond In The Rough among the Perry Como's, Burl Ives', or the Boston Pops Christmas albums.
Wonderful music from forgotten artists is not the only benefit of album collecting, the artwork displayed on many jackets is Suitable For Framing and better than Pictures At An Exhibition.
Ever in search of Something New, our stash of prized vinyl just gets bigger and bigger. And yes, we are Still Crazy After All These Years of album collecting.
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