For the last couple of weeks, I’ve found myself having odd dreams.  This is no real surprise; my dreams are notoriously odd.  In fact, when I was at University, I did a piece based on my dreams and was told, quite forcefully, that I must have made them up as dreams “just can’t be that weird”.


Anyway, the oddness isn’t really odd, per se, but they are very specific and always revolve around me playing records.   That’s RECORDS.   Not CD’s, not MP3s… but actually physical vinyl records.

Now, it’s safe to say that were it not for a devastating house fire, I would still have a humungous record collection.   I loved vinyl and virtually all of my spare cash (and often needed money) went on vinyl.  I worked for the BBC and was sent numerous freebies every week that fed my vinyl habit.

And I miss it.

CDs are okay, but part of the ritual of vinyl was the whole tactile nature and inspecting the glorious artwork, the smell and the frisson of static electricity as you pulling the vinyl from the inner sleeve.  MP3s suck.  Music is about more than listening, there’s a whole package that only vinyl seems to fulfil.

I’ve pretty much ditched all of my CDs (bar a few special editions) and ripped them to MP3s for reasons of space… but…I’m wholly unsatisfied with this.

MP3s and iPods have essentially robbed me of the enjoyment of sitting down and listening to an album.  Shuffle is the devil.  I miss the hiss, the pop, there crackle and the occasionally sticking of the stylus in the groove.

And you know what?  More than ANYTHING, I miss my Dad’s old Stereogram.. A huge sideboard sized artefact that held a 4 speed record player, a three band wireless and about 50 albums.   I’d give my right nut to have a working stereogram….

and records.

Lovely vinyl records.


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