A Needle Into Memory
I’ve become a little obsessed with vinyl lately. It started simple: I wanted a record to go with each concert I went to — something physical to remember an often wonderful night. A way to hold onto the moment beyond the ticket, a blurry phone photo or just a vague memory of what it was all like.
There’s something about sliding the record out of its jacket, placing it on the turntable, dropping the needle — it makes the music feel more like an experience. It's not just background noise from a playlist. It's more intentional, even if the record ends up playing while I’m writing or flipping through a music magazine. It really is a moment in itself.
My collection is still pretty new, but it’s already a mix of albums linked to a concert I went to and a few classics I couldn’t resist adding. Like Thriller — not because I went to a Michael Jackson show (I never did, unfortunately), but because hearing Billie Jean always takes me straight back to playing Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, with Flash FM on the radio, drivig towards a fake Miami sunset.
It’s a different kind of memory, but it still makes the record feel personal.
And yeah, it sounds better. There’s a warmth and depth to vinyl that streaming just doesn’t give you — unless you’re using something like Qobuz, a music streaming service I recently switched to for its high-res audio. Even on my somewhat regular 2.1 speaker system, it makes a difference. But still, nothing beats the feeling of being involved with the music. Lifting the tonearm, flipping the record, watching it spin. It slows you down a little. In a good way.
Vinyl has a way of turning music into a place you visit, not just a thing you hear.