Dear Vinyl,
Vinyl, you
are the crème de-la crème of the music industry. You are timeless. Only you could force such an
astonishing revival in an era dominated by the high-tech wonders of YouTube and
Spotify. A digital
copy of Oasis’ Definitely Maybe may sound decent (whilst simultaneously
destroying phone charge - an absolute liberty I know), but to hear the
authenticity of their sound through a record player is an entirely different
ballgame.
You sound like a personal exploration of my music taste. The feeling you get, after flicking
through countless record stands searching for that album, the one I’ve
been craving to get my hands on for weeks, it’s irreplacable. You did
that, vinyl. The sheer thrill of pursuing you
makes you so wonderful, as I look for bargain buys at indie record stores, second hand markets and
even local car boot sales.
I have longed for you since my
infatuatuation with The Beatles began, early in my teenage years. My love
affair with Paul McCartney knew no bounds, so naturally I wanted to find their music
in that original old school format, the purest form, to see if his croons
sounded better on the curve of a glossy record. At the Quayside market I found you. I found the one. The
three-disc behemoth, the White album in all its glory, the stunning masterpiece
that inspired a generation (and cult leader Charles Manson, make of that what
you will). The artwork was it’s original pristine white, basic but beautiful - the
intensity of your sound captivated my eardrums like no digital MP3 could ever achieve. All
of this, for under a tenner. And some
dare say you are extortionate. I will always defend you though, for I know that
is not true.
You are not just a niche market for music nerds and obsessive collectors, you are an investment. You appreciate value over
time, maturing like a century-old bottle of Chianti. You may be bargain at
a second-hand market, but in the future, you become the most desirable thing
around, selling for three-times your original worth.
Vinyl, you are desirable, you are personal,
and you are
irrevocably mine.
Always,
Chloe Waterhouse
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