We dipped our toes in the waters of vinyl this spring: I was gifted a collection of LPs, and the loan of a portable turntable, to see if we could muster what it would take to replace Spotify et al with a record collection.
The vinyl was as good as it gets: Lisa and L. curated a collection of Dennis Ellsworth’s deaccessioned collection, which had remarkable crossover with albums I played on the radio thirty years ago.
But the vinyl didn’t take: we’ve been lulled into the comfort of “Alexa, play Rosemary Clooney on Spotify,” and going back to needle-dropping wasn’t meant to be.
With hipster street-red eroding, I realized urgent action was required to re-establish, so to return the turntable across town I fashioned a bungie-cord-based system to strap it to the front of my Brompton. After dropping it, I came to the library to have an espresso, just to cement my credentials.
