The Unexpected Pleasure of the Vinyl Record

The Unexpected Pleasure of the Vinyl Record September 5, 2017

my very own styx album

I am sitting listening to Styx sing Come Sail Away on vinyl.

This is not a great song. If you are under the age of fifty, you will (at best) smile, shudder at the electronic bridge, and mentally scream when angels take us away in their starship. Yet there was a time when this was my anthem, my challenge to life, at least the part that said: “I will try, Lord, I will try, to carry on.”

As a result, I have heard it in many mediums, but today found an old vinyl record and listened. It was better that way. The sound, of course, was far worse. My speakers on the turntable are small and the record was scratched. If you do not know vinyl, imagine putting a diamond tipped needle on a soft substance many times.

Every playing of a vinyl record degrades it to the point that I had a friend in college who would not play a record more often than it took to record it on tape. He was so careful with his records that I came to view scratching one as painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa. The eighties were weird times, though we did have Ronald Reagan!

How the Medium Changes the Message

If the sound was worse, then why was the experience better? Of course, part of it was nostalgia. The record sounded like what I heard when I was young and that is fun at some deep level younglings cannot understand. This is certainly why I still have my recorded vinyl of The Wizard of Oz by Disney. It has no value to me, except nostalgia.

However, there are reasons that the experience was better. When I put the album on the turntable to play, Styx took over what I would hear. They had a sequence of songs that led to Come Sail Away and unless I wanted to further scratch the record, I listened to their program of songs that began with discussing The Grand Illusion, explained Fooling Yourself, paused over Superstars, before getting to the anthem Come Sail Away.

This was a whole and there was no good way of getting around it without risking the record.

Second, and this is harsh but true, the sound quality was appropriate to the song. Think of great television from the 1960’s. Friends who worked then designed the sets for a picture quality few would tolerate today. There was no high definition—one was lucky to have any definition. Colors, if you had a color set, were big and bold or they vanished.

Digital Killed the Analog Star

I had a friend who did costume design for black and white films. He hated colorization. He would put a redhead in a green dress that looked horrible in color, but gave him the shade of gray he wanted. We killed his world-class genius when we demanded color.

In the same way, the songs on this album were recorded to be listened to in short bursts. You can play a vinyl record over and over (trust me), but it is work. You have to keep moving the needle. The songs were written for the scratchiness, the tiny speakers (5 watts!), and for AM radio. A song needed to be big, simple, and loud, or it was lost in the hiss, crackle, or pop.

The music is fragile on vinyl and that is part of the experience. I heard it today and tomorrow I can hear it again, but it will not quite be the same. There will be more hiss, pop, or crackle. There come to be skips. I once owned records where that skip became part of the experience. I am not saying this is better, but it is different.

Vinyl is less permanent than I am, while digital cloud music is more forever than my ears. My digital copy of Come Sail Away will be in my Apple locker when my body is in the grave and my soul has sailed away.

Why You Should Go Sing a Hymn

This made me wonder: do we hear hymns when we do not sing them? Let me suggest that hymns were meant to be heard while we sing, well or badly. Most were not meant for professional choirs. I am not opposed to professional choirs, but just go sing a hymn with a group of believers. The experience is better.

The song fits the way it is performed. Good pop songs in the ’80’s were not written for streaming, but for home, car, or concerts.

Thinking about this more reminds me that talking to Hope is not the same as texting her. Watching a movie in a theater is not the same as seeing it on my phone alone with headphones. (Watch Star Trek films with the fans on opening night or Harry Potter with Pottermore and you will get the difference.) Maybe we never see a film made for theater until we see it on a screen.

Maybe.

Rachel Motte edited this essay and added the sub-headings.

 

 


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