When Vinyl Ruled

I remember taking my first unescorted trips downtown to Sam's and A&A when I was about 12 years old. It was one of our earliest urban adventures. Yonge Street was different back then.

In the 70s, it was unpolished but somehow just a little more hip (forgive the 70s slang). More pedestrians I recall, even without Dundas Square.

We would work through the sale racks looking for our favourite albums, take them home and play them until they wore out. My favouriate ablum was Even in the Quietest Moments by Supertramp.

I remember spending hours listening to records. Some albums I still remember hearing for the first time: Eddie Van Halen playing Eruption from Van Halen 1, Rick Emmett from Triumph singing those high notes on Magic Power, the incredible and rich mix from Pink Floyd's The Wall through a new pair of stereo headphones.

I had 45s of all my favourite songs when I was young. I bet I had a hundred of them. I usually didn't have enough money to buy the whole LP. I'm not sure where they are now but I have long lost the spindle adapters that I needed to play them. Kids now wear t-shirts with pictures of these things on their chest. I suspect that only a few understand what the picture represents.

My older sister had boyfriends continually buying her records. She had a great Max Webster collection. I think she once said that she had a friend who had a friend who knew someone in the band.

There was always something to play at home. Many of us grew up with console stereos. Big. Massive. Wooden. Some held an old black and white TV. Luckier families had one that held a colour TV. The really lucky ones had a place where the family liquour supply was stored. The affordable, high-tech stereo by Pioneer or Kenwood came along later.

Often in a central spot in the livingroom, we had to make sure to play everything at a reasonable volume and avoid the albums to which my parents had an adverse reaction. No Frank Zappa. No Clash, Cracker or The Monks (Remember Drugs in My Pocket?). Every parent has a trigger point.

Played on the turntable through often-blown speakers, the scratchy, hissing sounds became a part of the song. Its funny how that works. I was once at a Supertramp concert at the CNE Grandstands and I found myself surprised when the band didn't "skip" the song in the same place my album had a scratch. Today I hear people saying that today's digital music robs the listener of the sound quality that one gets from vinyl. I don't think this is what they mean. Maybe they just had better stereos growing up.

Now I have an Ipod, CDs, and a 10 year old car that still has a cassette player (yes I use it).  Music is a big presence in my life, but I really believe that a record collection is special. The collection is a series of mile-markers of your life. I know that sounds really corny, but think about it a minute. Think about the albums that you had in your collection, particularly your favourite ones. Most of us can remember where we were and who we were with when we first spun them. Each album contains a little snapshot of your past. They left an imprint on us. Placing the needle on the record automatically transports you to some place back in time. Maybe its because no one listens to anything anymore as intently as we did to those songs. Hanging on every note, the album held you until the needle rose at the end of the song.

About a year ago, my son asked me whether I had any of my old records kicking around.  I told him not only do I still have my albums, but I have a turntable as well. I did need to make a run to Bay Bloor Radio to get a new needle (Awesome store that still has this kind of vintage stuff in stock).

I went into my attic and grabbed my milk-crate full of records. I remember having more.

We set it up and then sat and played a few scratchy tunes. I put on Supertramp's Fool's Overture. I was a little rusty at trying to place (more like drop) the needle in the shiny void between the song's groves. The speakers complain harshly. Oops. With regret, I realize I should have taken better care of my vinyl.

My son and his gang now take their pilgrimages downtown. They have their own favourite "vintage" record store near Bathurst and Bloor. The bands may be different, but his interest in something from my generation is refreshing.

He has brought a few treasures home with him (Jimmy Hendricks, ZZ Top), but mostly it's stuff played on radio stations I don't often tune in to.

He's making his own memories. Mark away the miles, boys, mark away.