The revolutionary world of vinyl music.
Spotify, iTunes, Pandora. These are the ways we listen to music. Instant, easy and ready to go. With any of these mediums, the music is right there for us. With the touch of a few buttons, we can listen to whatever we want to. Nothing is out of our reach. And now with smartphones and data plans, we can take our music wherever we go. If we want, we can have our entire lives scored by the music of our choosing.
But is this really a good thing? Does it enhance the music-listening experience? We are more connected to our music than ever before, but do we really feel that way? The truthful answer to this question is no. At least for some of us, music has become too ingrained into everyday life. The fact that it is so easy to listen to makes it less exciting to listen to. We don’t look forward to our favorite artist’s new release. We don’t invite friends over just to listen to a new album. We don’t proudly display our music collection in our bedrooms or living rooms as our most prized possession. We don’t do anything with music anymore but turn it on when we’re driving, have it on in the background at a party, or use it to enhance mundane activities. Music today has become, quite literally, touch and go.
We’ve lost something. There used to be something that made us feel like a part of the music, connected to the band. There used to be something that helped us experience our music and made us feel alive. There used to be something, a link that connected us with the artist, a special note from them to us.
Enter the vinyl album. Black and circular it looms. Its disk-like shape hidden behind a rectangular veil of artistically adorned cardboard. As we stare, it remains still, ominous and yet welcoming. Waiting, waiting to have the vinyl removed from its bosom and placed upon a revolving pedestal. How can it be that this groove-ridden piece of outdated analog technology can release unto us a world of manufactured bliss?
Vinyl albums make us a part of the music. With vinyl, we are not simply pressing play. We have to physically take the vinyl out of the album cover and place it onto the turntable. With vinyl, the music, instrument and player are all separate. We are needed. We are essential. We are a part of the music.
With vinyl, we can truly experience our music. When we first place an album on a turntable, and drop the needle onto the album, there is a moment. There is a brief instant, when the album is revolving but the music has not yet started, where the speakers let out the crackling sound of dust and scratches strewn into our album. This is unique. There is not another album in the universe containing those noises in the same way as yours does. Every album is our very own snowflake. And nobody else has own quite like it.
Finally, there is the album cover. No, it has not died out. But neither does it exist today as it does when accompanying a vinyl album. The outer sleeve of an album is not simply a picture to accompany the music: it is a piece of artwork that describes the music. Artwork is a look into the mind of the artist, an additional clue, helping us discover the meaning hidden in the music. And more than that, there is the back side of the album cover. Numerous things are placed here: lyrics, pictures, track titles or even a message from the artist. And sometimes there is more. Occasionally, the artist sees fit to bless us with a gatefold album that opens like a book, containing even more artwork, lyrics and messages.
Vinyl helps us experience our music. It is unique, it is artistic, it is something we can call our own. Yes, digital music is easy: just press a button and go. But vinyl albums are personal. They are a link between us, the music and the artist. Vinyl may not be modern, but it is revolutionary.
