My daughter has been rummaging in flea markets lately for cool album covers to decorate her wall. Unfortunately, here in our bit of France, the pickings are a bit slim unless you like Johnny Halliday. It reminded me that I have a box full of old vinyl records so I dragged them out and we had lots of fun going through them. Some were nostalgic, some embarassing and some I couldn’t even remember where they came from . Better still, some time ago, Mr. Tialys had bought me a turntable which links up to the cd player and I dug that out and connected it all up and we had a big dance and shouty singing session – me and the girls that is, Mr. T. was safely at work in the U.K.
Call me a fool – if you haven’t already – but there’s just something so much more satisfying about pulling out a record in an inner sleeve, often decorated, from a sturdy cover, always decorated, sometimes superbly, and carefully lowering the stylus onto the rotating shiny blackness that can never be matched by posting a cd into a slot after trying to peel the cellophane off a case that cracks as soon as touched. We’ll skip over cassette tapes, the spewed out, shiny intestines of which can still be spotted on the side of roads having mangled up the insides of somebody’s old in-car audio system. Also, even with the odd crackle, surely the music sounds better doesn’t it? I know cds are supposed to have a better sound quality but it seems to sound richer and ‘more real’ coming from the turntable. Even my teenage daughters thought so, so it can’t just be me.
I’m going to release that box of LPs from its attic prison, connect the turntable up permanently and revel in vinyl more often.