Music - For the Love of Vinyl

There are many definitions of the word “vinyl” available on the Internet. One defines vinyl as “a synthetic type of siding used for its economic value and durability”. Another defines it as “a plastic material used for cladding or entire window units”. These definitions sound very prosaic and boring and do not reveal the true significance and value of vinyl. For me, the most important use of vinyl was the manufacture of long-playing records (LPs). Actually, the material used to manufacture long-playing records was polyvinyl chloride or PVC, but the commonly used term was vinyl.

I hope all you young whippersnappers out there who have been spoiled on a diet of compact discs and I-Pods know what LPs are. In case you do not, allow me to explain. I know I tend to be interested in esoteric stuff that most people have absolutely no interest in, but bear with me here. I am trying to make a point, which I will get to, eventually.

The history of recorded music started with the invention of the phonograph by Thomas Edison in 1877. The first vinyl records were made in 1897. I will not bore you with the details of the evolution of the long-playing record (though I find it fascinating and I have access to this information, thanks to Wikipedia).

Suffice to say, there were three basic types of vinyl records – the 78 rpm, the 33-1/3 rpm and the 45 rpm (rpm is the abbreviation for revolutions per minute). While a 78 rpm record was brittle and relatively easily broken, both the microgroove LP 33⅓ rpm record and the 45 rpm single records were made from vinyl plastic which were flexible and unbreakable in normal use. However, the vinyl records were easier to scratch or gouge.

Eventually, most albums were issued on 33-1/3 vinyl records, while most singles were issued on 45 rpm records. Vinyl records ruled the roost from the early 1900s right up to the mid 1980s, when they were eventually replaced by compact discs.

Why am I bringing up all this obscure ancient history now, you may ask? Because for the true music lover, there is no experience more satisfying than listening to a long-playing record. The sound is completely natural and exquisite, scratches, pops and all. The music does not sound foggy (as audio cassettes often do). It does not sound overly enhanced or digitized, either. It sounds just right. Also, listening to a long-playing record is like a sacred ritual. Right from carefully taking out the record from its sleeve (while ensuring that it is not warped, scratched or dusty), to gently placing it onto the turntable, to delicately making sure that the needle comes into contact with the rotating LP at just the right place. When all these different rituals are performed correctly and with adequate attention to detail, the listener is rewarded with the most natural, the most sublime recorded sound in return.

Unless of course the record is scratched or there is dust on its surface. In that case, one of two things happens. The record gets “stuck” – playing the same bit again and again, or the record skips (in much the same way a compact disc skips if there is dust on it). I remember listening to an old song on LP by the rock band Cream many years ago. The name of the song was “I’m So Glad”. The song is not a lyrical masterpiece, and essentially consists of the lines “I’m So Glad” repeated again and again. I was not familiar with the song – and herein lay the problem. When I first played the song, I could not figure out whether the record was “stuck” (and the lines were being repeated again and again as a result), or whether that was the way the song was actually supposed to sound. Of course, over time, I realized the difference.

You had to take as much care of a record as you did with a relationship. As with a relationship, if you took good care of a record, it usually took good care of you. Mistreat it, and very soon you did not have a record left. You never loaned records to anyone – it was a big no-no. Apart from the issue of whether other people treated your records with as much care and respect as you did, there were other things to worry about – like the weight of their turntable needles (styluses). Heavy turntable styluses meant that records wore out faster.

So you made a mental assessment of the person before you loaned them your precious records. Did they look like they were careful people? Did they look like they lived in a dust-free environment? If possible (and this was highly recommended), you visited their homes and checked out their turntables. Did they have the latest state-of-the art turntables with lightweight arms and Shure magnetic cartridges? All these questions were an important part of the assessment process. In short, you spent more time assessing a possible record borrower’s record playing habits than a potential lover’s past sexual behavior and number of partners.

The first record I bought was twenty-five years ago – the 1969 Beatles classic album “Abbey Road”, with its famous cover of the members of the Beatles walking across the pedestrian crossing at Abbey Road Studios in London. I was proud of that record – since it was the first one I bought. I still have it – though it is no longer in mint condition. Between the ages of fifteen and sixteen, I played that record every day for a year. As a result, it wore down significantly. Though I now have the album on compact disc, I still listen to the LP version of that album at least once a month when I am home. It has sentimental value. It played a very important part in shaping my personality. While other kids my age were listening to disco and Euro trash, I was steeped in rock n roll, letting my freak flag fly.

Over time, I bought more classic rock albums, most of which tended to be music from the late 1960s. This brings me to my next point. The late 1960s were the psychedelic era, and albums released then had great cover art. Record cover art was a very interesting area in itself – the Jimi Hendrix debut album “Are You Experienced” (1967), the Beatles “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” (1967), the Who’s “Tommy” (1969), Janis Joplin’s “I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmik Blues Again, Mama” (1968) and Cream’s “Disraeli Gears” (1967) were among the albums of that period that were great to listen to, and also had absolutely astonishing cover art. That was another reason to own records – the cover art.

If you didn’t have a particular album on LP, you went to check it out at a friend’s place. Remember that those were the days when much popular music was not available in India. So you went over to your friend’s place and you drooled over the cover art. You worried and agonized over whether or not you should ask him if you could borrow that record. He read your mind and knew you were probably going to ask him that question. So he hastily put the record away and abruptly changed the topic of conversation. The moral of the story was clear – do not covet thy neighbor’s records. It was one of the unstated commandments.

Over the years, I amassed quite a record collection. As I started to listen to jazz, I bought the Miles Davis classic “Kind of Blue” album. If you are even remotely interested in jazz or want to know what it is about, buy that one album. Some inconsiderate person borrowed and never returned it – the one that got away. Of course I remember this person and would like to condemn his reprehensible act of robbery in much stronger terms than I have above, but I am aware that I addressing a family audience here – so strictly PG stuff. At the time, I swore that I would hunt him down like a dog, but then time heals all wounds.

And then there was (is) my father’s record collection. Over a hundred and fifty priceless Western Classical records – compositions by Beethoven, Mozart, Handel, Brahms, Chopin and Rachmaninoff among others – all played by the finest orchestras conducted by the greatest conductors such as Georg Solti, Zubin Mehta, André Previn and the greatest classical music conductor of them all – the legendary Arturo Toscanini.

And finally, there is one beautiful collection of Bengali mystical folk music – baul music. Baul music is a synthesis of Islamic Sufi chants and music derived from the Hindu bhakti movement. It is usually just one man singing accompanied by an ektara (a single stringed instrument) – divine music inspired by divine madness. A wandering minstrel preaching his love of God in the wilderness. The music is hypnotic, mesmerizing. I own an LP by Bipindas Baul – a treasured part of my collection. Someday I would like to take a boat ride down the Ganges in Bengal in the winter, sit by its banks and watch the fog roll up the river, meet some divinely inspired Baul musicians, record some great Baul music and hopefully, make a documentary on it. Someday. But that is the topic of another story.

So, why am I telling you all this? Because the story of my life – it’s all here on the vinyl, baby. The advent of compact discs has finally killed the hardy LP. It ruled for nearly a century. The king is dead, long live the king. Gone, but not forgotten. But if you or your older siblings or your parents own long-playing records, take good care of them. If possible, take them out of their sleeves, give them a good dusting (be gentle, be very gentle) and play them. In this “instant karma” age, where time is money and everybody is impatient, take some time off to clean and listen to your dad’s LPs. You may be pleasantly surprised.