“Why have you got a massive black CD Dad?” A major resurgence in vinyl is underway in our house which, I am ashamed to say, is long overdue. In our last home, Spence’s record collection was housed in one of our bedrooms, as was the record deck. I don’t think we ever even connected it up to any form of amplification in that room, such was the addled nature of our brains with two small, energetic boys to contend with.
But now the boys are getting older and the time seems right to re-introduce the precious and fragile magic of vinyl into their and our lives. The fellas are very keen on music. Their tastes spring from those of their parents, so they haven’t a clue about Justin Bieber or One Direction but they are au fait with the naming convention of Led Zeppelin’s first four albums, and they like nothing more on a long car journey to play DJ with the myriad of CDs burned onto the car’s hard disk.
However, they flit from Kasabian to Queen, to the Foo Fighters, to AC/DC, to Van Halen to Killing Joke and even throw in a bit of Glen Campbell, the Decemberists and Amy Winehouse for good measure. It’s rare that they’ll want to listen to a whole album, despite our protestations that that is how the artist intended for their work to be heard.
They just don’t get it. In these digital days where everything is an instant download, an instant fix and can be forgotten just as quickly as it was acquired, the notion of taking time to enjoy an album just isn’t in their little brain boxes.
But it should be, shouldn’t it? As a youngster, I derived the greatest pleasure from my burgeoning record collection, I still recall the delight in first pressing play on my beloved Sony Walkman and the Friday Night Rock Show with Tommy Vance was my listening of choice throughout my teenage years.
I am lucky in that I am married to a man who’s love of music is even greater than mine. He is a consummate guitarist, a music fan with an extensive and eclectic taste and owner of a marvellous record collection, so we have decided that now is the time to pass on these traits to our children.
So the record deck has come in from the cold. The vinyl is being dusted off and slotted neatly onto the open shelving where jigsaws and toys once resided and this weekend, we’re going to open our very own record store, where the boys can come in, pick a record, put it on and sit down and listen. Heck, we might even let them read the sleeve notes if they’re good.
And maybe, just maybe, if they make it through a whole album and turning over to the B-side doesn’t blow their minds, we’ll then think about introducing them to the seventies stalwart that was the concept album…