My Records Are Collecting Dust
Maybe it's time to check out the CDs?
I would do anything for a vinyl record. I smuggled the Twilight soundtrack across the border in a flimsy paper bag. I flew overseas with Everything I Know About Love wrapped in my arms, which I bought directly from Laufey's favourite record store, 12 Tónar. I risked missing my drama performance to pick up Did You Know That There's a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd on the day of its release. I fought like hell to get The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess. This sounds insane to some, but to me, it's the thrill of collecting. Nothing can compare to holding your favourite album in your hands, except for listening to it live. However, after buying a standard black vinyl for fifty dollars, I had to reassess whether record collecting is worth hurting my wallet. To be fair, it was the Twin Peaks soundtrack, and it has been on my Discogs wish list forever. But when I left the store, I was hit with collector's regret. It's a new kind of heartbreak, far more devastating than any breakup. It's no surprise that the market has changed since I first began my collection. Now, I would rather pay bills than spin a new record. My records are collecting dust. Even worse, I'm considering switching to CDs, which feels like a shot to my audiophile heart.
I started collecting records in middle school, shortly after the vinyl boom began. I spun Nevermind and Don't smile at me on my suitcase record player, clearly influenced by my Tumblr predecessors. This ignited a love I had yet to experience with anything else. Over the years, my love for music transformed these records into memories recalled by the drop of a needle. It's why I collect all sorts of records. I can listen to songs I've sung along to at concerts. I can dance to jazz or headbang to metal. I can put on my favourite film soundtrack and rewatch it through sound. And like every great collection, I've got a bit of ABBA. I want to keep creating new memories with new records, but the rising prices are making an already expensive hobby even more inaccessible.
It's impossible to enjoy collecting when you can't justify the prices. Sure, cheaper alternatives exist. I've scoured the racks of CDs at Value Village, and I've hit the emo-jackpot by thrifting albums like My Chemical Romance's Black Parade. Sadly, my luck runs out when it comes to thrifting vinyl. The coolest records I've found are several Fiddle Championship albums that I stuck onto my wall, and The Count Counts (yes, the Count from Sesame Street). Many independent record stores sell cool second-hand vinyl. That's how I found ABBA's Greatest Hits and Fleetwood Mac's Rumours for under ten bucks. While it's against my beliefs to ditch physical media altogether, I could support artists for the price of an iced coffee through Bandcamp by buying digital downloads. However, it raises concerns about whether you really own these purchases. So, how can you listen to the latest hits on vinyl without paying an arm and a leg? I guess the answer is you can't, but maybe that's not so bad.
On the rare occasion when I can afford a new album, I soothe my anxieties by buying from independent record stores. Consumers have the power to spend their money where it matters most. Rather than purchasing records from large retailers, it's best to buy locally or from your favourite artists directly. My hometown's local record store, Odds and Sods, recently celebrated its ten-year anniversary. They carry all the artists I can never find at the mall. I've picked up some of my most wanted albums there, such as Mitski's Bury Me at Makeout Creek and Death's Leprosy. Most importantly, they don't outrageously mark up their prices. In Kingston, we're lucky to have several record stores within a few blocks of one another. Like many, I love Brian's Record Option. The first time I stepped foot there, I bought a huge NFR! poster for my dorm. At the cash, Brian relayed the history behind the album art, and how it features Jack Nicholson's grandson on the cover. A few blocks down from Brian's, there's Zap Records. It's where I grabbed Louis Armstrong and the All Stars, the oldest record in my collection. An independent record store is the only place where you can strike up conversations with folks who care about music just as much as you do. I would pay any price for that.
