Based on a recent experience, I wanted to continue my lifelong exploration of music--really pop culture in general--as a religion and spiritual practice.
Last Friday, after I got off work, I decided I needed to look for some cheap CDs, so I took a trip to Orbit Music, a local record store in my area. They deal primarily in used merchandise, although they do have a lot of new vinyl. They also sell a lot of posters and incense and various other accoutrements that gives the place a kind of '60s head shop vibe, which I strangely appreciate. It reminds me of a couple of stores I used to frequent in high school that, sadly, no longer exist.
After seriously debating whether or not I could afford special "Record Store Day" releases by John Prine and The New York Dolls, I grabbed a used Judy Collins record that I didn't remember my mother having when I was a kid and started to browse the CDs.
I went into the store with a list of titles that I feel I should acquire. Strangely enough, I found none of them. But, as you might have guessed, I found a number of other things that I didn't even realize I should have, including two John Hiatt albums, a collection of 1950s rockabilly (in spite of the fact that it didn't include anything by Wanda Jackson), and Double Fantasy by John and Yoko, which I had bought on vinyl some years back and quite enjoyed.
One album in particular caught my attention. It was a Brandi Carlile CD, shrink-wrapped and in one of those anti-theft lock boxes. In the back of my mind, I want to say my sister had recommended it to me. I've been a fan of Carlile's for many years, but for some reason, I never got around to checking out this particular album. The price was under ten bucks, so I thought--what the hell?
When I got home, I immediately began the arduous ritual of uploading the CDs to my iTunes library and potentially my phone/jukebox later on. This involves a thorough examination of liner notes, assuming there are any. (Songwriters are important, people! Songs don't just materialize out of thin air! Give credit where credit is due! I need first and last names--don't just give me last names or last names with first initials and make me Google everything!)
I had presumed, apparently erroneously, that the Brandi Carlile CD was new based on the shrink wrap and lock box. When I removed the wrapper and opened it up, I found a newspaper article tucked inside along with the booklet of lyrics and notes. Even more impressive was the fact that it appeared to be hand-signed by Ms. Carlile herself! I even did a Google image search of "Brandi Carlile signature" to compare. If it's not her signature, it's a really good forgery!
I know I have a tendency to romanticize physical media and the joy of shopping for music in a brick-and-mortar establishment. I know it tends to drive my family and friends nuts sometimes. But this is why I do it. You never know what you might find in an actual record store. When you stream music, you already tend to know what you want--or some algorithm picks it out for you, based on what you've previously played. There's no algorithm in the record store--or, if there is, I've certainly done my best to keep it guessing over the years. There's more of an opportunity for surprise (although, apparently no Edwyn Collins). Honestly, the whole experience was not just better, but fulfilling on an emotional and, dare I say, spiritual level.
I read somewhere once that a vinyl record is a hand-written love letter. A digital download is a text. Talk about romanticizing! But I agree with it wholeheartedly. If nothing else, you can't autograph a digital download. (I guess that makes a CD a typewritten love letter? Eh... I'm cool with that.)
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
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