So. I treated myself today. I miss my vinyl . For a couple of years now I’ve been meaning to get the kit to digitise my collection, which has been in boxes for the best part of five years now. Anyhoo. So one of these and one of these later, I am now the proud owner of…, well, a very pissed off mood.
By definition, my favourite records were played a lot. So they’re in less than ideal condition. In fact, some of them are awful. So — not only do I not have some old tunes for reminiscing, I am (a) poorer and (b) robbed of the illusion that one day I could digitise my music and be instantly hip again.
I also have a somewhat confused recollection of my records. I seem to own an awful lot of 7″ inch singles by bands I had entirely forgotten about (Gilded Lil? Spraydog? Velocette, Kings of Infinite Space, 18 Wheeler, Travis (when they were good), Spacemaid, Kerosene, Urge Overkill (before they had that big hit)… and on and on and on) — a victim of both my habit of buying singles based on their covers or from helping out at too many small town gigs, getting drunk and buying all the merchandise (I still have a Speed Urchin t-shirt somewhere, which I doubt even the band have).
And the decent records, well, most of them have been replaced — either on CD or through iTunes. Although neither can quite compensate for the sticker saying ‘Special Limited Edition Purple Vinyl’ or the truly hideous picture discs. It’s also vaguely quaint to see band information without so much as an email address. Although I don’t miss my fanzine days. Much.
I’m really annoyed. I very rarely treat myself to something big, and this is a big lemon. And to make things even more fun, I’d also forgotten that the boxes had been got at by some mice in a previous existence, so there’s little nibbled bits of paper all over the floor as well.
In the grand scheme of things, not a biggie. But still. Argh. And no closer to replacing Afghan Whigs — ‘My World is Empty Without You’ as my favourite song to get upset about.
Of course, the one redeeming factor is that it’s all hugely ironic. And therefore goes in the ‘credit’ column for the novel. I’ll just explain that to the bank one day.…
Any thoughts on what to do with an Austrian turntable that’s so retarded it doesn’t even have a switch to change speeds (you have to lift the plate and move the belt. WHAT was I thinking?)?
