I remember the experience of buying my first actual record down to the first time I dropped the needle on untouched vinyl. It was the spring of 2013, my junior year of high school, and I had just bought a turntable. Unfortunately, I couldn’t actually afford any new records after I’d spent all my money on the turntable. Thankfully, I was able to make do for a while with my parents’ significant collection of old punk and indie records. The first record I played was The Ramones’ "Road To Ruin," and I still remember my confusion as Joey Ramone sounded like a chipmunk, while my mom laughed and told me, “You have it set to 45 RPM. It needs to be at 33 for albums.”
For a couple weeks I was listening to Joy Division, The Smiths, The Ramones and Talking Heads, which were all great, but I wanted my own record. So, I saved up my allowance, did any odd jobs I could and I quickly had enough for a record of my own. I hopped the bus from my hometown of Amherst to Northampton, which had the best record shops in the area. It was a chilly, rainy Saturday as I made my way down the street to Newbury Comics, my favorite store, to the awe-inspiring display of new vinyl. I perused the section carefully, trying to figure out which ones I could afford, and which ones would stand the test of time. I didn’t want to buy something I already had on CD, but I didn’t want to take a chance on something and have it be crap. But then, I saw it.
Through a sea of multicolored distortion, a faceless figure stared back at me from the sleeve. Two lowercase words confronted me: welcome oblivion. It was the debut studio album by post-industrial group How To Destroy Angels, and I was hooked. I was already a huge fan of Nine Inch Nails, which Trent Reznor of HTDA was the primary member of, so I knew it would have a similar feel. I quickly walked up to the counter, slammed down my cash and headed home.
I still remember the smell of fresh card stock as I opened the gatefold and extracted the 180-gram heavyweight record from the sleeve, and the slight crackle as I let the needle drop, quickly transforming into a slinking, moody electronic thrum reverberating from the grooves and into my room. I knew at that moment I had made the right choice.
And that was the point of no return for me, as I was completely taken. I had become a vinyl junkie. From that moment, I would become intimately familiar with a set of words that, to outsiders, must sound like code words from some kind of secret society. Lathe-cut, groove locked, flexi-disk and limited acetate, among others. I would spend many an afternoon in musty used record shops, flipping through bargain bins, looking for obscure Prince bootlegs and searching eBay and Discogs for the UK releases of obscure records by the KLF, and hating my love for vinyl every time I’ve had to move a milk crate of records.
And this curiosity continues to this day. In fact, as I write this, I have received a notification from UPS telling me that my preorder of Death Grips’ Bottomless Pit has shipped. Limited edition first pressing, on yellow vinyl, exclusively from the Harvest Records web store. It sold out in less than an afternoon. And I can’t wait to come home, peel back the cellophane, gently place the record on the platter, drop the needle and drift away into a masterpiece.
