Drop the Needle

Edwin has recently taken an interest in records – the real thing – the vinyl slices of heaven I coveted in the late ‘70’s and throughout most of the 80’s.

He and Maxine have casually perused our record collection in the basement, but in the past few weeks, Edwin has become hooked in earnest. Once that boy gets a bee in his bonnet, I’ll tell you what.

He was all set to buy some crummy plastic record player from Amazon. He read one good review and was sold. Fortunately, Chris was able to school him a little on customer reviews, and within a minute, he was reading reviews like, “Worst record player ever” and “This piece of crap isn’t worth the box it came in.”

We convinced him to spend his money on a decent pair of speakers and offered to move the record player into his room. Two days later, he’s all hooked up, has pilfered his favorite records from our stash, and has ordered a slew of his own.

He called me into his room last night to show me his collection, which includes Amy Winehouse, Fleetwood Mac, Olivia Rodrigo, Billie Holiday, David Bowie, Prince, and two of my oldest records: the Grease soundtrack (missing one record because I, tragically, sat on it when I was around eight years old), and one my dad bought that I later claimed as my own: Olivia Newton-John’s If You Love Me Let Me Know album, circa 1974.

A particular feature he is especially intrigued by is the record liner for Olivia Rodrigo’s album, where she has her hand-written lyrics printed for every song. Of course, I can’t help but make an inference about “kids these days.” They crave authenticity, soul, something they can hold in their hands that doesn’t require a charge.

As I wrap this up, I hear Billie Holiday’s papery, mesmerizing voice floating down the stairs. I wonder what Maxine will say when she gets back into town. Are we going to need a second record player?