Record Condition – My Less than Perfect Collection
by Felice Prager
Today, when I want to hear music, I can go to my computer, go to
my music files, and program whatever songs I want. I have loaded each my
CDs into my computer as I have purchased them, mostly so I would have a
backup copy in case the CD became scratched or lost or someone spilled
soda or coffee on it. (I have learned from experience to think ahead!)
Over the years, we have managed to replace our old record collections
with copies on CD, so we have an incredible collection. My computer
files are set up by artist, by album, and by genre. I have copied each
song from my computer into my Ipod. If I want to hear music when I walk
or while I am out shopping, I just grab my Ipod, and I have music to
suit my mood. I can distance myself from everyone around me with a tiny
set of earplugs that fit comfortably into my ears.
I can also take one of the CDs I own and play it on the stereo
system we have set up in our home or I can find an FM station I like. We
also have TV stations that play music by genre, and we have that hooked
up to our stereo system. We have it set up so we can listen to music
inside the house or out in our backyard. When I am in my car, I can push
my FM transmitter into where the cigarette lighter used to be and listen
to the same collection I have on my computer since it has all been
copied to my Ipod and I upgrade it whenever I buy a new CD or a purchase
a song.
Listening to music has become so easy. I have even copied this same
catalog of music into my laptop and my husband’s computer so the music
we purchased can be shared. Wherever we go, we have our favorite songs
to keep us company. And all we have to bring with us is a little,
high-tech device that plays songs the same way every time.
This world of personal music I have just described has changed
greatly since I was a kid. My first memories of music included a
transistor radio with a transistor (9 volt) battery. This was not mine.
It belonged to my brother, and I was “a baby” and would “break it” so I
was not allowed to touch it. The transistor radio played just AM
stations. We had never even heard of FM.
I eventually owned an assortment of 45s that I could listen to when my
mother wasn’t using the Hi-Fi to hear her Montovani and Sinatra albums.
Mixed in her collection were show tunes including the complete cast
albums of Fiddler on the Roof, My Fair Lady, Sound of Music, Camelot,
and West Side Story, her light classical favorites, and a Leroy Anderson
album that had a song about sleigh bells and the Jerry Lewis typewriter
song.
We had one apartment and one hi-fi. There was no need for more.
The hi-fi was not stereo. When the needle wore out, which it did, we had
to wait for someone to go shopping to buy a new one – then figure out
how to put it in. The hi-fi was blue and white – to match my mother’s
couch, sat on a chrome stand, and played 45s, 78s, and 33s. We were very
spoiled.
Then my parents bought me a portable record player for my
birthday. I was one of the first kids on my block to have my own record
player. I could take it with me and use it if there was a plug. It
didn’t have speakers. It was mono, not stereo. It was pink to match MY
bedroom, but it was just a box - my box.
All of my baby-sitting money went to buying 45s. At first, I kept track
of my 45s. Each got a little number glued on it. Each was placed in its
paper sleeve behind the same number in a file box especially made for
45-rpm records. Each box had a master list with the song title and
performer of each song – front side and flip side. Each record also had
my name printed neatly with a permanent black marker on it…for when I
brought my collection to sleepovers or parties.
But I got lazy.
It became tiresome keeping up the lists and the numbering each record.
And putting them in their sleeves became a bother. We were told if the
needle on the hi-fi became dull, it would ruin our records. I never
replaced my needle. Spilling things on the records would ruin them. I
spilled things on them. Scratching them would ruin them. I scratched
them. For the record, I did not take good care of my records. So each of
my originally treasured 45s - mono, then stereo – 45s then 33-RPM albums
- had grooves in them that a small band of insects could live in.
There was soda spilled on them, so the insects would remain nourished. I
remember putting my dad’s reel-to-reel recorder up against the speaker
to make a copy of the songs before I ruined them, but background noise
(like people’s voices, the television, and the ringing of the telephone)
interfered. There was no such thing as a direct connection for consumers
like me.
From my small record player, I graduated to a stereo “system” –
components! I had a turntable and speakers and a tuner which had FM. I
had name brands. I kept it in my room. By this time, my parents had a
system of their own and I was not allowed to touch theirs. Theirs was
more expensive than mine. I hung my speakers on opposite walls and
played the music very loud. I learned how to balance the sound so the
base was booming and I could still hear everything else. My album
collection grew. As with the 45s, they started in pristine condition and
eventually were scratched and gashed.
When I was leaving for college, my dad suggested buying a smaller unit
because I was going to be living in a small dorm room and the college I
was going to was an airplane ride away. He bought me something new and
inventive – an 8-track player. It was small and I thought it was cute,
but I couldn’t play my records on them, so I had to rebuild a collection
of 8-tracks. People told me the fad of 8-tracks wouldn’t last. I didn’t
believe them. I bought a lot of 8-track tapes. I couldn’t scratch these,
but soda still managed to get inside and ruin a few.
Since the 8-track fad never really took off, I went back to my
stereo I had left at home. I upgraded to larger speakers and bought a
cassette player to add to the set. With this, I also bought (and made my
own) cassettes to play. I’d listen to the radio in my car and when I
heard something I liked, I’d often go out and buy the album or a
cassette. Sometimes all I knew was one song, and yet I still bought the
album.
When I met my husband, he had a comparable collection and stereo. He
claimed to have a better system than mine and his albums actually WERE
in pristine collection. He was a regular neat freak about his records.
Like my brother, he said since I didn’t take care of my own, he didn’t
want me to touch his – no matter HOW much he loved me.
When our family moved cross-country, we were charged by the pound
to move our stuff. We debated and lost sleep over what to do about our
slightly outdated stereos and impressive vinyl collections, so we opted
to say goodbye to our stereos, our records, and even my 45s in their
boxes that were stored in our basement. We had a giant garage sale and
thought we did relatively well selling to collectors and equipment.
Several collectors came to our home since we advertised that we
were selling our record collections. They looked at my husband’s
collection and he negotiated with them to get the best price. Then the
collectors looked at my collection, commented about the scratches,
gashes, and soda spills on them, and told me I should give them away to
someone who was hard of hearing. I eventually boxed everything up and
gave it away to charity.
