The Beauty of Vinyl

I’m one of those people who enjoy having physical copies of things. Bus rides are often spent sneering at Kindle-users; a breed of people who seem to have inexplicably forgotten the charm of books. Recently, while on holiday, I dropped an old copy of "Of Mice and Men" in the pool, and I genuinely would have rather dropped an expensive Kindle in the water. I resolved to nurse it back to health like a wounded pet, slowly drying out its soaked and crinkled pages in the Mediterranean sun. Such is the connection we have with old books.

It is much the same story with vinyl. I write this article on a laptop that stores all my thousands of songs and albums with ease. But I am constantly aware of the fragility of this storage system – one malfunction or unfortunate piece of theft and it’s all gone in a flash. My iPod is one of my most important possessions; I use it every day. But equally, one fumble and I’m left in silence when out and about. CDs do the job of providing a physical copy of my best-loved records, for both sentimental and backup purposes. But they don’t have the charm of that old book.

Vinyl is wonderful because it acts as a useful physical copy of a record, while providing a wealth of charm and sentimental value, especially for the original owner, for whom there is usually a unique back-story to its purchase. For me, these stories hardly exist, but the bulk of the record collection I draw from is a combination of my parents’ old albums. They regularly recount the stories of these records, such as my mum’s original copy of The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night, a childhood birthday present and the first record she ever owned. I have been warned on several occasions that this record is not be sold as part of my inheritance, but it’s as priceless to me as it is to my mum. Now, I have nice memories of my first CD album, but it is difficult to envisage future generations reminiscing about their first download.

The other amazing thing about vinyl is its sound. Perhaps my favourite of our family’s record collection is my dad’s original copy of Springsteen's Born to Run. A wonderful album anyway, the crackle of the needle is an instantly warming and soothing sound and only makes me love the record even more. It makes me feel as if I’m in the studio in 1975 watching Bruce and the gang record each track. I recently bought a vinyl copy of Jeff Buckley’s Grace and, despite being one of my favourite albums, it just doesn’t have that same crackle as its older counterparts.

I suppose that’s the only fault with vinyl: if you want to collect your modern favourites on the format then they are likely to lack the distinctive sound that older records boast. This unfortunate fact is probably what led some record labels to begin producing coloured vinyl and uniquely shaped vinyl – they needed something to make modern vinyl special. I am still convinced, though, that even modern vinyl has a character and feel to it that CDs and MP3s lack, even if it falls short of older LPs.

Perhaps it’s a faddy thing that you either love or dismiss as nerdy, like Hornby trains or old-fashioned cars. But for me, vinyl is the most special form of music collection around, and I can’t see a truly superior form appearing any time soon.