I’m a big vinyl advocate. I think it’s fucking cool, and it makes me feel totally awesome about spending money on music, that, if my house went up in flames, would literally melt. My first project at the label I work for was putting together the Holy Grail of vinyl spreadsheets; complete with the most cost effective combinations of companies for single color, swirl, split color, double gatefold, single sleeve, you name it, I can have it made. I have a nice little collection that I’ve built up from not entirely sober impulse purchases at “punk” shows. I also have a record player.
But, I have a confession to make. I don’t have a needle for my record player, and somehow have justified buying MORE vinyl instead of a needle. The needle has become my alt-girl version of going to the gym: something I’ve been putting off for months now without any good reason.
I just moved into a new place and I keep telling myself that I’ll buy a needle this week, well I guess technically last week…. but I promise it will happen! Yet, I have this strange feeling I’ll end up with those vintage speakers my Mom’s supposed to ship me from storage before I actually take a spin of The Weakerthans Left and Leaving.
Oh, the joys of #BrooklynGirlProblems