Vinyl Memories

“Eso ya es un vicio”*

That is what my mother would tell me after coming back with an LP vinyl record after coming back from town when I was in my early 20s. She was referring to the fact that every time I would go into Fresno, I would come back with at least one LP. Since we didn’t get a record player until we were in our late teens, I figured it was justified to try to catch up on music we never owned. Additionally, I was in my first years of having a steady income, so I had disposable income. But my mother viewed my purchasing habit as developing into an uncontrolled impulse. Her admonition had the impact of my being more conscientious and judicious of my music purchases.

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“Ya llévense sus discos porque me voy a deshacer del gabinete.”**

My mother announced this to my brothers and me this past spring. My parents had long since disposed of the stereo we had since the late 80s. The tuner worked, but the turntable was in constant need of a needle, the speakers worked intermittently, and the cassette players ate magnetic tape. It had become a dust collector and some 10 years ago they had got rid of it.

There was no longer any means of playing the LPs, so it was understandable that my mother would want to rid herself of belongings that didn’t pertained to her. The LPs, which were possibly evidence of an addiction in the 80s, were was now dusty obstructions in the 00s. Additionally, I have felt that it is not my parents’ responsibility to hold on to their children’s belongings long after they have moved away. Some years ago my mother pointed out that I still had art materials stashed away behind the china cabinet: illustration board, frames, mat board, and artwork. I took some home with me but I also got rid of materials I didn’t foresee using. What was the point of holding on to stuff that no one was going to use?

So it was with due diligence that I sorted out the LPs that belonged to me from those of my siblings. It demonstrated who I was (and still am), my tastes and how they had changed since then: Supertramp, Spandau Ballet, Manhattan Transfer, Little River Band, Styx, Cat Stevens, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, the Best of Peter, Paul and Mary, Neil Diamond, Sade, Jesus Christ Superstar, Joseph and the Amazing, Technicolor Coat, Barbara Streisand’s Yentl, Rhino Record’s Christmas Classics, Billy Joel, Billy Joel, Billy Joel.

The music reminded me of the late 80s and the persons associated with it. Jesus Christ Superstar was used as a text during Lent by cool Mr. Weber in my Catholic elementary school. Supertramp’s Breakfast in America was wonderful music that came out when I was in high school. Bobby Rodriguez, my roommate in my first year in college, had introduced me to the Boss. Billy Joel and Sade were hot when I was at St. John’s Seminary. I still remember Ernie Fimbres when I hear Manhattan Transfer’s Wacky Dust. The films Yentl and Tootsie were painful reminders were protagonists had to hide themselves (and their love) behind personas. There was also a large two-volume set of Las joyas de la música, classical and soft contemporary music, given to me by my Tía Armida, who has since died. I took it all home to San Francisco with me, not exactly sure what I would do with them. They ended up as a small pile in my living room while I traveled.

Last month, when George and I were steam cleaning the carpet, I decided that I needed a place for the LPs. I could take them to my bedroom, where they would collect dust. I could take them to the basement, wrapped in plastic, but the humidity there would probably cause mold and fungus to grow on the records. But the central question was whether I had planned to use and enjoy these records. I didn’t see myself buying a turntable; I am so used to the convenience of my CD player or my iTunes. So what would I do with them, even as memories were associated with them and I didn’t have some of the music in any other format other than in an LP? This is a constant contemporary challenge: as new modes of storage are developed what other formats become obsolete. I still have music cassettes and I have a boombox and a car where I can play them, but I rarely do. At school last week, I found a nearly new box of floppy disk drives, now everything is on flash drives.

I decided that it was best to have others enjoy the music than have them sit in my attic, my basement or any other part of my house. I really felt badly about getting rid of my Tía Armida’s Las joyas de la música as she had specifically given them to me. To rid myself of them felt like I was dishonoring her memory. But I figured that she would have wanted me to enjoy the music, not store the LPs somewhere. And if I couldn’t enjoy them then someone else could, and I would be complying with the spirit of her gift.

I took them to Streetlight Records in the Castro. From 3 canvas bags full of LPs and after checking for their condition, they accepted only about 25 LPs for which I got $10. What was I going to do with the rest of the LPs? I guess I could put them on line (Craigslist or ebay) but I was ready to part with them. I ended up dropping them off (some 75 of them) at the Friends of the San Francisco Public Library, where they would be sold to raise money for the public library. While I didn’t get any money for them, I was happy that someone (I hope) would get joy from listening to them. What was once perhaps evidence of shopaholism was now sitting in a warehouse ready to be sorted and displayed. And memories associated with these artifacts would become a little less tangible but no less real.

*That is now an addiction.

**Take your records because I am going to get rid of this entertainment center.