Spinning vinyl

 Everywhere I go these days  people are plugged in, ear buds screwed into their ears, walking to their own private drumbeat and totally oblivious to the world around them.  No birdsong for these people, no traffic noise, no conversation, just their own private symphony transporting them out of the real world they are walking through.  No wonder they run the risk of being hit by the commuter train - they don't hear it coming. 
I have friends who have chucked their entire collection of CD's and vinyl records. Tuners,turntables,speakers all gone in favour of a player about as big as a post-it note.  They brag about how many thousand songs they have downloaded onto this electronic marvel.  They have music whereever they go.  No elevator music for them, no music forced upon them in stores.  They are totally independent and sadly isolated from the world and the people around them.  But that is just my opinion. 

 There is a shop in Calgary called "The Inner Sleeve" here - a lovely little shop with an unprepossessing exterior in the inner city district of Marda Loop.  The Inner Sleeve specializes in cast off vinyl, CD's, DVD's, music and films being passed back and around, bought and sold.  There you see the other side of the story. It is an adventure to explore in there and watch "unplugged' people combing the stacks looking for treasures. 

The Inner Sleeve recently purchased the entire CBC Calgary music library - records and CD's, some of which are out of print collector items, after the CBC went completely digital through their website.  When I worked at CBC Calgary years ago, I spent considerable time in that fascinating library searching for just the right tune to go with whatever story we were producing that day.  Now it is all up for grabs.

My vinyl library is considerably smaller than the CBC's for sure.  I'm nostalgic about these sorts of things I guess so I keep it.  I had the most amazing adventure tracking down a good turntable needle.  It took me down a rather beat up street in the south east part of the city to a non-descript building. The only identity of the shop was printed in small letters on the glass door alongside the number. But inside was like Aladdin's cave, freezing cold, and every square inch chock full of parts, tools, cords, broken television sets and stereos, all covered in a fine layer of dust.  At the back sitting on a stool behind the counter was a small German man, obviously the proprietor, who asked me what I wanted in a thick accent and told me to speak up because he was deaf. He seemed surprised I was even there.  However, he knew exactly what I was after, luckily had one precious needle in stock,  assuring me if I took care of it, it would last a long time.

So, Yesterday I spent a lovely afternoon playing some my records. I filled the house with music and  ran through all my Willy Nelson LP's,one after the other before I moved on to some not well known, but pretty good guitar jazz recordings.  It was a great way to spend a winter Sunday afternoon.