“Somewhere in the discussion of vinyl media, there’s a roomy reverence for the physical space that records occupy. I’ve seen overstuffed bookcases in city apartments spilling over into tape-bandaged shipping boxes wedged between sofas and end tables. Or half a suburban garage devoted to a record collection and its associated memorabilia. Numerous or few, these albums are our personal effects, and decisions must be made about the actual space we wish to accord them in our lives.”
“As a boy growing up in a conductor’s household, I found the space granted to these objects to be significant. Whole walls of my father’s study were lined with vinyl records, stacked vertically, crammed densely, and held in place by the opposing cinder blocks of makeshift shelving.
In officious contrast to their pedestrian setting, each disc was distinguished by a serial number on the upper left-hand corner of its jacket, and all were kept (more or less) in numerical order. Information about each recording was kept on a Rolodex, close-at-hand; these were reference materials, kept to aid in the study of musical scores.
