“I’m first generation Cuban-American, as my parents were both born in Havana, met in Miami, and had my brother, sister, and me in the States. Being from a certain time, most of their comedy and music collection was on vinyl. They would sit in the living room as my dad smoked a cigar and listen to everything from Beny Moré to Gloria Estefan to American acts like Phil Collins and Roy Orbison.”
“I have a distinct memory of my mother and father wiping away tears of laughter during Cuban comedian Guillermo Alvarez Guedes’ bit on the Spanish curse word “coño.” While they listened and laughed, I stuck my head inside the walnut credenza where their Sony turntable resided, watched the record spin and marveled at how a simple spinning thing could elicit this reaction from my parents, who I considered at the time very composed and mild-mannered.
I was an entranced 9-year-old and wanted to operate the turntable myself. I, too, wanted to wield the power of choosing what came out of those speakers. So, while my dad was away at work and my mom was occupied elsewhere, I removed Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Cosmo’s Factory from the sleeve, placed it tenderly on the platter, and proceeded to clumsily toss the needle onto the spinning record.
A terrible tearing sound ripped out of the speakers as I fumbled with the tone arm and managed to drag it back and forth a few times over the record. Upon closer inspection, I found I had gouged a trench into the once-pristine jet black disc of vinyl. My mom was quite understanding and took me to Tower Records a few days later where she bought me some cheap used records so I could mangle my own as I learned to work on my tonearm touch. I appreciate her letting the incident go, but I still kinda feel like I owe John Fogerty an apology.
Over the years and through young adulthood, I would buy most of my music on CD but would buy my absolute favorites on vinyl. Sitting on my bed, listening to CDs, and studying the artwork worked fine most of the time. For the records I absolutely loved, however, nothing was as immersive as staring at the artwork on the large 12″ x 12″ jackets and having to flip the record when a side was over, like someone tending a fire. Come to think of it, a record player is kind of like a sonic fireplace: you have to be nearby to keep an eye on it or else it will go out, it gives off a warmth unique to itself, and if you leave the room when it’s going, it feels like you’re being wasteful.
A few years ago, my brother, sister, and I were cleaning out my parents’ house to sell as they passed away relatively young within five years of each other. We donated the books we didn’t want—they were avid readers and possessed a large library—and divvied up the photos and heirlooms between us. Neither my brother nor my sister were interested in the records, though, and so it fell on me to go through them, keep what I wanted, and donate the rest.
I kept all the great stuff—the Celia Cruz, the Beny Moré, Orquesta Aragón, basically all of the old Cuban records, all the Guillermo Alvarez Guedes comedy albums, and much of the classic American records they had collected throughout the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. My record collection instantly doubled, and yet I still managed to donate most of theirs. Godspeed to you and your next home, Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine.
I was honored and moved to be the owner of so many great records that now tethered me to the countless moments of leisure, laughter, and joy my parents experienced through them. In San Francisco where I live, there isn’t a large community of Cubans, so sometimes I put these records on just to listen to that clipped Cuban accent that I miss and don’t get to hear as often anymore. ¡Ño!
A couple of years before she passed away, my mom gave me a small, cute 45 case she had brought to America with her when she and my Abuela Alicia fled Cuba. It says “Tune Tote” on the cover and portrays a couple of young women smiling, lying around, and listening to some records. Inside I found all sorts of gems with the crown jewel being an original pressing of the Beatles single “I Want To Hold Your Hand.”
I went back to my apartment, put the 45 rpm adapter on my record player, opened the Tune Tote, pulled out the single, and immediately dropped it, watching as it slid across the hardwood floor. I picked it up in a panic I haven’t felt in years, inspected it front and back and found… a couple big scratches on side A…
Shit. Just another way vinyl makes me feel like a kid again, I guess.”
—Andrew Gomez
NRVS LVRS sophomore LP, Electric Dread is in stores now—on vinyl.
