Church Girls, The TVD First Date

“My dad and I would play a game when I was a kid where he’d put on a record and I’d have to guess it within a few seconds. The Beach Boys were a favorite, though I felt a bit insulted by the immediately unmistakable ‘Barbara-Ann.’”

“I spent hours on the living room floor pouring over album covers. I loved having a big piece of artwork to hold. When I first saw the cover of Every Picture Tells a Story, I remember thinking Rod Stewart didn’t match the mental image I’d had of him. This perturbed me because he and I were supposed to get married.

Soon after, my dad gave away all his records and replaced them with CDs—everyone’s favorite wave of the future.

Vinyl reentered my life in high school when some of the punk bands I was into started pressing vinyl exclusives. I bought a record player, created a little oasis in my bedroom, and began growing my own collection.

I remember getting Against Me!’s Reinventing Axl Rose in the mail and opening it up to find a pink and white vinyl disc. It looked like candy. I loved it.

I filled out my collection with finds from the dollar bin at Shady Dog Records in my hometown—Jackson Browne, Hendrix, and Joni Mitchell.

After college, I lived within blocks of Repo Records in Philadelphia. I’d stop in weekly to scour the new arrivals (a trying phase for my wallet). Two records on heavy rotation around then were D’Angelo’s Black Messiah and Deafheaven’s Sunbather.

My brothers, all music lovers, are a bit puzzled by my love of vinyl—especially the oldest, a no-frills Army Captain. He also regularly reminds me that drinking coffee is a waste of money since you can simply take caffeine pills.

I eventually turned my twin onto vinyl when I pointed out a primo advantage: when you have friends over and put on a record, there’s no iPhone for them to futz with and change the music. That Christmas, he gave me an original pressing of David Bowie’s Low. It’s probably my most treasured record.

Their skepticism is understandable—in today’s age of streaming, amassing a collection of vinyl discs seems garish. I wish I had a well-supported logical proof to defend my addiction, but I don’t. All I know is that there’s something primal about the process—the thrill in the surprising find, and the physical ritual of putting on a record—that reminds me that great music is special. And sometimes I need that reminder.”
—Mariel Beaumont, Church Girls