Part I: The records

were kept in a crate in a cupboard in the living room at the other end of the house.

Vinyl Grooves

ABBA, Beatles, Bee Gees, Carpenters, Creedence…

You had to remove the protective plastic sleeve, open the cardboard jacket and produce the disc all veiled in Bible leaf-thin wrapping. Had to use your fingertips on the rims of the thing.

Carefully onto the turntable. Anti-static cloth twice around.

The stylus was obscured behind a small fuzzy wheel which acted as both explorer and royal herald. Around and around, that fluff faithfully surveyed the barren plain, all the while whispering The king is coming! The king is coming!

Machine on. Amplifier on.

Volume down. Needle down.

Volume up.

Watch for dust specks and tiny woolen curls from homemade jumper sleeves…

And the room would fill with song, buried within the crackle and hiss like a treasure in a field. You would watch the liquid darkness spinning, lurching eversoslightly at the same point in every rotation; study the eyelashes of the woman on the cover in your lap.

Soon enough the needle would race towards the spiral’s centre.

Volume down. Needle up.

A new circle.

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~ by Daniel Townsend on August 19, 2013.

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