I could go round and round on today’s subject, and you know I’ll do it.
What’s up with the newfound fascination for old-style record players?
My granddaughter, Vada, turned 13 in December and received a record player not much different from the one my family possessed six decades ago, and her cousins, Clark, 11, and Paige, 10, found record players under their Christmas tree.
All three also received vinyl records for their listening pleasure.
The kiddos – along with, it must be admitted, millions of other newly minted vinyl-lovers out there – are delighted. Sales of record players and pressed vinyl to play on them, are continuing to grow every year, after starting their resurgence in 2007 (according to digital research offered by Wikipedia and Google-generated artificial intelligence).
Does anybody remember that old catchphrase, “Been there, done that”?
Spin back to 1877 when Thomas Edison invented the phonograph, a device that played songs stamped onto cylinders.
Emile Berliner’s gramophone, invented in 1887, upgraded to flat round discs inscribed with music. His concept remained the inspiration for the record player I used in my childhood and is still the basis for the devices my grandkids are using today.
Vinyl records came on the scene in the 1940s, replacing wax, celluloid, glass and shellac versions from earlier years.
If you’re my age, you remember vinyl records that came in small, medium and large discs, played at varying RPMs (revolutions per minute).
The smallest were the 45s, on which I listened to songs by Elvis and the Beatles. The 78s were old-fashioned and larger, featuring music from my dad’s younger days (how I adored “If You Love Me, Really Love Me” from his collection). And the 33 and 1/3s were the largest, called LPs (long-plays) back then and still today. An LP taught teenage me the lyrics to a collection of folk songs by The Brothers Four that I still enjoy singing.
My parents’ bedroom, which housed the family record player, was next to the kitchen, and I’d crank up the volume on our machine to sing along to my favorites while I washed dishes.
This was an adventure in running back and forth with sudsy hands, because you not only had to change records, but you had to flip the needle (stylus) to accommodate the speeds.
In 2025, needles no longer flip. Instead, a setting on the box controls motor speeds for 45s and 33 1/3s. (78s are obsolete, so they say, but do they really mean it? I’ve learned to be skeptical.)
By the time I reached adulthood, vinyl records were phasing out – replaced first by eight-track and cassette tapes, then CDs, then iPods, then streaming services, which are so convenient and so all-encompassing. (You can even call up The Brothers Four; I’ve done it.)
So, again, why are people spending kind-of big bucks to embrace 138-year-old technology? Berliner’s been dead almost a century; he doesn’t care.
My daughter-in-law, Sara, mother of Clark and Paige, offered an explanation.
“A record player is a tangible medium that is just more satisfying than streaming music,” she said. “The sound quality ‘feels’ different, and somehow the imperfections are what makes it more enjoyable.”
Another point hadn’t occurred to me.
“As parents of kids who will not be receiving phones for a long time to come, it’s an avenue for them to listen to music outside of a (digital) device.”
Plus, she said, her kids are at an age to appreciate the idea of building a collection that will add “personality to their rooms.”
Which made me think about the vinyl collection we older Besses used to have.
I spent $5 for my first vinyl LP in 1972, “A Song for You,” by the Carpenters (Yikes – that tallies to $38 today, after inflation.)
Slowly, I added John Denver, Neil Diamond, Bread (yeah, I loved the softies), and a treasured Elton John LP from my brother. As a future Baptist minister, Terry found rock music sinful but overcame his scruples on my behalf.
I built my bunch with that old 11-cent deal from Columbia House Record and Tape Club. Remember, you’d sign on, get a raft of albums for pennies and then send in a card every month to avoid buying their selection at full price. I only messed up a couple of times.
My husband brought his own favorites to our mix, and we both inherited vinyl from our parents. We talked about trying to sell it all to a collector.
Oh, but I was so needled that day years ago when I came home from running errands and discovered my husband had donated our entire vinyl collection to a store that declined to pay a dime for it.
After some snit, I rationalized it was no big deal. We no longer had a record player, and who would ever buy one of those?
I had planned this piece as a minor mock of Sara (she’s always understanding about that) and others who are vintaging, just like her.
But then sweet memories turned my own table.
A final comment did it.
“Shopping in record stores (turning up everywhere, around the world) is just so fun,” she said.
They have vintage bins in places like that. I can picture the Bess collection stacked there, heading out to other people’s homes.
Santa, could you please bring me a record player next Christmas? And add in “A Song for You” vinyl LP. It goes for $79 on Amazon.