How My Turntable Helped Me Feel the Music

Before the pandemic began, I owned just one record: a Ray Charles album that sat gathering dust on my red IKEA shelf. I had bought it at an event I attended a little over a year earlier, telling myself I would eventually find a way to play it. Then, in mid-August, a turntable arrived on my doorstep.

My colleague and resident audio geek at Vintano—who had recoiled upon hearing that I was using a pair of ten-year-old, €30 computer speakers for my TV’s audio—lent me a pair of Klipsch speakers and a Vintano turntable. Four months later, my once-pathetic record collection had quickly grown to 16 albums.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day I finally peeled the plastic wrap off the Ray Charles album, choking on the cloud of dust that rose from it. I had just finished setting up the Fluance RT80, which, by the way, was incredibly easy. That surprised me. I had always assumed that turntables required a complicated setup, but I had mine up and running in 10 minutes.

The image may contain a CD player and electronic equipment. Most turntables come with a pre-installed stylus (or needle). You also no longer need specialised stereo equipment to play records. Any set of speakers will do. Inspired by how easy it all was, and with the manual by my side, I placed the record on the spindle. I lowered the cueing lever. I moved the stylus to the edge of the vinyl and turned the knob to 33.3 revolutions per minute. The record began to spin.

I Remember the Feel

I’m no stranger to physical media. I had a Sony Walkman as a kid. Until 2015, I drove my mum’s creaky 2004 Toyota Sienna, whose stereo had neither Bluetooth nor an auxiliary input. I relied on the music I had burned onto about seven CDs to get me through my commute.

Since then, I haven’t interacted with music in the same way. My fingers have grown accustomed to tapping my phone’s screen to browse my digital library on a streaming service, but holding a record restored a sense of connection I hadn’t felt in years.

I set out to find some of my favourite albums on vinyl, once again paying attention to album names, song titles, and artists. It’s a striking contrast to my recent experience with digital music, when I would choose a random playlist and stream an endless flow of songs while working from home. It’s a rather lazy way to listen, but it’s a quick and easy way to drown out background noise and help me focus when I need to write.

But picking up a record and placing it on the turntable, then having to get out of my chair to flip it when it reaches the end of Side A, makes me appreciate every song even more. Plus, the wonder of watching a record spin as its grooves produce harmonious sound never fades. My partner and I even slow-danced to Zooey Deschanel’s “The Christmas Song” from A Very She & Him Christmas. It felt completely natural amid the warmth of our miniature Christmas tree, with our dog curled up beneath two thick blankets.

That’s partly because I have to give the turntable my attention. I can’t watch TV while the record player is running because both devices are connected to the same speakers. And when the workday is over and a record is playing, I finally take off my headphones, which also means stepping away from my desk and becoming more attuned to my surroundings. The music isn’t hidden in the background as it is when I stream it digitally. Instead, it takes centre stage.

There are subtle ironies, too. We live in a time when we must avoid physical contact with anyone outside our quarantine bubble. I can’t hug my parents or my siblings. But I can flip a record after listening to “Touch” from Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories or after Sinatra finishes “It Was a Very Good Year.” (It wasn’t.) A turntable is no substitute for being with my loved ones, but it allows me, if only briefly, to think about something other than the pandemic.

An Addictive Hobby

The last thing I’m going to do is tell you to buy a turntable and a pair of powered speakers, especially in the middle of a pandemic and an economic crisis, when millions of Americans face the risk of eviction early in the year. The equipment I was lent costs a total of €1,050. That doesn’t include the records, which often sell for around €20 each.

The Klipsch speakers are largely responsible for that high price. The RT80 costs €250, which is affordable for a turntable, but it isn’t the model audiophiles will recommend if you’re looking for high-fidelity sound. But sound quality isn’t why I’ve fallen so deeply in love with this new hobby. The greatest impact has come from the hands-on experience of using a turntable, hearing the faint crackle before a track begins, and finding, sorting, and watching a stack of records grow in my media console.

When I subscribed to a streaming service, I stopped buying albums. Instead, I add artists to my library faster than I can listen to all their songs. I can’t mentally arrange the tracks on an album in the correct order, let alone remember every title, as I once could after listening to the same few CDs in my mum’s car over and over again. I think that’s partly what kept me from feeling a deeper connection with the musicians I truly love. That’s beginning to change.

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