Music, Martinis, and Memories

One of the few items I bought for myself this past holiday season was a new record player. I wanted a new record player that would allow me to copy my old records into mp3 files. Not only does this make sense in not having to re-purchase the old albums, but it also means these mp3's will be heavy with the crackle of the album. Oh, how I love that crackle.

I remember my one (embarrassing) attempt at making my own music. I spent months working on four songs, which layered samples of music over some original composition with my (thankfully, heavily distorted) vocals. When my "producer" and I were trying out different effects, I knew I wanted crackle. The more, the better.

There is certainly something authentically nostalgic about hearing the sound of a record playing. I hear the hiss of the album about to start, then the crackle...and then the music starts. I remember this sound from listening to my first Beatles albums. Even hearing this now, I'm back there. In my childhood room. There is also something (perhaps less authentic) about the sound of an album. Even if you didn't grow up in a time when albums were still sold, you hear this sound and it takes you back somewhere else.

Last night (albeit after a couple of cocktails), I found myself wanting to hear John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Double Fantasy. This album has deeper significance in that the album itself is my mother's old album. It is complete with her papers where she wrote out the lyrics to Watching the Wheels, presumably after a few cocktails of her own. Regardless, this led me to further listen to The White Album, specifically I'm So Tired, which is my self-proclaimed favorite Beatles song.

Today, while out buying a birthday present today, I found my way to the local Salvation Army, hoping to find some hidden gems in their dusty albums on the bottom shelf. One of the albums, I discovered was Jackie Gleason's Music, Martinis, and Memories, which although enjoyable was mostly purchased for the obvious connection to my project.

Bringing home my purchases and pulling the record out of the sleeve, I was excited with the prospect of a new album...but also in hearing the hiss and crackle of the album.