Other than the children’s albums by Anne Murray and Raffi that my parents bought as LPs and the complimentary 45 single I got on a visit to Disneyland and played on my Fisher-Price record player, much of the music I introduced myself to came from the library. I remember flipping through records in bins, pulling any album cover or track listing that seemed interesting and then bringing it home for an initial spin on the same childhood record player that 45 spin on. Atlantic Start. The Northern Pikes. The Shuffle Demons. Rob Bass. Glenn Medeiros. My ears opened up a lot in those years all for the price of a library card.
One of the things I want to remember as I get older is the music that captures my mind, be it the records and cassette tapes of a younger self to the digital tunes and the search for tangible forms of great music I want to keep in something more than an upgraded hard drive/smartphone. I’m unabashedly an admirer and consumer of all that is aurally pleasing to me. In my own world, from the spaces in life that I choose to fill with music, there are only two types. Good music. And the rest that will never really be beats that I want to belong to me.