Lafayette, Louisiana’s Brass Bed is blowing up all over the country. Jonny Campos (pictured- lower left corner), the band’s bassist and backing vocalist, weighs in on his first experiences with vinyl records.
Growing up in my house, if a record was going on to the turntable that meant it was cleaning day. Abbey Road, Tea for the Tillerman, Bridge Over Troubled Water and Harvest still remind me Mr. Clean Fumes and sneezing fits from dusting. But despite my resistance to everything that had to do with good house keeping at the tender age of six or seven, these are fond memories. I knew that record players weren’t the norm. When I visited friends’ houses, cassettes and CDs were just the way music was played.
This fact lead me to believe that although the record player was not quite sacred, it was the practice of taking the records out of the sleeve and placing it on the turntable with the utmost care that made it more of engaging music experience. To this day the ritual of taking the record out of the sleeve, placing it on the turntable, and looking at the credits and artwork, is probably my favorite part about listening to music on records.
I never had any records I could call my own when I was growing up, except maybe the soundtrack to Pinocchio or maybe an extra copy of American Pie that was missing a sleeve. To this day I still get “Vincent” stuck in my head at random times. If the mood struck me, I was more than welcome to listen to any record from my parents’ collection. From time to time, I’d put on the Beatles or Simon and Garfunkel and just stare at the sleeves wondering who these people were and how they made these sounds coming out of the speakers.
My first few records that were considered mine were either gifts or “found.” My girlfriend in high school worked at the only record shop that Lafayette had to offer, Raccoon Records. I got a few jazz records that way, like Wes Montgomery’s Tequila. “Found” loosely translates to: we would go through the promo boxes and “borrow” an LP or two, just to see, you know, if these records we heard or read about were any good. I think I got Nashville Skyline that way. I guess I’d feel guilty if Hurricane Katrina hadn’t claimed my meager collection I’d accumulated.
Now, when we’re on the road and we happen upon a record shop, I have a difficult decision to make. If I get just one more record, does that mean I can afford lunch tomorrow? I guess I have the Wendy’s dollar menu to thank for the majority of my records. If only I could just get my parents into mp3 players so I can get all those records I had growing up.
