“Like many people of my generation, my introduction to vinyl was through my parents’ dusty record collection. They had what seemed like hundreds of LPs in boxes, on shelves, and in various piles throughout the house where I grew up.”
“Even as a five-year old, I was allowed to use the record player myself and was free to pick out and play whatever I liked. Records in our house were not forbidden “adults only” objects; they were meant to be played with and thoroughly used.
Both of my parents came of age in New York City during the folk revival of the 1960s, and their record collection very much reflected that era. Their shelves were full of albums by Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Dave Van Ronk, Joan Baez, and of course Dylan. My mother also had a vast collection of bluegrass and country records: Flatt and Scruggs, Doc Watson, and a little Johnny Cash. These cornerstones of American folk and country music were the first musicians I ever remember hearing.
As a young child, it was very easy to get interested in these records. We had things like Peter, Paul and Mary singing “Puff the Magic Dragon,” and Woody Guthrie’s album of children’s music, Songs to Grow on for Mother and Child. As I listened to these records, I began to understand that in addition to the kid’s stuff, these same voices also sang songs of a completely different nature. Something I recognized as strange and even a little bit scary. Words like “blood” and “chains” occasionally crept through the music. My parents would often attempt to explain the deeper, sometimes concealed meanings in certain songs.
Sometimes I would hear my mom listening to a song like “I Ain’t Marching Anymore” by Phil Ochs and ask what it was about. Even though I was only five or so, they wouldn’t hesitate to try to explain concepts like war, protest, or civil rights to me. Heady stuff for a little kid, but it was literally through records and folk music that I first heard of such things. Probably the first time I ever learned anything about drugs was from my mom trying to explain “Mr. Tambourine Man” to me. From a very early age I learned to appreciate the words in music, and to think about what they meant. By the age of eight I’d say, I had a pretty surprising amount of knowledge about the history of American folk music and the culture of the 60s, though that era was long gone.
The records that my parents owned were not well taken care of. They had sat in boxes, been moved from house to house across the country, chewed on by our dogs, or frisbee’d across the room by my younger brother and me. They were scratched, sleeves were coming unglued, and they all seemed perpetually covered in dust. As a kid, I thought that the way those records looked and sounded was what all music was supposed to be like: brittle, scratchy, distorted, and falling apart at the seams. To this day that’s still a huge part of my aesthetic, as far as music goes.
My parents eventually began replacing their music collection with tapes and CDs, and when I was about 10 they let me take me their record player up to my room and keep it there. I hauled stacks and stacks of their records into my bedroom and put them on my own shelf. They were mine now. I spent many afternoons cranking up my dad’s Rolling Stones LPs and jumping on my bed, practicing air guitar moves. My parents would occasionally catch me in this act, and I think that contributed to their decision to buy me an actual guitar when I was 11.
Anyway, I kept that record player and my mom and dad’s albums in my room until the day I moved out of that house. I still have many of those records, and when I play them they transport me back to my childhood home in a way that nothing else can. The voices on those records feel like family members to me. In my life, I feel like vinyl connects me to my family, my childhood, my musical history, and the history of all music. The world of digital, streaming music feels like a cold void.
Personally, having vinyl around me makes me remember the comforts of a happy childhood, and the joy of a loving home life.”
—Jesse Berkowitz, guitar, vocals
I Am The Albatross released its debut self-titled EP yesterday March 4th, 2014, “preceded by the single ‘Strugglin’,’ which was recorded direct to two-inch tape in the heat of a particularly fierce Texas summer during a whiskey-fueled session at Austin’s 5th Street Studios.”
