“We have a somewhat long distance relationship with vinyl. Well over 75% of our time is spent away from home, flying down some highway, packing and unpacking, sleeping in foreign beds, or hunkered down in the windowless green room of a bar somewhere. By the time we get home from a tour we are fully spent.”
“I say all of this not to complain about our lifestyle. I love the freshness and stimulation of being in new places and meeting new people, and to do it all together is truly a gift. It is simply a by-product of living so much of life away from home that I have grown to savor the sorts of things that can be best enjoyed at home.
Vinyl has become to us a symbol of rest, slow time, home time; a sigh of relief to finally be in our own domain once again. Our faithful vinyl is always there to welcome us home when we finish carrying the last load of gear and luggage up the four flights of stairs to our apartment. No matter how many times we leave town, or move to a new town, or new apartment, our vinyl has always aided us in the ceremonial transition into being home.
Growing up I was aware that my dad had a hefty collection of vinyl and that he was meticulous about its care and preservation, but it always had this far-off, mysterious lore to me. He kept them all lined up on a high shelf in my big brother’s closet. I don’t recall us listening to them. While it took me a while to catch on to the beautiful vision of vinyl, by the time I began collecting my own, I knew I wanted it to be listened to.
My first purchase was a two disc, first printing of The Double Barreled Marty Robbins that I found at an open air market during a semester abroad in France. I was incredibly homesick at the time, and had been listening to Marty Robbins on repeat in my dorm room because it felt like a perfect caricature of this “wild west” culture that felt exclusively American to me. It cost 2 euros and I had to wait until I returned to the states to listen to it. I propped it up on my university issue desk and laughed almost every time I saw it. I couldn’t get over the cover art, and Marty Robbins crouched at the ready as if he had just jumped off his horse, a gun in each hand.
Daniel and I joined our two collections when we first got married, and shortly thereafter we inherited a whole slew of records from Daniel’s grandma. A few of those have become favorites of ours, especially the schmaltzy compilations of orchestral ’60s hits, with songs like “Love is Blue” and “This Guy’s in Love With You.” When we finish unpacking from a summer tour, we head straight for the Herb Alpert, Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, or Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints. In the overcast stillness of wintertime we gravitate towards Miles Davis’ timeless Kind of Blue, Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians or The Weather Station’s Loyalty.
The rare treat of a Saturday morning demands Dylan’s Pat Garett and Billy The Kid soundtrack, or Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark after we return from the farmers market with our arms full of bright treasures. Our collection has never failed us, offering albums to suit every mood and season. Every few years a purge takes place to get rid of anything we don’t feel deeply connected to or familiar with. At this point, almost every record we own has a deep association with specific seasons, conjuring memories from our shared life together.”
—Lauren Goans
Lowland Hum’s third full length album, Thin arrives in stores on February 10, 2017.
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PHOTO: ERIC KELLEY
