“When I was seven years old, I discovered my parents’ record player, which they apparently had abandoned in favor of the more “modern” and portable cassette tape player. Their record collection included releases by artists who were popular before I was born: Simon & Garfunkel, Paul McCartney & Wings, Seals & Crofts, John Denver, Anne Murray, and America, to name a few.”
“We lived in an old farmhouse in the middle of an empty field, without cable television or any close-by neighbors. I spent cold winter nights intently listening to these records. I loved the warm, scratchy sound of the needle dropping onto the vinyl, and the process of turning the record over halfway through. For years, I listened to the same songs over and over—“Ventura Highway,” “Homeward Bound,” “Summer Breeze.” I imagined vivid stories to accompany the lyrics. I envisioned men from the 1970s driving blue convertibles, bathed in late afternoon sunlight—probably somewhere in California (a place I had never been.) I sang along: “Summer Breeze, makes me feel fine, blowing through the jasmine in my mind.”
My favorite record was History: America’s Greatest Hits. At one point, I devised a dance routine and recruited my brother Peter to be my partner. For the occasion, I wore pigtails and an old striped dress that had been my mom’s. Peter and I performed dance numbers to “Sister Goldenhair,” “Ventura Highway,” and “A Horse with No Name.” My parents and brother Alex were the audience, cheering us on.
I eventually lost interest in records. As a teenager, I took pride in my massive CD collection, and the old turntable seemed antiquated. I remember feeling embarrassed by the 1970s easy listening music I had enjoyed years earlier. At some point—I can’t remember when—my parents gave the record player and the records away.
Fortunately, I began a new relationship with vinyl last winter. Inspired by the recent vinyl resurgence, I borrowed a used turntable from Peter (a vinyl aficionado himself) and set it up in my living room. The first album I purchased and played was the Postal Service’s deluxe box set re-release of Give Up. (My friend Megan and I had obsessively listened to the original CD version on our 2004 cross-country road trip, and I’ve held this album in high regard for some time. Not coincidentally, Give Up is a major inspiration for my self-produced electronica project, I Am Snow Angel.)
When I dropped the needle onto the shiny vinyl, I felt a noticeable wave of nostalgia, like a visceral memory was re-activated somewhere in my subconscious. I was soothed by the multi-dimensional warmth of the music. I noticed how the opening bars of “Sleeping In” (my favorite song on the album) sounded crisper and more present, with each sonic element located in it’s own space. I remember noticing that the songs’ electronic landscapes sounded more “real”—more visual—on vinyl. What had sounded like digital synthesizers now sounded like actual machines operating in delicate harmony with one another.
I now have a small but growing vinyl collection that includes my own 2013 solo singer/songwriter release, Black Trees, which I am really proud of. As a musician, I cherish records as beautiful, tangible objects in an almost completely digital music world. On a more personal level, vinyl reminds me of my beautifully uncomplicated childhood—a time that will always be with me no matter how distant it feels.”
—Julie Kathryn, I Am Snow Angel
