“My dad kept about a hundred records underneath the antique bench in the front entryway of our childhood home. I can’t remember what was said the first time he took them out and set them on the dining room table for me observe, to show me what was evidently a profound link to his past.”
“I was maybe eight years old and saw records for what they were—as an eight year old sees anything. I do however vividly remember a handful of original Beatles records purchased in his youth, as well as Simon and Garfunkel, Bob Seger, the Association, CSNY, Paul Butterfield, Wings, Doobie Brothers, Moody Blues, etc. Not until I was fifteen or so did I begin to understand what vinyl was; and not due to those records—my dad, a man who could sing a perfect harmony—had kept all those years.
I was a junior counselor at a sports camp at university high school in Los Angeles, and one day while walking kids out to their cars to go home, it hit me—that it was easily possible to record this music I was hearing in my head. Not more than a few days later, my dad was kind enough to buy me my first music equipment: a Roland vs880ex, a fairly cheesy Roland synth to match, and shortly thereafter, an mpc 2000.
Initially, I recorded soundscapes in the vein of Sigur Ros meets DJ Shadow meets Elliott Smith meets Beck, at beginner level, aka shitty production, aka, some of the best shit I’ve recorded. But what sucked me in for life was a little thing known as a sampler; a function of the mpc, or rather the backbone of the mpc, that opened the doors to the most boundless and universal of all languages.
I owed most of this newly found awareness and appreciation for all walks and sizes of music to my older brother. From the likes of Wu Tang Clan, Gangstarr, Smif n Wessun, Mobb Deep, Rawkus Soundbombing Pt. 2, to Fiona Apple, NIN, the Smiths, to the Meet Joe Black (Thomas Newman) and mishima (Philip Glass) soundtracks, to the Talking Heads, to the Velvet Underground, to My Bloody Valentine, to Ladysmith Black Mambazo, to Fourtet, to Radiohead, to Jimi Hendrix, to Paul Oakenfold, to Phish, to Aphex Twin, to Joy Division and back—our carpool rides to and from school were usually the most inspiring and highest light of my day.
This began in 8th grade at one of the top private “progressive,” “affluent” high schools in Los Angeles. The day I got that mpc consequently was the day I grew further away from my friends, from girls, from sports, from school, and from pretty much all other facets of the teenage world.
So my weekends in high school were most often either spent recording in my bedroom or exploring Los Angeles in search of the most obscure vinyl that would yield those “golden” samples. Whatever seemed “this will never be recognized” so as to not violate copyright infringement, was deemed good for buying and was then driven home to be placed on a Technic 1200 for playback and record.
By then it was a full-blown obsession and throughout the remainder of my high school career, from yard sales to Rhino Records and thrift shops, attics and basements and dumpsters, I garnered an uncanny collection of 1,000+ records so obscure that I can’t even name a single title at this very moment! Either way, my grasp of the language continued to and does not, will not, cease to expand.
My acquisition and use of vinyl, although in part utilitarian in their nature, were and are also undoubtedly love for vinyl itself.
Anyone who holds music in their heart and has lowered a stylus onto a record knows what the shit I’m talking about.”
—Danny Fujikawa, Swiiim
