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I feel like I haven't posted in ages. With my birthday coming up and some much need vacation on the horizon for next week, I feel like I really need to lay claim or BF might just take over and lock me out while I'm gone...

I love shopping for old records. Digging through the 99 cent bin of a thrift store is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon, if you ask me. It is always funny to see the same records pop up no matter where you are - a lot of old Barbra Streisand (is it me or did she include her name in every album title?!?!) assorted 70s easy listening. There must have been one collective moment where people had a realization about those Helen Reddy albums that seemed like such a good idea at the time. Hear me roar, indeed.

On my most recent excursion, there were a lot of great finds. BF happened upon the best find in recent memory - The Art of Maria Callas. It looked like it had never been played. So-called "sophisticated" music (i.e. classical, jazz, opera) just sounds better on vinyl. Something comes across that doesn't translate into a digital age. I go pretty lo-fi, too: my weapon of choice is a little Fisher Price monaural player that I got at the Rose Bowl Flea Market. That recording of Claire de lune I found this weekend is sooo beautiful coming out of that tiny little speaker.

I often wonder where these records have been and who loved them. That flawless Callas record might have belonged to someone who didn't appreciate the record at all. Or it might have belonged to an enthusiast who knew just how to preserve the record - playing only from beginning to end, never dropping the needle in the middle of a groove, and always making sure dust and other particles had been cleared before playing. Did the voice soar through their living room during big, family dinners or did they listen alone, on headphones while doing the New York Times crossword puzzle?

And if my collection were to end up in a thrift store bin, what will people think? Would be Joni Mitchell collection be the first to go? Would people snicker at those Roxette CDs I've never been able to part with, even though I don't listen to them anymore? (They also seemed like a good idea at the time.) Would they scratch them, would they break them, would they cry when the hammers hit the strings and the opening bars of Coldplay's "The Scientist" begin? And who keeps all of the really great, classic rock and roll records. I've never seen The White Album in the stacks (although I did find Sinatra's Come Fly With Me in the dollar bin at Amoeba).

What can I say? Beautiful music makes me ponder these things. Talk later - some classic Aretha beckons.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Wax In My Ears Committee.