Yesterday I reposted this picture from a Tumblr blog I follow:
A couple people asked me what was spinning; I explained I hadn’t taken the picture, but then it got me to thinking that I hadn’t listened to any of my records for a while. Haven’t been listening to music much at all lately, frankly, let alone buying it. I’m in one of those lulls I get into with it. Sometimes I wish I had never started playing music, because it puts me in the position of having a love/hate relationship; the bullshit involved in trying to play and promote one’s own music is a real friggin’ hassle sometimes. Most of the times. And since I am currently very frustrated with the glacial progress of my musical endeavors, I’m definitely in hate mode and don’t even want it around me.
Then last night I had a dream that I was at some shindig outdoors with friends. There was a beer garden there, and bins of records for sale. Digging through I found a couple vintage KISS records. These weren’t actual records, they were albums I’d made up in my head. In my dream I was so excited, and when I woke up I had the lingering effects of what it feels like to love the music so much, and be so excited about finding something precious, and wanting to share it with people who appreciate it.
Laying there in the dim light of morning, I couldn’t remember the last time I was actually in a record store browsing through albums. CD browsing isn’t the same; I’m talking big, square, vinyl albums. I’ve bought a handful this year, but these are always editions that I see advertised by my sources — either the Hellride Music Superstore or All That Is Heavy — and I get them through the mail. Today I vowed to go downtown and actually buy at least one record.
I broke a sweat narrowing down the choices. It is serious business, after all.
I bought two.
The Universe, at least for today, is right again.