I have a turntable, passed down from my dad to his dad to me (a bit out of order, I know) and I love it. Along with inheriting the ancient stereophonic relic, I received the library of albums that came with it. As a kid, I listened to more “classic rock” than any child should, but never quite fell in love with The Beatles. This was until I listened to them on vinyl. There’s something about the crackling and side-flipping that’s enchanting and romantic.
One night, it was raining in Hollywood, a rarity but not for that year. I was laying in bed after a long day hunched over my desk and I grabbed an album. I have so many that I make it a habit to just grab and not look (this is how I discovered Harry Belafonte and Al Stewart).
On this rainy night I grabbed The Beatles “Let It Be” album. I turned off the lights in my room and with the tinkling of the rain and crackling of the record in the background, I laid on my bed and closed my eyes. As the needle spun around the disk, this finally came out of my speakers:
It was one of those songs that, in that moment, makes you feel as though you’re in love, even though you’re completely single. I got the “warm and fuzzies” as I listened to the rest of the album, lying in the dark, in love with nothing and everything at the same time.