First Record Player

Last month I bought a record player. After the Colfax Marathon, I wandered in to Twist and Shout and found a 1980’s Sanyo with an orange light that turns on when the arm is down.

I knew nothing about record players except that I wanted one and this was the one I wanted. Paul, an unpretentious and likable employee, explained the player’s parts and what to do with them. I don’t remember most of what he said, but I felt better that he said it.

Merriweather Post Pavilion is the only record I own. I bought it that day. Earlier, Kellen advised that I buy my top ten favorite albums to start my collection. I don’t know what my top ten favorite albums are, but I do know that “My Girls” is my favorite song.

I first heard “My Girls” on Rob’s record player in Chicago. He busted in the apartment after work, marched to the record player and said, “Listen to this song.”

We sat in silence as the electronic keyboard spun into rhythm, and then those lines: “There isn’t much I admit I need/a solid soul and the blood I bleed. With a little girl and by my spouse/I only want a proper house.” Enter bass, vocal harmony, claps and woots, layer upon layer. The song moved unlike anything I’d ever heard. When it was over, I asked Rob to play it again.

I have played “My Girls” more than 100 times on iTunes; every time I hear it, I picture Rob and our apartment’s red walls and Chicago’s skyline. It helped me forget about unemployment and inspired me to write.

My record player still has no speakers, but I do have more records. Tonight I went on a shopping spree: She & Him, Atlas Sounds, Dinah Washington, and Middle East. Dinah’s the only one I know well; the others I know in bits and pieces and I’m curious to hear more. More importantly, I’m eager to find the one that will define Denver, 1108 York, summer 2010, and all those along the way.