Touched by Vinyl
1987
As a teen, I had hoarded my lunch money to procure delicious vinyl. Luckily, Fairfax High was in a tempting location, smack dab in the middle of everything relevant at the time. Canters famous deli, Flip vintage clothing, and record stores like Aron’s records and vinyl fetish were just some of the options, so ditching the campus was to be expected. Records do taste better when you’ve starved for them.
1986
Before Fairfax, my well-meaning parents thought a French education would do this sheltered Hollywood teen some good. Much to their dismay, I returned home wearing even more black than before, and sporting a constant look of disdain towards my peers. With headphones glued to my skull and blasting Cocteau Twins in my cassette player, I walked the streets of Hollywood dreaming of Paris while smoking a bidi. I was a Gen Exer in a strange La La land.
1988
Flipping through the used record bin at Aron’s, I find France. My heart freezes as I stare at a flawless promotional copy before me of an album titled Mlah by the French band Les Negresses Vertes. I had heard them on the local radio station (kcrw) and fell hard. You couldn’t have asked for a better album to serenade me back to France. The music was a drunken brawl of accordions slapped with unapologetic Parisienne. It was surprisingly happy music delivering non-stop unfiltered pleasure to my way too critical ears. I could taste the Pastis on my lips.
1990–2011
The album joined me and my cheap record player until CD players became a thing. Then it made its way into a crate to gather dust with all of my other precious albums that I had starved for. This crate travelled with me through all of my moves, broken relationships, and new chapters. Final stop, Asheville North Carolina.
2014
In 2014, it was time for a purge and I needed some fast cash. My beloved crate found it’s way to Harvest Records on Haywood Road. I had a good amount of valuable vinyl, some limited edition Japanese editions of new wave records that were barely touched by a needle. They gave me a good price and agreed to take the entire lot. Cash in hand, I walked away waving adieu and leaving that chapter behind me.
2017
But that record wasn’t quite ready to move, and sat patiently on the shelf at Harvest for about 3 years. Eventually it was purchased for less than $5. The purchaser had no idea what they were about to unfold. As they removed the record from the sleeve, the dust dispersed into the Appalachia, fairies and all. Spinning the songs into the ethers and churning the chapters of time with my former self. The listener had activated an algorithm more sophisticated than we know today.
2021
Fast forward 4 years, the record owner is introduced to me at a dinner table. He happened to be a Frenchman, but I turned my nose up at him refusing to be charmed and lured once again. This was an obvious setup by well -intentioned friends.
6 months later I’m asked on a date by the album owner. I acquiesced out of sheer curiosity. But the audacity for this person in taking so long to recognize my significance.
As anyone who knows me, my music taste will be revealed to potential lovers, friends, and/or romantic interests fairly quickly. But the one song that gets me, that would have everyone wondering why this goth girl would even entertain the idea of sharing….especially with someone who clearly doesn’t know it….it was only meant to impress Mr. France not to delve into the where, why, and history of how this album came to be. Hence this story.
I shared “Orane” as a test. If he didn’t like it, all bets were off. But of course, he shoots back a message right away….OMG.
Voila! It didn’t take long before the connection was made. Fate does have an algorithm.
How strange that this plundered item from a secondhand record store in the 1980s in Los Angeles would make its way to Appalachia 25 plus years later and into the hands of a future lover.
If we were to imagine life being a turntable and each record representing a dance with the former self. The vinyl spins its web decorating space and chapters of time. Today we just skip through songs with a press of the finger. Such a waste.
Reunited with that record, I held it in my hands and caressed it like a lost love. My DNA smothered that vinyl. What has been found was never lost and my future is spinning behind the scenes.
