The Vinyl Ghosts That Came Back to Haunt Me

Greetings, friends.

A small confession. Unearthing forgotten vinyl records you once played to death is like rediscovering an old love with a checkered past you thought you’d shelved decades ago, only to find out she’s single again and your wife is conveniently visiting relatives in Madagascar.

You know you shouldn’t. Time has passed. You’re not the same, nor is she.

But then you put the needle down. And there it is.

The latest ghosts haunting my turntable lately:

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Frank Zappa: Hot Rats (1969)

Zappa’s first solo album after leaving the Mothers. Pure Zappa music!

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Thelonious Monk: Solo Monk (1965)

Just Monk and the piano. No apology. All the wrong notes sound like they were invented for him and by him.

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Mayhem: Deathcrush (1987)

Black Metal. Philosophical distortion. The best music to write to. Clears the mind instead of cluttering it.

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Vladimir Sofronitsky: Scriabin chez Scriabin

Scriabin’s son-in-law playing Scriabin in Scriabin’s own house, on Scriabin’s own piano. It feels like a seance. Some believe it was.

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Etta James: Tell Mama (1968)

A voice that could bend steel and break hearts. I’d Rather Go Blind. What else is there to say?

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The Allman Brothers Band: At Fillmore East (1971)

My favorite live rock album. Duane Allman was a sorcerer.

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Moondog: Moondog (1969)

A blind street musician who stood on Sixth Avenue and wore a Viking helmet. Wish I could see that. Strange and beautiful music.

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Nick Drake: Pink Moon (1972)

I completely forgot I owned this record. Or I don’t remember liking that much. Then.
I was young and stupid. The music is quiet, fragile, and haunting. Like a whisper of someone standing on the other side of the rainbow.

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Tom Waits: Rain Dogs (1985)

Tom Waits is Tom Waits. I never stopped listening to him. But for some reason this amazing album disappeared from my rotation for years. How did I forget something this good? A carnival of broken souls wandering the midnight streets.

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John Prine: John Prine (1971)

No fireworks. No posing. No bullshit. Just a man and his guitar who could tell a three-minute story that hit harder than most novels.

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Till next time.
ak