I grew up in a home where music was appreciated and enjoyed. My parents had a nice collection of records (if modest in size by the standards of today, when we easily accumulate hundreds of cheap, used LPs), and some very nice gear (for the day) to play 'em on. They had season tickets to symphony concerts and operas, and when we got old enough, we were taken along sometimes. Every child in our family was expected to learn to play at least one musical instrument (I learned woodwinds). Although the youngsters like rock that the parents didn't, music played a role in our lives, and spinning records was a part of that.
Our gear was nice; the turntable was a bit outdated, but it had been a top model in its day; the tube amp was VERY nice by today's standards, but it was all just gear to be used for playing music.
Sometimes we would read or hear about the hard-core fringe of audio fanatics, who would spend a fortune on ultra-precise gear and who spent hours tweaking the precise alignment and pressure on the stylus, etc...
For the most part, these people seemed strangely obsessed, and a bit silly. We sort of understood wanting to pursue quality, and appreciated nice-sounding music, but felt those people carried it to an extreme that was almost comical, too "over the top" and fanatical for common-sense types. I think the vast majority of people felt that way. Even our neighbor who had the JBL Paragon wasn't quite that obsessed.
We all knew that records should be clean, so sometimes we would rinse them in the sink and wipe them carefully before playing. We never thought about the idea that always putting them into the same old paper sleeve could make them dirty.
We realized that static charge could make "pop" noises, but there wasn't too much we could do about that. Records just naturally had some "snap, crackle and pop" noise, and you hoped it wouldn't be too bad, and did your best to "listen through" it.
If the "needle" (the commonly used word for stylus) skipped, you might blow against it gently when it was near the point where it usually skipped. Sometimes taping a small coin on top of the headshell would improve the sound. We'd never heard of VTA, and while we could set the built-in adjustments on the arm (if there were any), using a lab-standard gauge to measure stylus pressure precisely, was for those fanatical obsessed types. It wasn't something normal people thought necessary for enjoying spinning records.
I usually put the tonearm on the record by hand. I was proud of my excellent eyesight, and could always "eyeball" the placement of the stylus in the little spaces between tracks, only sometimes catching part of the previous song or cutting off the beginning of the one I was selecting. When younger, accidents would happen, and s-c-r-a-t-c-h -OOPS! But as I got a little older, I got quite good at it, a skill I was proud of.
At some point I discovered they sounded a little "better", with deeper bass, if played while still a little bit damp. [I was probably eight years old at the time, and soon outgrew the practice, realizing it also muffled part of the sound.]
Records could warp, so you'd try to keep them out of the sun. Fingerprints were bad for them, so you'd handle them by the edges. Old records could break if you dropped them, ruining them forever. Records were a bit fragile, for lack of a better word. So you treated them a bit gently, but that was just a practical step, like not dropping a bag with eggs or light bulbs hard on the floor or counter. That was all.
We all knew that records were fragile, and had to be handled carefully. They could scratch easily. We also knew that they would eventually wear out from playing. A record would last for so many years and so many plays, and eventually the grooves would be so worn that the sound would be shot, so we would treat them carefully and respect each playing, listening and enjoying, unlike a radio that might be left on for "background noise". When tape came along, we knew that was even more short-lived, but still felt that records had a limited lifetime.
We also knew that styli would wear out, but no one really knew how to tell (without a microscope, which bordered on silly overkill) when that time came. Every several years a stylus might be replaced if it seemed "time", but normally we'd just play one for years, as long as it sounded okay/good.
When dust would accumulate on the stylus, we'd try blowing it off. If that didn't work, sometimes we'd use a small artist's brush to brush it off, and sometimes --especially if neither parent was around to see-- we'd just take it off with our fingers. Sometimes, to make sure the system was on and connected and the tubes warmed up, etc... we'd gently scrape a finger over the stylus to hear that "Gggggrrrrrumpppphhh" sound. Sometimes we'd make that sound, just for fun. (I know, :nono
A decade or so later, in college in the late seventies, turntables were a bit more sophisticated, and we learned about 'setting up' tonearms, but were still not remotely as careful and picky about it. The "tweakheads" seemed a bit less strange, but most people really just followed the steps like "going through the motions", and hoped they had done things adequately.
The focus was more on enjoying the music, and drooling over ads in magazines for better stuff that we couldn't afford, than about really setting up systems carefully and getting the most out of what we had. Sure, a TT had to be "level", but much of the time we'd just make sure it LOOKED level and seemed to spin as if it were, and that was good enough.
TODAY, much is different. I've become one of those weird fanatics I used to read about. I spend hours tweaking and adjusting my turntable system, using tools like an RCM that cost more than I would have dreamed of spending back then, and "overkill" methods like laser levels and a surveyor's level, to ensure optimal set-up, as far as I can achieve it. Once I think I have it right, I'll spend more time using test records to do final "dialling in" so it sounds best. I pay attention to what is underneath the player, attempting to deal optimally with those nasty, even unheard (and sometimes heard through a stethoscope) vibrations. I wouldn't dream of playing anything on a turntable that wasn't "set up right", as far as my ability and my patience allow.
Nor would I ever play a record that wasn't thoroughly cleaned, usually involving at least two cleanings on the VPI RCM, and perhaps more (such as steaming). I wash and thoroughly dry my hands before any session where I'll be handling and playing any of my better LPs, lest I corrupt their carefully-cleaned surfaces with oils, or go clumsily pushing gunkinto a groove.
I respect my styli (don't seem to call them "needles" any more, even though that is also what they are!) and NEVER touch them with my finger. I study them under magnification, and ritually dip them on the Magic Eraser, and hope they and my records can last last as long as possible.
ALL my turntables have some kind of mechanical tone-arm lift, and I wouldn't dream of using my hand to set the stylus down on the vinyl these days, even though I believe I still could. I just don't want to risk accidentally putting excess stress on a stylus, cantilever or record surface, when the tonearm lifter can do it consistently well.
What I once viewed as "fanatical" is now "normal". The difference in sound that emerges from my turntables has been transformed, too. They are quiet, now, with only an occasional snap, crackle or pop. Often the whole side of the LP is just plain quiet. There is no doubt that the sound I hear today is much better, objectively speaking, than what we listened to back then, good as that was.
In a real sense, the nature and role of spinning vinyl, as a part of life, has changed. It used to be just the method by which we made music, to listen to or dance to. Like flicking a light switch to have light.
Today it still is about making music, but now there is more respect for the instruments used and the process involved. There is care and focus, ritual and precision. It feels different, somehow more significant.
I am still just as fascinated by watching (and hearing) that stylus in the groove, performing its magical transformation of mechanical squiggles into glorious sounds, as I was when a child.
But somehow today it is different. More hassle, yes, but that is the price of admission. It isn't just a thing that does what it does. I lovingly cleaned and polished, or even made (depending on the TT) the plinth. I spent some serious time adjusting and tweaking the thing. I took pains to clean the record well. I invested something of myself in the process, and found it relaxing to do so. There is a different kind of appreciation and quiet pride that wasn't there, years ago.
Now the records are always flat. No more does the arm bob up and down (I use a record weight/clamp and won't tolerate warped records), and turn smoothly and quietly, as if floating on liquid glass. No more watching the "rolller coaster ride" of warped disks.
The sound wells up from blackness, with only the occasional quiet whisper or --very rarely-- pop, instead of pushing its way out of a crackling, hissing background.
My records were always kept lined up on shelves or, at worst, in boxes (I was an organized kid), but now they are each housed in individual protective wrappers and returned immediately after playing to their proper place. Each one that is a 'keeper' gets housed in a clean Nagaoka anti-static sleeve, whether or not there is a paper sleeve inside the jacket.
Yes, "playing a record" is NOT the same in the 2000's that it was a few decades ago. Instead of just being just something one did when the mood struck, like riding a bike, eating, playing outside, reading a book or watching television, spinning vinyl today is almost a formal ritual. It is a process that is somehow a bit important in my life, almost a part of who and what I am. I've become, for lack of a better word (and not using it in the negative sense, but in the original, root sense) an "audiophile". And instead of seeing myself as a borderline nut case, I'm glad of it. I "get it" when I watch those guys from the Athens club. I feel they --like many AKers-- are "brothers in audio" who share an awareness of something special. No, playing records isn't just "playing records" any more. It has transformed into something just a bit more special than it was.
I wonder how many others here have similar stories. Today, it seems "normal" for most people getting into vinyl (whether returning to it after a lapse of years, or indulging in it for the first time) to get online or talk to an audio-minded friend or someone in the store and learn all about TT set-up, RCMs, etc... Years ago, while we might have heard about such antics, we didn't really know or understand them.
How about you? Have you always been an audiophile-type "fanatic" who expends serious effort getting everything 'right' and seeking to optimize your system, or were you a "just plug it in, drop the needle in the groove, and groove to the music" type, now reborn? How has playing records changed for you, over the years?
