The vinyl hour

What’s in an hour? What’s in a record? Sometimes it's all about letting the grooves of your soul be read.

I wake up an hour earlier than I would, in theory, need to. My job is as stressful and demanding as cross-border corporate law in the heart of London can get. Intense workouts most evenings and the occasional social event mean that, quite often, I wake up feeling exhausted. At least, until the magic of coffee kicks in. I take mine black: no sugar, no milk, no nothing.

I am lucky to live within central London, and my commute to work only takes 20 minutes on the underground (the “tube”, as famously known).

So why the extra hour? To listen to a record. On vinyl. Uninterrupted. With no distractions.

One of my favourite authors, Ian McEwan, once said — when asked about the discipline required to be a writer — that he turns up at his desk every day. He may be feeling tired or uninspired, but he makes a point of showing up. I guess you could say I feel compelled to do the same with my turntable.

The specific album I pick will depend on a number of factors. Sometimes I have a strong urge to play a certain record. Some days I just need to hold on to — or change — a certain feeling or mood. Other times the decision is made spontaneously as I let my fingers guide me.

During that hour, I do very little, or nothing else. Someone once told me “that’s a pure luxury”. I think it’s quite the opposite, in fact.

Growing up the way I did teaches you many lessons. Perhaps the most important one is humility. Scarce resources as a kid, coupled with the worst possible decade in vinyl history, meant I had (still have) a lot of catching up to do.

Vinyl is a craft and skill like many others, and as such, you need to be ready to put in the hours. That’s how you learn to clean records half-asleep. That’s how you begin to hear almost intuitively that your stylus needs replacement. That’s how you can confidently handle records with your eyes closed. That’s how you are able to tell, in a matter of seconds, an original from a reissue, the year of release, or whether the record was pressed from a digital master. That’s how you learn to hear dust. That’s how you can tell minor scuffs from serious scratches. That’s how you know when you need to recalibrate your turntable. None of this happens automatically.

The more time you devote to the act of listening — simply, actively, exclusively listening — the more details you will be able to hear. The more details you can hear, the wiser your decisions will be. And the wiser your decisions, the more enjoyable — and valuable — your collection becomes.

In order to fully understand and genuinely feel a record, you need to listen to it several times. With vinyl, there are way too many details in the music for you (or anyone) to be able to appreciate them all at once.

Vinyl allows you to discover and rediscover albums you thought you knew very well. There’s always something else to hear. Sometimes it’s subtle. But a record never sounds exactly the same.

After my vinyl hour, I feel grounded. Invigorated. Energised. Complete. A bit like sex or drugs or a full body massage. You know something has changed. You never end up exactly the same as you came in. There is a certain transformation involved.

I invite you to do the same. If you can’t do it every day, do it occasionally, or as often as your circumstances allow. You will discover a lot about your music. You will learn a great deal about yourself.

Imagine attending a private concert, with no crowds, from the comfort of your home. You will feel more connected to your music and with your memories. Your past, your present and your future may show up all at once. If they do, listen carefully. You will cry and laugh and reminisce and plan and dream. You will heal. You will know what to hold on to. What to let go. Decisions that seemed impossible to make will become crystal clear.

So yes, I guess I sleep one hour less than I could afford to. But what I live in that hour — trust me — is worth a thousand lifetimes.

Thank you for reading or listening. See you next time and, as always, happy spinning!