Vinyl, Beginner’s Mind, and the Albums That Slow the Room Down

Vinyl collecting doesn’t have to be expensive or performative. I buy records that slow the room down and invite full, front-to-back listening.

Lou LaMedica

Jan 14, 2026

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Vinyl, Beginner’s Mind, and the Albums That Slow the Room Down

I didn’t get into vinyl to collect things.

I got into vinyl to slow down.

When I first started buying records, it wasn’t about pressings, rarity, or value. It was about sitting still. Letting an album play all the way through. Reclaiming the feeling that music used to ask something of you. I wrote about that early on, when I was building my listening den and trying to create a sanctuary at home—a space designed for presence, not distraction.

The mission was simple: albums that made me slow down and listen front to back. That was it.

Then the noise crept in.

Spend enough time on Reddit or forums and it’s easy to feel like you’re doing it wrong. You need this pressing. That reissue. This cartridge. That grail. Absurd prices start to feel normal, and a hobby built on listening quietly becomes a performance.

I’ve seen this pattern before. Card collecting works the same way. The newest product. The hyped player. The urgency to buy now. It never lasts. The hype moves on, prices correct, and you’re left holding something that mattered more to the market than it ever did to you.

Vinyl collecting can be expensive. What stopped me recently was realizing that the records giving me the most joy—the ones I actually play—have almost all cost less than $20. Many were under $10.

That wasn’t philosophical. It was obvious when I looked at the shelf.

I had a day recently where everything clicked. I passed on albums that were “good” but didn’t slow the room down. I streamed records I love deeply and felt no guilt about not owning them. And I bought a small run of vinyl—Phoebe Snow, Joan Armatrading, early Dan Fogelberg, James Taylor’s Walking Man—records that feel human, intentional, and complete.

None were rare. None were impressive. All of them earned their place.

That’s when beginner’s mind came back to me.

Beginner’s mind isn’t about ignorance. It’s about remembering why you started before the rules hardened. Before expertise became a performance. When curiosity mattered more than credentials.

It reminded me that I don’t need every great album on vinyl.

I love Bryter Layter. But it won’t give me $200 worth of peace. I can stream it, return to it often, and enjoy it fully. Ownership wouldn’t deepen the experience enough to justify the cost. Admitting that felt freeing.

Streaming isn’t the enemy. Streaming is permission.

Vinyl, for me, has a narrower role now—and a more meaningful one. Vinyl is the ritual. Pulling a record from the shelf. Lowering the needle. Committing to a side. Letting silence exist between songs.

Vinyl reminds me of a time when music was important. When an album was important. In my listening den, it’s still the 1970s—not because I’m chasing nostalgia, but because that’s where music still asks for your full attention.

💡

So I have a rule now, and it’s simple:

Vinyl is for the albums that slow the room down.
Everything else can stream.

That rule keeps the hobby from becoming another arena for comparison. It protects the sanctuary I set out to build in the first place.

I don’t collect records to be a collector.

I collect them to be present.

And lately, that feels like enough.

“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”

Sweet and Herby Grilled Pork Loin Chops with Fresh Orange Finish Poached Cod with King City Pink Beans, Bacon & Greens

Lou LaMedica