Why I Began Collecting Vinyl

I met a gentleman at a party recently, and we got to talking about one of my favorite things—music. Turns out he was a fellow drummer and entrepreneur, so we had plenty in common to keep the conversation flowing. At some point he mentioned his record collection and his high-end stereo system, and how much joy he received from listening to music on it every day.

That conversation stuck with me. It reminded me how much better and calmer I’ve always felt when music is woven into my day—something I wrote about here.

Once I started thinking about vinyl, my mind went back to all the albums that meant something to me over the years.

There was my very first mix tape, which improbably featured both KISS and The Carpenters—an odd pairing I wrote about here. As a kid, I loved whole albums. My parents had a small record collection, and I can still remember the highlights. My dad leaned classical, introducing me to Sousa marches and the 1812 Overture, which we would go see performed at West Point—live cannon fire included. My mom’s side of the collection was pure rock: The Who Live at Leeds, The Beatles’ Revolver, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s first record. Those were albums you could drop the needle on and just let them play.

As I got older, different albums became companions to different seasons of life. On the bus ride to middle school, it was Blood Sugar Sex Magik by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Driving around the Hudson Valley in high school, it was Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. In a very dark time during my military years, Sly and the Family Stone’s There’s a Riot Goin’ On helped guide me through—something I reflected on here.

College has its own soundtrack too. For me, it was Under the Table and Dreaming by Dave Matthews Band—freshman year at the University at Buffalo, meeting new people, finding my scene, and gathering in the attic at 43 Northrop Place, where music was the backdrop to everything.

Later, as I started my own family, certain albums became part of our home rhythms. Neil Young’s Harvest is still a Sunday morning pancake-making staple, setting a warm tone for the day—something I wrote about here.

Back in high school, when I smoked weed and listened to music, it felt like my ears turned into three-dimensional receptors. I could hear every detail and nuance, like the songs opened up a hidden world.

After I started collecting vinyl recently, I had an experience that brought me right back to those “magic ears.” Listening to Supertramp’s Crime of the Century MoFi remaster, the separation and space in the music let me hear every instrument with stunning clarity. It felt like I was in the room where the recording was happening, only this time I was completely sober.

That moment completely sold me on vinyl. I finally understood why people chase certain pressings. It is not about collecting for the sake of having more stuff. It is about hearing the music in a way that feels more intimate, more alive. Vinyl invites you closer, and when you get the right record on the right system, it is like hearing your favorite songs for the first time again.

Vinyl is a return to slowing down. To playing an album from start to finish. To getting lost in the sound.

Now that my kids are older, I have turned our basement into a listening den, a sanctuary where I can retreat with music, a book, or just my thoughts. I love the ritual of it all: cleaning a record before each play, slipping on my white gloves to keep smudges off the grooves, setting the jacket in my “Now Playing” holder atop the Kallax shelves.

Another thing I love is the deadwax, the tiny etchings in the center of a record that tell its story. They might mark the pressing plant, the engineer’s initials, or a note that it is a remaster. To most people it looks like scratches, but to collectors it is a secret code. It is like a fingerprint that reveals where the record came from and when. That uniqueness is part of the ritual too.

Cataloging a new record in Discogs, slipping out the old paper sleeve and replacing it with a rice paper inner sleeve to cut down static, giving it a gentle cleaning, and then brushing it with a lint-free cloth before every play. It is more work than pressing play on a streaming app, but that is the point. Vinyl asks you to care for it, and it rewards you with the experience of hearing a favorite record up close and personal for the very first time all over again.

I also love the record store itself. The digging. The conversations with other collectors who are just as obsessed. Vinyl is not just about music. It is about community.

My goal is simple: build a collection of albums I love front to back, the kind I can drop the needle on and let play without skipping a track. Records that not only hold memories and set moods, but also sound amazing. Albums that will give me a lifetime of enjoyment.

Vinyl feels like coming home.