A very good friend of mine gave me this book, I think because in recent years I've brought my middle-age collection of vinyl out of the mothballs, bought a new turntable and started to add some older jazz and blues classics to an assortment that may now number 500. Most of these get played while my wife and I are sipping martinis in a detached studio that we call The Toy Bar. (The Toy Bar also houses a modest number of toys and board games, many from the halcyon days of toy manufacture in the '50s and '60s.)
I never thought of myself as a record collector and I still don't; vinyl was how you listened to music during my adolescence and early adulthood, beginning in the late '60s. (Some would argue that the adolescence hasn't yet ended.) Yes, 8-tracks and cassettes were around and I had a few of the latter, but only to play in my car.
I could never live long enough to qualify as a vinyl junkie and, after reading the stories of several in this book, that's probably for the better.
Author Brett Milano is no tenderfoot himself, which was undoubtedly his impetus for literally driving around the country in search of his vinyl brethren and their stories. (Not only could he search for those rarities on his wish list, he could write the whole thing off.)
What becomes evident quickly is that there is no benchmark definition for "junkie." These are all just people who have a serious jones for vinyl; their various, strange and singular criteria for purchase are ultimately what makes this a fun read. One person has to have everything that esoteric band ever produced while another has to have every version of the same album ever produced while still another has to have everything on which the side musicians from a certain band played. It's just that individual.
Given that this was published in 2003, pretty much at the nascence of the current vinyl rebirth, it would be interesting to know what more drives today's zealots.
That virtually everyone featured has a personal collection of 78s, 45s and LPs that couldn't be played in its entirety in anyone's lifetime illustrates that it's clearly about more than the music. That many have paid more for a scratched up 78 than most of us have paid for a good used car demonstrates that it's also about something other than common sense.
This is a quick read about folks who share a passion and are willing to go to extremes 99.9 percent of us wouldn't even contemplate in order to breath, digest, live, sacrifice for and, occasionally, regret it. They could just as easily be license plate or shot glass junkies, but the fact that theirs is a habit in which we've all dabbled to some extent is, ultimately, what makes this a story worth sharing.
Pour yourself a drink, put on a record and enjoy.