Lately, I’ve been getting back into vinyl — partly as some retro novelty (as a GenX-er), but also as a quiet rebellion against the algorithm, and constant hum of the digital world.
Digital playlists run constantly in the background, while working, walking or cooking, going for hours. Vinyl doesn’t allow that kind of distraction. When a side ends, silence takes over until I get up and turn it. That pause becomes part of the experience, a deliberate gap in the noise of the day. My Apple Watch no longer needs to remind me to stand up every 50 minutes.
There’s a ceremony to it — sliding the record from its sleeve, brushing off the dust, lowering the needle. It’s a ritual that slows you down and makes listening tactile again. The warmth, the crackle, even the imperfections — they make the experience “human”, deliberate. There’s no skip button, no shuffle. If I want to hear the next song, I wait.
In a world where everything feels fleeting and intangible, vinyl offers something solid, deliberate, and enduring. It’s not just about nostalgia; it’s about connection. Connection to the music and the artist, to the moment, and to the physical act of being still.
Owning records changes the relationship to music. Each one occupies space and requires care. The sleeves collect fingerprints and dust, the spines line up unevenly on the shelf. They remind me that listening used to mean physical presence — a record, a turntable, a needle tracing a groove, converting movement into sound. That small mechanical act feels like the antidote to a life mediated by screens.
Maybe that’s the real magic of vinyl: it gives you permission to stop scrolling, sit still, and simply listen.
It’s not vinyl vs digital. I love having access to a vast digital music library on subscription in my pocket. And I still buy individual tracks (on Apple iTunes Store or Beatport) — something which apparently now only accounts for 2% of (US) music revenue in 2024. Even though I am part of the Napster generation, and I remember Hometaping is killing music before that. I curate personal digital playlists for different moods and activities with these bought tracks. I love discovering new music, through streaming radio and even algorithmic recommendations, Shazam titles and then buy individual tracks. But it’s fleeting, they disappear into the endless list of tracks on my device.
Vinyl is different; it’s about the physical experience, the rituals, the connection.
(*) I bought a Pro-Ject T1 EVO Phono turntable, with an Ortofon OM 10 Cartridge. Made in the EU, no plastics, glass platter, and a great price point for a first turntable (actually, second turntable, as I first bought a discounted portable SoundBurger, which is not a great vinyl experience).
