Never The Final Word (Vol. 1)

by horizon

RobCakeran53's "Saving the Records" (TheBandBrony's "Save The Records")

Author's Note:

[Nonfiction]

This chapter is written by RobCakeran53. This is a continuation of TheBandBrony's "Save The Records" (2771 words, [Slice of Life] [Alternate Universe]).

SAVE THE RECORDS SPOILERS: A gryphon in post-apocalyptic Equestria, who owns one of the last phonograph players, gives an improvisational speech about music history to a pony who stops to listen to him. Although this contribution is nonfiction, it is a marvelous and heartfelt piece of comment-section storytelling that directly reflects the core theme of the original work.

Once upon a time, when I was about eight years old, I was walking around my subdivision. I had no real destination, or even remember what I was doing. I was just walking, looking around at the houses, and staying off to the opposite side of the road to avoid the stench of the garbage cans. But then something caught my eye. A shiny black disk was sticking out of one of these trash cans. What it was that drew me towards it, I'll never know, but I did. I pulled it out of the can, trying to figure out just what in the world this thing was. It had words and names on it too, like a CD. And most of the surface was covered in small grooves that I'd run my fingernails in. It felt funny.

So, I carried it home with me. Occasionally tossing it like a Frisbee into random yards, then retrieving it, and continuing home. Once I'd gotten there, my grandmother whom was visiting us from South Carolina was first to see me down the driveway.

"What do you have there, Alex?" She asked me.

"I don't know, some sort of Frisbee disk." I had guessed.

"Oh no no no, young man. That there is a record album."

I had no idea what that meant, so she explained it to me.

"You see, that there disk plays music."

What? How could that be? Music came from the radio, or the CD disks, or those annoying cassette tapes. How could something this big fit into one of those? I told her as such, and she just laughed. Several minutes later, we were traveling in her van to some place called a "storage vault". I later learned that upon my grandfather's death when I was only two, she boxed everything up they owned, put it into a storage locker, and she moved to South Carolina. The exact reason why, well she never did tell me.

Anyway, we get there, to this storage locker, and she opens it. It was the first time in six years, since my grandfather whom I'd never known, that this locker had been opened. She searched for an hour in the mess of boxes and antique furniture, until finally she found what she was looking for. Too heavy for one of us, I helped her carry it into her van. She closed the vault, we got in the van, and went back home.

I helped her carry that box into my bedroom, stuffed to the brim of old, abused toys and whatever else I would find that I found curious. She opened it, and removed three things. The first two, matching brown boxes with a cloth front, she placed on the floor near a plug outlet. Then she pulled out a bigger contraption, which looking at the front of it was some sort of radio. But it was HUGE! Why would a radio be so big compared to mine or my sisters? She'd hooked it up, plugging the two boxes into it, and turned it on.

Sure enough, music came on the radio. Then she turned a knob on it, lifted off the dark plastic cover, and there sat something I'd never seen before. She called it a turntable, and this was how that disk I found was played. I handed it to her, she turned on the player; I watched as it began spinning around in circles, trying to read the words on the disk but failing. Then, she took a long arm and placed it on the disk.

It made all these awful cracking and popping noises, but then, I heard music playing. This was the first song I'd ever heard on a record before. At the time, I wasn't too sure what kind of music it even was. No one singing words, just instruments I had no idea the names of. We listened to the entire first side, and one song I asked to hear again. That would forever become my favorite song. Of course, at the time, I didn't realize that I would like all these kinds of songs from the era. Just that I liked this song.

So as the years rolled by, I would acquire more records at garage sales. Random ones usually, that I didn't know who they were but I figured I'd have nothing to lose regardless. I got some by Chicago, Jim Croce, Neil Diamond, etc. Mostly sixties and seventies stuff. Then came the tenth grade, and in our social studies class, we were tasked with taking a song and breaking down its lyrics, explaining what the meaning was behind the song.

Everyone in the class pretty much knew what they wanted to do. Whatever the craze was in the early 2000s. But I wanted to do something different, be different. I had acquired a portable record player in my travels, so naturally I knew I had to be the one oddball to bring it in. The only question was, just what song? I listened through my records like a madman, only having the weekend to complete the task. I had, oh, maybe sixty records by this time. About 80 percent of them I didn't much care for, but didn't have the will to actually get rid of them. But then, I found that old record again. My first record, and it hit me. I knew what song I was going to do.

I listened to it for hours. I was still young, new to the actual thought that songs had a meaning other than the words sung. Eventually, yes, I realized it, I did my report, even taking in the portable record player and playing it for the class, in all its scratched and popping glory. That was the moment when I knew, I finally knew, what genre of music I enjoyed. Or to be more accurate, era of music. I began doing my research. Jazz, Big Band, Swing. I had to know more. I had to know the names so that I could look for these specifics.

The next time I went to a thrift store, I was ready. Of the hundreds they had, I found a dozen or so that were, to my knowledge, what I was looking for. So I bought them, took them home, and began listening to them. I had some Patti Page. She was alright. I got a Julie London album (which I still listen to on those rough days). But then, I found it. The moment the needle started putting out those song notes I knew I'd found what I was looking for.

Hence came Benny Goodman, my favorite musician, and he gave me what I now call my undying love for Big Band and Swing. I would listen to that double album set for hours, every day. I didn't care if I heard those songs a hundred times, I could listen to them a hundred times more. I took what I knew of Benny, and found other artists and albums. Glenn Miller. Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey. The Andrew Sisters. The list kept on going, and I'd find more and more of these records. I was set, I knew what I wanted, what I enjoyed, and how I wanted to enjoy them. Although, an event a few years later would change that.

I would say I was still a novice when it came to the knowledge of the music world, and quite frankly I still am. It had never dawned on me that like the CDs and cassettes and eight-tracks, that something could have come before these vinyl albums. I would soon learn, when on a trip to the thrift store, I met this man. He was buying a ton of records, ones that looked like they only had one song on each side. It was odd to me, for they were larger than 45's. I asked him, and he enlightened me on them. How they were before vinyls, only playing a single song on each side. Some even had just one song, period!

And then I learned just when these records were popular.

In the era of music I listened to.

I was shocked. I was listening to music on records, sure, but not on their true, original records. I'd always wondered what the 78 speed dial was for, other than having fun with sped-up vinyls. It was meant for these. So then I asked the man if he liked the music too, hoping to keep our talk going.

He said no. No, he didn't. I didn't understand, why would you buy these if you didn't like them?

"Because," he said, "me and my buddies at the gun range use them for target practice. These ones actually shatter and break when you shoot them, which makes it fun."

I was horrified. I couldn't believe it. These people were shooting these records, some sixty, seventy, hell, eighty years old! I was conflicted, because I could not deny I enjoyed shooting as well. But records? I'd never even thought of it. Before I realized I'd been lost in thought, he was gone, up at the counter and making his purchase.

Frantically, I searched the record boxes, in hopes I'd find something. I looked for a half hour, my father growing very impatient with me, but I persisted anyway. Finally, I was forced to give up. Up at the counter, my father bought a couple things he wanted, but I just kept on looking at those records.

"Young man?" The register lady asked me. "Did you know that man who bought all those records? I saw you two talking."

It caught me off guard, but said no.

"Oh, well he left one of his records here."

That ... was fortunate?

I asked her if I could buy it. She said sure, and two quarters out of my pocket, I went home with my very first ceramic 78 RPM record. I got home, switched the speed to 78, and even flipped the needle over (I knew you had to use a different needle for 78's, just not why at the time) and I played the song. At the time, I had no idea the importance of this song. Its history, or who the voice was other than Vaughn Monroe. But the song was soothing, Big Band, and I loved it.

Since that day, I have made it a promise that I save all the 78 RPM records I can find. Thrift stores, garage sales. Wherever they come up, I grab them. I will admit, I hated the idea that I was hoarding them from others, but to this day I've never met anyone else even remotely interested in them unless they wanted to shoot them or generally destroy them, to which I've had some choice words with. Some respect it, and even handed me the records to buy and enjoy. Others ... not so nice, but I won't go there.

The point is, I've taken it as a personal goal in life to save these records. Even the classical ones. These records were phased out in the mid-50s by vinyl, so by this point, they are very scarce and hard to come by. Some days I hit gold, grabbing twenty or more. Most days, I walk out with maybe two, if not any at all. My record collection now is quite large, with roughly 1,200 vinyl albums, 500 45's, and well over 1,000 ceramic 78's. I'd like to catalog them one day. Better sort them (although I'm trying as I go). But for right now, and I'm sure for years to come, all I really want to do is just kick back, put my feet up, sip on a cold beer, and listen to these lost treasures of our past.

And one day, I hope that I'll be able to pass them down to someone else who would appreciate them for what they are. A son, daughter, grandchild, maybe a young lad I meet with no relation that has that same curiosity or gleam in his or her eyes like I did oh so many years ago. I can't know, and honestly I don't want to. I'm content with just listening to them, still on my grandmother's record player. Enjoying them.

I apologize for this huge amount of text. It's just ... this fic brought out emotions in me I thought I'd lost long ago. It's hard to find people who appreciate music for what it is, what it was. I'm all for the new digital media craze, it makes listening to these songs easier and more convenient for many. I even have several of my records on my MP3 player for in the car. But there is nothing that can replace the authenticity of watching that record spin, needle bounce with the record, and those ever-annoying (but not unwanted) crackles and pops.

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

Wow. Rob, thank you for sharing something this deeply personal. I'm frankly horrified by those people who use old 78s as clay pigeons. It's like blowing your nose into a painting. That's art. You don't do that to art.

[ROBCakeran53]

Psst, Horizon... you forgot the hyperlinks, man! The songs are what set the atmosphere!

[horizon]

5760088
Dammit, this freaking site. The font color it uses for hyperlinks makes it almost impossible to tell that they even exist. I missed them when I originally read your comment, too!

I'll get that fixed ASAP.

[horizon]

5760088
I found four (and expanded the link text, and added underlines to them, to make them actually obvious). Is that all of them?

[Skywriter]

This may be one of the most amazing things I've read on this site.

[horizon]

5768365
Agreed. I knew it was crying out to be added to the collection despite being nonfiction. All kudos to 5760088.

[ROBCakeran53]

5760622 Yeah, you got them! Thanks again for adding this. I'm touched it was moving enough to be included in this collection.

[PresentPerfect]

I'm so very glad you saved this. Which adds an interesting extra level to this whole thing...

[Illya Leonov]

Thank you RobCakeran53 for validating my existence. It is easy to forget that we are all just a step, a blink, a turn of the head from the past.

You lose things in life. Some things you walk away from, some things walk away from you. But one way or another you lose so many things which are important to you. Imparting that sense of loss to someone who never knew those things is difficult. You stop trying sometimes because you do not wish to seem irrelevant.

Every now and then someone will reach back, grasp and pull something from the past into their life. And then the present becomes just a touch sweeter.

[horizon]

6560237
(Pinging the author: 5781379)