Flipping through old vinyl albums at a used-
record shop, I did what anyone does
when a fellow human bares his soul: I ignored
him. “They said CDs would sound better,”
he persisted. “They lied!” He rapped a vintage
Ramsey Lewis album on the edge of the bin,
How Records Got Theır Groove Back
like a gavel, releasing that distinct scent
of dust and decomposing cardboard.
“I got rid of my record player. I let my records go.
And they never even bothered to bring back half
of my old jazz albums. Not half. It was like they
hooked us, and then they gutted us.”
It was a spontaneous outburst, but the gist of