Convinced myself, I seek not to convince. But … a lone voice hesitated, yawned and, resonating a bit like Johnny Cash’s sonorous tone, drew closer to my ear. It geared down again to yet a lower, darker pitch, whispering something vague and unclear, a perfect combination of ambiguity and prophecy. The words eased the whiskey, my drunkenness. Entranced, my brain re-gathered just enough focus. Then, like a balmy zephyr blowing from a high desert squall, the voice crawled across my face, into my ear, into my head, breathing heat and sighing, little by little reminding me of the brutal splendor there is in … 7 inch 45’s. “You listen to a record for just a couple of minutes” the voice murmured, “and then you have to get back up, flip the son of a bitch over. Two and a half, three minutes vanish so quickly these days … It’s just wicked and brutal, don’t you think, don’t you know?” And then the voice added, wistfully, one more thing, almost as an afterthought, “Nevermore.”
That’s all. The voice also said something about pandemics, government corruption and fear, but I pretty much ignored the serious stuff. Since it’s been a while, I think it’s time to write about the little record with the big hole! So let’s start with some record company sleeves from around the world.
Relevant Tags
Ephemera, Space Age Pop, Blather, Record Geeks, 45'sComments
Did you mean "to write about the little record with the big whole!" or "to write about the little record with the big hole!" It really is a personal matter, but it changes the meaning of the sentence utterly and I would like to know where you're really coming from.
OH KNOW!! I mean, OH NO!! I'll fix that. Thanks! Though I do kind of like "whole" in it's own anticipations of the question of existentialism, though here the roots of the problem of existence lies not in its contemporary significance, (in contemporary I actually mean 1955), but in my inability to spell ... or something like that. Thanks, my third grade teacher, Sister Vincenta, would be very disappointed in me!
I always figured loving small things was tied into that feeling of finding spaces and objects just the right size when I was a kid. But I'm too lazy to suffer for my art, now -- a cd is around the same size as a single and it holds a lot more songs. Poor vinyl fetishists.