Record collecting …. No.

Music collecting.

To be specific, post 40’s popular music, usually genre’d with the word ‘Rock’ …

…these days is not as it was. Most types of beauty gain value as time passes, becoming collectible. These are objects de art, tangible things you still can not touch, due to glass or red velvet ropes or dudes. They put them in collections in huge well appointed palace-y looking places that name has escaped me.

Music is shareable, wholesale. To hear it is to have the experience, whether at a show or in your headphones. There’s no more to be gained besides aurally. Though physical too as the bass comes through. Sensory. You need not visit a foreign city to visit say … ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’. I have never owned a copy of it, I know every word, it’s a pretty grand installation in the pop mart. It’s art.

And I could buy it for $1.29. And I own art. I have a museum in my download file.

Museum. That’s the name.

Record collecting was sifting for gold through dusty crates at record stores, record shows, flea markets, consignment shops, pawns and tag sales etc. Finding albums by bands you liked or read about, scooping them up like a man with a secret, where only he knew the value of what he found….to him solely, of course…. as everyone has a list in their head of what they’re looking for.

By simple math, it doesn’t jake that everyone around you has your list in their head.

But…what…if.

It’s a delicious near erotic feeling tween a man and a record jacket.

It is a cheap thrill, but a damned fine one, thinking you got one over on the known universe by finding the music you need by digging for it. Primal.

Now i can have a demo piano or proven cover, proven cover acoustic, remastered or premastered, mono or stereo version at a digital inch.

Connnnnnn-flicted.

Epilogue: I bought Neil Young acoustic solo ‘Live At Massey Hall’ for $5.99 and called a a night.