Vinyl

The Big Bad, by The Big Bad. 2016, age 44.

I grew up on vinyl. My brothers, 15 and 13 years older than me, were already avid rock and roll fans by the time I'd come along. The first album I remember hearing (and seeing) was The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.

Growing up I listened to every record they owned: The Beatles "Red," "Blue," and "White" albums; Abraxas; Electric Warrior; Band on the Run; Houses of the Holy; Never Mind the Bollocks; London Calling; 1999; Mott the Hoople Greatest Hits; The Name of This Band is Talking Heads; Bella Donna; A Night at the Opera; more Bowie, more T. Rex, more Zeppelin, more Beatles, some Stones . . . a bit of everything.

My parents were older and their tastes reflected it. They didn't have a lot of records, but the ones they had were important: Hank Williams 40 Greatest Hits, Nat "King" Cole's Unforgettable, some big band stuff.

The first record I bought (at 8-years-old) was The Beatles' Story, which is more of a sound documentary than a music record. (My twin sister bought The Muppet Movie Soundtrack, arguably a more important musical choice.) Something New was my second record. Later came LOTS of Prince records (usually bought the day of their release), The Time, Duran Duran, Heart, and all kinds of 80s goodies.

Then I got "serious" about music and bought hard-to-get jazz records. Blue Train was the first jazz album I bought on a reborn Blue Note label in the mid-eighties.

In college, we played "drop the needle" in saxophone masterclass and had listening parties with other music nerds. My roommate Eric, took me to the Princeton Record Exchange when I went home with him to New Jersey. We'd come back to school with armloads of experimental classical music, folk and world music on Nonesuch, and tons of jazz. I'd also grab a few rock-and-roll records.

After I got married (the first time), I'd make a point of visiting the used record stores in every town where we vacationed. I'd hit them up in Chicago, the Lower East Side, Memphis, and New Orleans. Lots in New Orleans.

Somehow, I ended up with a couple thousand records.

I mean, it didn't keep me from buying CDs. And cassette tapes -- though that format was more for making mixes for others. And then downloading digital music when all that happened.

When I got divorced, my wife let me keep all the vinyl. I had a turntable, but I didn't make it out with the stereo. I had all these treasures and no way to enjoy them.

I moved around with all of it. You wanna know how committed you are to vinyl, move a few times with a couple thousand LPs.

All of the sudden, I had a new family and all this stuff.

I had a small portable record player -- very retro, except that it is probably actually from about 1976 -- but what I didn't know what that turntables from that era won't play microgrooves on newer albums. I could play original Stevie Wonder through the tiny speakers, but not anything after about 1985.

And I kept buying new vinyl. Stuff by new favorite bands like The Cryptkeeper Five and Harley Poe. And some old vinyl. Which made no sense because I had no way to hear it. I just knew I eventually would.

A little over a month ago, I decide to organize my home studio. I also decided to find a way to listen to my turntable through the board and speakers I use for playing keyboards. I got everything hooked up just right and then went to put on my first record.

The stylus was broken. (For you youngsters, the stylus is the needle that transmits the vibration from the groove of the record to the amplification system.)

So I ordered one.

It came in today.

There is something so different about listening to an album on vinyl. Yeah, I think it probably sounds a little better, but that may be mostly imagination. I'm not sure.

But putting on a 12-inch platter, dropping the needle, sinking into a chair, looking at the jacket, reading the notes in a readable font size . . .

The first record I selected was The Big Bad. It happens to be a record by a band I play in.

The last time I could listen to vinyl on a stereo, I couldn't have had that experience. It makes me feel really good.

I think it's going to be a late night.

Mad Music

To say that I pay attention to television soundtracks is an understatement.  As far as I'm concerned, we are living in the Golden Age of Television (heralded by The Sopranos over a decade ago) and we've experienced some really fantastic musical accompaniment.  HBO has set the bar with thoughtful choices for themes to Boardwalk Empire ("Straight Up and Down," by The Brian Jonestown Massacre), True Blood ("Bad Things," by Jace Everett), and the aforementioned Sopranos ("Woke Up This Morning," by A3).  Hell, even The Beach Boy's "God Only Knows" was perfect for Big Love, even though I didn't like the show much.

And Treme?  Forget about it.  Appearances by New Orleans' greats, both established and up-and-coming, are practically the raison d'être for the show: John Boutte (featured on the opening theme), Irma Thomas, Big Sam, Lloyd Price, Dr. John, Coco Robicheaux, Galactic, Rebirth Brass Band - the list goes on. But I've already written about New Orleans' music.

Apart from HBO, I have to commend the all-too-brief Life on Mars for not only its titular Bowie tribute, but an entire catalog of glam faves; the CSI franchise, for discovering that there is a song by The Who for every metropolitan locale in the United States; and Scrubs' clever inclusion of performers, including The Polysyllabic Spree and Collin Hay's wistful solo version of "Overkill."  Yet there is one show (apart from Treme) that I think makes greater use of music than any other.

I'm talking about Mad Men, of course.  I'm sure you watch it.  You have taste.  You're here, after all.  The show just screams style.  I love everything about it: atomic age furniture, sharkskin suits, cocktails at noon.  The soundtrack is of a piece with the show.  The thing is, they actually use a lot less music than many others, but when they do, it serves a purpose.  That may be the thing that makes it so hip.  They even used "You Know I'm No Good," by Amy Winehouse to promote the pilot, so viewers would know just what they were in for.  Some of my favorite moments:

"Blue in Green," by Miles Davis.  No one defined the cool aesthetic more than Miles, so it is fitting that he is used multiple times in Season One to set the tone of the show.  This Kind of Blue track is heard on Episode 5.  "Concerto de Aranjuez," from Flamenco Sketches is used in Episode 8.

"Agua de Beber," by Astrud Gilberto.  Ok, you may have to see this one to appreciate it.  A super-hip tune from the catalog of Antonio Carlos Jobim.

"Babylon."  This one is a bit uncharacteristic for the show, because it's not a period song.  Don hears it when he visits the Gaslight in the Village with Midge. It's a hymn from the Colonial era based on Psalm 137, with a poignant lyric and an aching minor melody.  All about loss of identity and place - it's the perfect ending to the episode of the same name.

"Don't Think Twice, It's Alright," by Bob Dylan.  Heard over the final credits of Season One, the song helps highlight just how alone Don Draper really is.

"Sukiyaki," by Kyo Sakamoto.  I think this is a clever choice in Episode 2, Season 2.  Don sits alone in a booth in an Asian (Japanese?) restaurant, drinking his signature old-fashioned, while this song plays.  The refrain (in Japanese) is "tonight I'm all alone."  A beautiful Asian waitress stops to flirt and offers to stop back by later, but he answers, "Not tonight."

"What'll I Do?" by Johnny Mathis.  Another great closing credits choice, this one in Season 2.  Don has run away to California and the song accompanies his luggage as it is returned to his front door - without him.  This one is really heartbreaking.

"C'est Magnifique," by Joan Holloway (Christina Hendricks).  Ok, this one isn't going to set the world on fire in terms of performance, but there is something about a woman singing in French (hold on to that thought) and playing . . .  accordion!  (And yes - Christina Hendricks actually plays.)  Another revealing moment in the show, as Joan is goaded into playing a part she does not enjoy.

"(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones.  For a song that is grave danger of overuse, it fits perfectly in the episode "Summer Man" in Season 4.  Played as Don emerges from the New York Athletic club wearing a blazing white shirt, narrow black tie, and gray sharkskin trousers, the jacket folded over his arm as he dons his Foster Grants and lights a Lucky Strike in slow motion.  Quintessential cool.

"Zou Bisou Bisou," by Gillian Hills (as sung by Megan Draper).  From the Season 5 premiere, I can't help but think that this is a nod to Joan's performance in Season 3.  Megan sings this flirty French pop song at Don's surprise party, to the great enjoyment of the male guests.  Instead of being paraded by her spouse, it's clear that Mrs. Draper is the one in charge.

"Tomorrow Never Knows," by The Beatles.  Just perfect.  Megan, Don's younger wife, gives him a copy of Revolver so he will be in touch with contemporary music.  He listens to the proto-psychedlic sounds on the hi-fi for a few minutes, then impatiently pulls the needle off the record.  He clearly belongs to a different age.

"He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss)," by The Crystals.  Heard over the final credits of one of the most disturbingly violent episodes in the series, this is one of the creepiest songs of the girl group era.  It's suitable for an episode highlighting Vietnam, the Richard Speck murders, violence against African Americans during the Civil Rights struggle, and Don's fever-induced hallucination that he chokes a former lover to death.

I could go on about the music from Season 5, because it seems to use more music than any other, with snippets of Burt Bacharach, Billy Page, The Beach Boys, Dusty Springfield, and The Kinks.

The title music is also worth noting, an instrumental called "A Beautiful Mine," by RJD2, that gives the opening almost a neo-noir feel, especially coupled with the Hitchcock-esque imagery.

Matthew Weiner has indicated that the series will not extend beyond the 1960s, and fans of the show understand why.  It's hard to imagine Don wearing bell-bottoms and corduroy jackets.  Yet Season 5 left us teetering on the edge of the Summer of Love.  I expect the soundtrack is ready to erupt.