Pro audio and music are forever intertwined, and not just because audio gear helps spread music around the world. Talk to any sound pro, regardless of whether they’re behind the desk at Abbey Road or a beer-soaked 16-channel mixer at your local bar, and they always have a musical background that led them to the audio biz. They may have been a wailin’ guitarist in a revered metal band, like Disturbed’s FOH engineer Brad Divens, or the world’s worst high school trombonist (that would be me), but somewhere along the line, they connected with music and that bond was never broken, regardless of where life eventually took them.
Of course, that’s not unique to audio pros; everybody loves music. It’s just that some people love it a little bit more—and you know who you are. I’m definitely one of those folks, which is how I wound up with thousands of vinyl records. I like to joke that the “wall of sound” in my home office is an occupational hazard, but it might be better described as organized hoarding. On the shelves are albums I can listen to endlessly and still find something new every time, or that I picked up for research on a Mix story, or…well, there’s any of a million other reasons why I brought them into my home—to have and to hold, since they’re physical media.
However, there’s also records I heard in a record shop that didn’t have the same magic once I got them home. There are ones like “Hotel California” or “Take On Me” that have become so omnipresent, such a part of the firmament of existence, that you only go a few days before you hear them again in a supermarket or from a passing car, so there’s no need to own a copy. And there’s ones that I have no idea what the heck I was thinking when I bought them (that means you, Temple City Kazoo Orchestra). So recently, the unthinkable happened: I weeded out about a third of my albums and went to sell ’em at a local record fair.
If you’ve never been to one, picture a flea market for music nerds, held in a VFW hall. Rent a table, drop your stuff on it and see what happens. I brought 10 boxes divided into rock, pop, hip-hop, jazz and the self-explanatory “WTF” section (again, Temple City Kazoo Orchestra), so I had something for everyone. Still, I was nervous; would I be slammed with regret every time I sold an album?
As it turned out, I loved finding new homes for old vinyl. The best was the guy who bought a U.K. 12” single of The Waterboys’ “The Whole of the Moon”—a gorgeous, shambling, epic song that falls somewhere between vintage Springsteen and Van Morrison while still being its own thing. When the guy found it in my boxes, he audibly gasped; he’d been searching for it for 20 years and was on the verge of weeping with joy. That’s what music that moves us can do. Anyone who collects something knows the emotional adrenaline rush you get when you finally find a grail piece, and I was glad to see it go to someone who loved it so much.
The day was eye-opening. At Mix, we get to see the start of music’s journey, talking with recording engineers who capture moments of creative alchemy, or live sound pros who bring stellar performances to the assembled masses, but the record fair was a much later part of music’s voyage. The songs had been recorded, marketed, sold, played live and enjoyed long ago, and their relationship to the music business and what we cover in Mix was over. Now the albums were embarking on new journeys as physical objects; it wasn’t lost on me that the most discussed aspect of every record in the room was the condition of the cover and the vinyl itself.
Blog: It’s Raining Mics, Halleluiah!
In fact, the most unusual buyer of day was the young guy who bought a ton of Howard Jones records, but not to listen to—he worked in the graphics department of a company that handles the synth whiz’s merch. Apparently back in the day, Jones’ team didn’t archive the visual IP generated around him like tour books, album covers and so on, so the guy was at the show to buy clean covers to scan for future use. This required lots of photos texted to his boss, seeking permission to spend a whopping $19, but I look forward to seeing those records on a t-shirt someday.
Toward the end, my wife and daughter came to hold down the fort while I took 20 seconds to look around the other tables. Luckily, I didn’t find anything I wanted, but I did leave the show with a renewed appreciation for the sheer amount of great music that audio pros have recorded and perfected over the years. Mix readers are aware of it, and know who captured that music, too, but increasingly the public is learning to pay attention to that info as well—I wish I had a dollar for every vinyl hound who asked, “You got any Robert Ludwig-mastered Led Zeppelin IIs?”
The day ended with no regrets, other than that I didn’t sit down for eight hours and I kinda felt it the next day. Having more room in my home office has been nice, too. However, I will admit I’ve had “The Whole of the Moon” stuck in my head ever since I sold it. Maybe I should try to find it on vinyl….
—Clive Young, Co-Editor
