I can’t remember there ever being a time when music wasn’t a large part of my world. I can remember being 5 years old and loving the song “Ben,” which, of all things, was about a rat. It came from a movie of the same name, and while I liked the song (still do), I think my 5-year-old brain was wildly impressed by the idea it was sung by some with the name Michael.
The Michael had the last name of Jackson, and I guess I just couldn’t get past the idea that somebody with my name was singing a song. What were the odds? Pretty good, actually. Michael was the No. 1 boy’s name in America for an astounding number of years.
My taste in music moved from squeaky-voiced adolescent boys to grown men with attitudes pretty quickly. I remember raiding the album collection of my super cool teenage aunt and being both confused and impressed that she actually had albums by everybody ranging from Led Zeppelin to Paul McCartney to Simon and Garfunkel.
Those records now sit in my house next to a record player from 1988 that, last time I checked, still works. I don’t remember how I came to possess them, but my super cool teenage aunt is now a semi-cool 60-something-year-old whose taste in music is, well, we’ll just say it’s not what it used to be.
I owned several record players over the years. They started out as small turntables aimed at kids, progressed to ones with cassette players and played out the string with the one from 1988 which had dual cassette players AND a CD player. Oh, I was indeed living the high life.
Records began to not be a thing as the 1980s came to an end and like everybody else, I switched over to CDs, buying everything I already had on album on CD, plus lots and lots more. By the time CDs were declared not a thing anymore (some time last year, I think) I had well over a thousand of them. Probably not much…