The legendary Damn The Torpedoes album.

There’s something about vinyl.
I was thinking that the other day when I passed by my unused but intact record collection buried safely in a closet.
I don’t play my albums, but I can’t part with them. Why?
Because each of them has meaning. There are stories attached to their purchase, memories attached to the songs and I admire the album cover art.
Remember album cover art?
It was a thing.

A few months back, my friend Randy created a piece of art using his favorite album covers. He involved a few of us in the selection process. We had a blast reminiscing.
Those were some days…

Last week, marked the 48th anniversary of Meatloaf’s “Bat out of Hell” (trivia fans should note that Delray’s Max Weinberg of E Street Band fame plays drums on the album) , the 46th anniversary of Tom Petty’s “Damn The Torpedoes “ and this year marks the 50th anniversary of Springsteen’s “Born to Run” Led Zeppelin’s “Physical Graffiti” and the ultimate break-up album “Blood on The Tracks” by Bob Dylan.
It’s also the 50th anniversary of “That’s the Way of the World” by Earth Wind and Fire, the Staple Singers classic “Let’s Do it Again “ and “Why Can’t We Be Friends” by War, a criminally underrated band.

Back in the 70s, albums cost about $4 to $5.

My friends and I would shop at Korvettes on Long Island or Sam Goody at the Smith Haven Mall. When we were feeling adventurous we’d take the Long Island Railroad to Penn Station to hunt for records at a place called Disc-o-Mat.
Later, we discovered foreign imports in small record shops in SoHo and Greenwich Village.

There was so much good music coming out, that we never had enough money to buy all the albums we wanted. So we developed a system, criteria for what would trigger a purchase.
For me, an album had to have 3-4 songs that I liked before I could justify pulling the trigger. It was a dilemma if the album had two great songs and a bunch of clunkers. In those instances, we’d wait with a tape player near the radio waiting for the song to be played and hoping the DJ didn’t talk over the ending.

Waiting; that’s a quaint notion in today’s world. My Spotify app contains just about every song I ever wanted to hear. I can hear anything on demand whenever I want, wherever I am. I have to admit I like that, but I miss the romance of having to wait and I miss the pleasure of owning something physical that you could take home and savor.
Not only did we enjoy the album cover art, but we read the liner notes and really liked it when the lyrics were included.
If they weren’t, it was pure guess work.

It wasn’t like you could Google lyrics like you can today.
This guess work led to some interesting interpretations.
“Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tangerine.”
It was years later when I finally discovered that ABBA was talking about the beat of the tambourine.
“I’ve got shoes they’re made of plywood” was actually “I’ve got chills they’re multiplying “ in that classic Olivia Newton John, John Travolta duet from Grease. That album played incessantly on my sister’s stereo.

And of course there’s the classic misunderstood lyric: “hold me closer, Tony Danza” from the song Tiny Dancer by Elton John.
It took me years to realize that Dylan didn’t sing “these ants are my friends they’re blowing’ in the wind.”  
Thank goodness for Google.

If it wasn’t for the internet I would still be singing “a year has passed since I broke my nose” whenever I heard “Message in a Bottle” by the Police. “Wrote a note” makes more sense since Sting is singing about a castaway.

All this is a long winded way of saying I’m holding on to my albums despite the myriad entreaties from my very smart and practical wife who has been after them for two decades now.
Intellectually I know she’s right. They take up space, nobody is going to want them, my friend Dave sold his collection and it’s time for me to part with my collection.
I know that…but emotionally I’m just not ready.

You see my late mom went to the mall and bought me “Damn the Torpedoes” when I was home from school sick with something. And it really made me feel good when she gave me the record and the latest Sports Illustrated magazine to aid in my recovery. I still have the magazines—I think they may be worth something.

And I remember listening to Phil Rizzuto’s narration in the song “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”  back when the Scooter was a regular part of my viewing pleasure on WPIX during Yankees games.  The dashboard light meant something to a 16 year old kid with a fresh driver’s license and a new girlfriend.
Memories.

Sentiments.

Nostalgia.

All priceless.

Those were the days…but I do like these days as well.
After all, now I know that when The Beach Boys sang “Help Me Rhonda” they were singing “Well, since she put me down I’ve been out doin’ in my head.”  Back then, I thought it was “well, since you put me down there’s been owls pukin’ in my bed.”

I should have known that Brian Wilson was better than that.