“Without music, life would be a mistake” — Friedrich Nietzsche
“(Everybody) everybody cut footloose” — Kenny Loggins
You never know which days will linger. Yes, there are classics: marriage, births, first kisses… But some days sneak in when you’re not looking. Some days surprise you.
I’ve been a vinyl aficionado for decades. My parents owned a select library of important albums: Tea for the Tillerman, Some Girls, Revolver, Midnight at the Oasis. Before I could drive, my mom would occasionally take me to Tower, which was 20 minutes away. It was just like heaven, as The Cure says.
I remember the thrill of walking through the doors. All that music waiting.
When I was 14, my mom let me choose four albums. It wasn’t my birthday. She just said yes. I got Footloose, Jump, Love at First Sting, and Rocky Horror. You don’t get to predict which days will stay with you. This was one of those days. I had on ripped jeans, checkerboard Vans, a beloved concert tee and an oversized army-green shirt of my dad’s. (Basically, the same outfit you see me in around town.) My ponytail was bound with a rainbow ribbon. My eyes were circled with sparkly turquoise.
Back home, I played the music on my hand-me-down record player. I memorized the songs in order. Different from shuffling songs in the ether. There’s a crack and hiss between each cut. There is the silence, that moment of anticipation, as the needle works the groove.
Record stores are magic. You flip through the stacks, pull out LPs, read the liner notes, fall in love. I get that sensation when I walk into Loose Joints in Point Reyes Station: all that music waiting to be discovered. The bright-colored walls, the checkerboard floors (that match my Vans), resonate in me.
I’m slowly rebuilding the lost collection of my youth. Recently, I bought Footloose. And I was back. In the ’80s in a heartbeat. Hair in a ponytail. Music swirling around. Promise in the air.
Some days are better than others. But every day in a record store is a good day.