Nostalgia not the only reason vinyl making a comeback

One of my most prized possessions is the long-playing vinyl record of Jethro Tull’s Thick as a Brick (1972). The album, according to me, is the best "concept" progressive album of all times on either side of the Suez. But it is equally remarkable for its packaging. The album is housed in a faux multi-paged folded newspaper titled The St. Cleve Chronicle & Linwell Advertiser.

The attention to detail in terms of stories, sections and structures is mind-blowing. The spoof lampoons the typical parochial journalism of local English newspapers. I have spent the most delightful time in reading the puns, discovering cleverly hidden jokes, playing the risqué connect-the-dots, reading an astonishingly frank review of the album written under a pseudonym by Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull personified), and other assorted interesting items.

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The satirical newspaper was heavily abridged when the CD was released. It is only the 40th anniversary boxed version which contains a nearly-complete replica of the original newspaper. But the sheer thrill of unfolding the real–sized newspaper, and turning the pages, is absent in the CD booklets.

Tull’s Stand Up gatefold album cover, in a woodcut style, opened up like a children’s pop-up book, so that a cut-out of the band’s personnel stood up, evoking the album’s title. The cover of the Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers came with an actual functioning zipper. Traffic’s Low Spark of the High–Heeled Boys had a die-cut cover. Grand Funk Railroad’s Shinin' On album cover was done in a bi-visual 3-D and included glasses to view it. And the examples can go on and on.

That’s why I don’t like CDs; and digital downloads are only used in the car.

Like everybody else, I also succumbed to the CD. The digital format was the way to go. In the recent past, I graduated to digital downloads (reluctantly) because there was a limit to the number of CDs I could buy and store. But all this while, I missed the intensely personal experience of listening to vinyl and the ritual around playing it.

There has never been a more romantic or thrilling medium for music than a vinyl disc. The personal involvement in the playing of the music is a very rewarding experience. The process of carefully slipping a record out of the sleeve, cleaning it, removing the static with the anti-static brush, placing it on a turntable, lowering the stylus on its outermost ring, awaiting that moment of infinite static signifying the end of a side, then flipping the record over, and sleeving it after use – these are the simple joys that I miss. There was a gratification in these simple obligatory tasks.

I enjoyed the tangible relationship with the music in the grooves of the record. There was an emotional connection to the artifact carrying the sound, and this bond was strengthened by the LP sleeve. Rather than a merely functional object to protect the disc, it was elevated to a stylish accessory. The album cover conveyed a message about the music it was wrapped around.

Vinyl ensured that nothing came between the music and the ears. One was invested in the song that was playing and, because of that, the song received proper attention. There was an obligation to listen, otherwise why play it at all? It committed one to a total listening experience; skipping was not convenient. One had to listen from start to finish; and by doing that, one was exposed to the musician's virtuosity. One could move away from "hits" into areas of substance.

Digital relegated music to a passive pursuit; vinyl made music an active pursuit. For 45 minutes at a time, vinyl required you to just sit, focus, and concentrate on the music. Nothing else. It was the most honest way to listen to music.

And the sound! Warm, soft, deep, mahogany-rich; the occasional chorus of "snap, crackle, and pop" imbuing the music with an immensely emotional, rustic warmth. It was better than digital; much, much better.

This is not just nostalgia talking. There is a good technical reason for it. When music is digitised, the audio is compressed with the result that details are lost and quality is reduced. One is not getting the full picture of that track.

Vinyl is a loss-less format. Nothing has been lost when pressing a record. It sounds as good as the band had intended. When one hears a bass-heavy album on vinyl, one finds that the bass and any discernible low-end note is completely absent in digital. Vinyl captures every slight nuance as it has the space to spare. Vinyl sounds real. No digital trickery and audio boosting nonsense. Paul McCartney’s bass sounds as it should on vinyl rather than on digital.

There’s another reason why vinyl is better than anything else.

With the advent of digital music (CDs included), it became possible to artificially engineer a track louder than it naturally should be, leading to a massively detrimental result on audio quality. Indeed, it causes songs to sound distorted and become unpleasant to listen to, and strips them of their depth and texture. Because vinyl is an analog format, it doesn’t suffer from the same problems.

There is one more reason why I prefer discs and have an emotional connect to them. My mother (then Usha Bhatia) was a well-known singer on All India Radio, Delhi in the 50s. She also sang five songs for the film Maldar in1951 ( music composed by her brother, late Satish Bhatia , who retired as chief producer, light music, AIR ). Sadly, she lost the 78 rpm discs. A search with HMV also yielded nothing. My mother reconciled to never listening to her songs again.

Until, one day, I saw a YouTube posting of her song. I immediately got in touch with the person who had uploaded it – a record collector based in Jodhpur. Lo and behold! He had all her songs on discs which he converted into mp3 and sent to me. You can imagine how ecstatic and moved my mother (and the family) became listening to her lost songs after more than 60 years.

Vinyl is making a comeback. In the US, the current surge in LP sales is partly being driven by younger consumers; half of vinyl record buyers are under 25. So it’s not only nostalgia that’s behind the upswing. Even youngsters have realised what they have been missing out on.

That’s the reason why I have recently purchased a turntable and resurrected my precious record collection – still in mint condition. The newspaper cover of Thick as a Brick is a little frayed and yellowed. But Gerald Bostock on the front page is scowling at me at his forced hibernation!