the weighted substance of an LP in your hand, presence and promise

promise and ritual sliding softly from the sleeve

weighted yet delicate, you handle with gentle care

your fingertip touch transfers vinyl from sleeve to deck

slotting central circle over central spike

lid lowered, set mechanism into motion

steady rotation as the needle hisses along the groove in anticipation

I have just bought my first vinyl album in many years, I had forgotten what a ceremony it could be to listen to music. I have spent hours upon hours with music. It runs through my life constantly. I am lost without it. Yet I had forgotten the tactile pleasure of playing vinyl. The slowing down of consumption, the deliberate delight of choosing what to play, the loss of choice as to order of playing.

It reminded my of another ritual I enjoy daily, making (and drinking) my morning coffee, Grinding of beans, the steady drip through the filter, that first inhale of aroma, that first delicious sip.

Music has become instant, like so many other things in our rushed lives. We demand devices to play music, random or curated. Flick from one track to another. It’s quick, it suffices – like instant coffee. Yet it doesn’t feed my soul in the same way as the ritual of placing vinyl on a deck and a needle in the groove.