B side “Melbourne” 10 inch/78rpm
You place the needle carefully on your favorite album.
The dulcet waves ease past, you’re paying close attention. The beauty is in the collective. The last note hasn’t even rung out yet, but you cannot move the needle quickly enough to fill the air once more.
The shellac spins and you’re told your favorite story. It’s better now, you think. You know the warm words. The needle doesn’t grind this time, you can catch it before it does. The arm reaches back. Again, from the top.
Ridges across a matte black tundra howl their tune once more. The scratches give this song character now. There’s no other copy like yours. You pick out your favorite riff. You hone in on the drum fill. The beauty is in the details. The needle starts to catch on that last solo, though. Again, again.
Crackles perforate performance, as this disc goes round and round. The album is halfway through before you realise you missed the verse you like. It’s kind of hard to pick out now, too. Vivid sonic paintbrushes now only attempt browns and blacks. The needle rises from pockmarked valleys. Muscle memory at this stage.
Loose exhaust on asphalt. You swear you’ll get this restored. The lyrics cough forth occasionally, like an emphysema patient’s crossword. It loops at the bridge now. Convince yourself to like this change. It builds character. The needle drags past it’s ordeal again. You find yourself relishing in the silence between wreckage. The arm and its blade orbit slowly enough to savour it. You don’t have another record to play, anyway. Steel meets obsidian wasteland.
Thanks for a great read
Grandson’s work …