When I was a little boy my parents bought a turntable that only played 45s. (You youngsters may have to get an old person to translate that sentence for you.) It plugged into the back of our TV and played through the TV speaker much like the component systems that came along a decade or two later. So my parents could finally play the few records they had stashed in a kitchen cupboard. They were the popular songs of post war America. My parents showed me how to use the turntable and began storing the records with it in the cabinet beneath the TV.
I had a favorite song, of course. It was a song by country music stars Homer and Jethro called "The Nutty Lady of Shady Lane". Homer and Jethro were famous for doing parodies of popular songs (think of "Weird" Al Yankovic). For some reason this song made me laugh and/or giggle. And I listened to it over and over again every day for months.
My poor parents would have to endure this endless repetition and, according to my mother, some times were much more difficult than others. Like early Sunday mornings after my twenty-something parents had been out partying all night on Saturday. With little sleep and bodies racked with remembrance and regret ("I am NEVER going to do that again!), the house would suddenly fill with this song. It was a small house, probably less than a thousand square feet and my parents bedroom was just off of the living room. Their bed was probably 10-12 feet from the music source with only a wooden door in between.
But it wasn't just the song that added to the ambience. The weight of the tone arm was insufficient to properly play the record so we had a nickel taped to it to help out. That seemed to work pretty good. The record itself was soon worn to a frazzle, but that didn't stop this little boy. I just kept on playing it and listening through all of the scratches and skips. I may have even sung along occasionally just to add to the beauty of the moment.
My father passed away over a dozen years ago and my mother had preceded him seven years earlier. When we went through their things we found this record it a box of other souvenirs my mother had kept. I am, once again the proud owner of this masterpiece. However I no longer own a record player, nor do I wish too. When I hear talk of how much better vinyl sounds versus digital my first thought is of this record.
Perhaps in the hands of a well meaning owner/curator vinyl is king, but when I look upon this abused 45 and remember enduring the scratches and skips I am very grateful for todays technology that allows me to listen to a clean version of the songs I love. And the ability to stream them for free without owning them. Late last night I went to YouTube and listened to "The Nutty Lady of Shady Lane" for the first time in years. At one point I remember thinking, "Oh boy! Here comes the funny part." and then giggling.