It's easy to think of music as ephemeral and essentially free, rather than something that can be lovingly chosen, purchased, and gifted to loved ones. Yet music is a bold and intimate gift. For decades potential lovers; topical—using carefully crafted mixtapes to convey emotions that were otherwise impossible to express. Music is a useful and even sacred way of communicating with another consciousness. In that spirit, I've intentionally failed to put together a list of studio-quality headphones or the best Bluetooth speakers. (Like people who instinctively cringe when someone says “AI,” I have an unfair aversion to any and all Bluetooth technologies.) Instead, here are some tactile, old-fashioned ways to honor sound and the people who make it.
Of course, the best gift is to manually thwart the dominance of streaming algorithms—while freeing your loved one from the corporate surveillance and echo chamber of his own liking—letting the employees at your local record store take the wheel. My two favorite ways to do this are: Audio subscription service Luna Musiccurated by the staff at this Indianapolis store ($333 for twelve months, including twelve specially selected albums, free shipping and a T-shirt), or Club record of the month “The End of All Music” ($325 per year plus shipping and bonuses every month). The End of All Music, located in Oxford, Mississippi and, in my opinion, one of the best music stores in America, also offers excellent…We choose them” if you want to send new tunes one-time. Venmo or PayPal some cash – anywhere from $50 and up, although the store recommends a budget of $150 to $200 to ensure a wide selection – tell the store a little about what you like and don't like, and have one of their staff curate a box of records for you. I'm a pretty obsessive fan of new music, with honed and uncompromising tastes, and whenever I feel burned out on my own inclinations, I call Oxford and demand that they save me from myself (By the way, a very good gift with any vinyl subscription would be the excellent Liz Pelly.Mood Machine: the rise of Spotify and the price of the perfect playlist“, a new book that explores the dismal consolidation of the music industry and the cascading consequences of unfettered streaming.)
Crosley Cruiser Plus Turntable
True audiophiles might scoff, but I love buying plug-and-play suitcase turntables for little kids—dropping the stylus is such a tactile pleasure, and what happens next can seem almost otherworldly, a kind of witchcraft. Second-hand stores are often filled with old children's records; keep an eye out for everything from Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, which released dozens of surprisingly challenging records for children in the fifties and sixties by artists such as Ella Jenkins, Pete Seeger, and Woody Guthrie. The player has a variety of brands to choose from; in my opinion, they all sound about the same (tough but triumphant). Crosley makes them in a variety of vibrant colors. Ideal for a chaotic child's room. (My four-year-old daughter has a Crosley Cruiser Plus in tie-dye; on weekend mornings she likes to play the Buck Owens song “I'm holding the tiger by the tailas many times as she can before I finally arrive, staggering.)
For the charming obscurantist in your life who's heard it all (and left a lengthy review of Rate Your Music), perhaps try this charming four-LP collection by previously unknown Rhodesian folk singer John Phillips, described as “the last great outsider folk discovery of the 20th century.” “Songs of tenderness 1969-1976.contains all known recordings of Phillips made in the seventies; there are echoes of the Incredible String Band, Linda PerhacsDonovan, Nick Drake and Canned Heat.
Who among us has not been paralyzed by our own fear and paranoia and unable to write? (Never me, of course.) Any aspiring artist, but especially any aspiring musician, will be grateful for these music-inspiring offerings and the care of legendary ambient producer and auteur Brian Eno. In 1975, Eno and artist Peter Schmidt designed a deck of one hundred cards, each printed with a poignant aphorism intended to reveal some creative mystery. The deck called Indirect Strategiesturned fifty this year, but her wisdom (“Don’t break the silence,” “Turn off the desire,” “Retrace your steps”) is timeless. In March of this year, Eno also co-authored a short book: “What does art do?“, with illustrator Bette Adrians. The goal is much the same: what if we stopped being afraid and let art be art? (Combine the two; expect genius.)
Record holder is billed as “the world's smallest record player,” which, frankly, buries the lede – it's also a tiny self-propelled Volkswagen bus with a protruding stylus underneath that rides along the grooves of the record. Would I let this thing replay an exceptionally rare or expensive album? This is not a chance. (“We advise you not to handle priceless recordings,” the company pleads.) But is it really fun to watch him navigate, say, an already tattered copy of Fleetwood Mac's “Rumours”? Yes. Sometimes we have to choose whims over perfection.
