That only made the question of where I got it more curious, because most of my education in 60s-70s black radio staples have come from them. There was the roommate who gave me their copies of Let’s Stay Together and Purple Rain gifted to them by someone they dated and broke up with. As far as I can tell, if you have to buy someone Let’s Stay Together, it’s already over, and you’re just jingling the change in your pockets, asking to play.

There are albums in my life that act as a therapeutic friend who I only see a couple times a year, but is always there to pick up lost pieces of me. They don’t put me back together, they gingerly place the pieces in my hand and offer directions to a way back. One album in particular has grown with me over two decades and knows exactly when to play for me, usually at my loneliest.

The Police are a controversial band, artistically speaking. There are toes I’m treading on, among people whose opinions I value, by vouching for them. They’ve heard it all before on the brilliance of the band, and are unmoved. Same for another faction if I give them a roasting. They’ve heard it all before in that direction. I’m naturally writing for both parties here.

I headed west on 15th Street and got on the West Side Highway with the late afternoon winter sun creeping down towards the Palisades. Over a gust of humming white noise, the album’s opening track exploded into crashing guitars for a solid 45 seconds before parting for Ben Gibbard’s opening lament: “So this is the new year / and I don’t feel any different.”

My grandfather’s brother David was born, raised, and lived out his life in Buffalo, New York. A prizefighter in his younger days, a confirmed bachelor drifting through life, he enjoyed the nightlife and loved jazz. I never met him; he died young. Somehow, I ended up with his vinyl, or at least some of it: Duke Ellington, Coleman Hawkins, George Shearing, and others. One of my favorites is a rather obscure Dave Brubeck Quartet album, a recording of a concert performed in Copenhagen in the spring of 1958 released on Columbia as The Dave Brubeck Quartet in Europe.

In some ways, he won the ultimate prize, becoming friends with people he grew up listening to. Being famous among famous people. He got to visit, and live in places he grew up dreaming about like London, New York, and countless others. Today, his record collection is important to me and my mom, not because of a storied career, but because it really reminds us that despite achieving much of his impossible dream, nothing was more important to him than his family.

As I do when it snows this hard, I place Aztec Camera’s High Land, Hard Rain on the turntable and settle in. It’s my favorite album of all time, a title I gave it just a few weeks ago.

I can’t resist the Pogues’ “Fairytale of New York.” Now, that’s just tragedy song porn. From the opening piano chords, I can literally feel my chest sink. Then rise when it turns into an Irish jig and Kirsty MacColl jumps in to liven things up. When Shane MacGowan wistfully sings, “I could have been someone,” with MacColl replying, “Well, so could anyone,” I’m committed to at least five more consecutive listens.

But let’s face it, there’s a lot to be bummed about. There’s the rise of fascism, genocide, climate catastrophe, and you want me to get excited about a fresh pair of socks and some dry ass ham? I work midnights, so I don’t see the sun from mid October to April. There’s just nothing you can stuff in a stocking that’s gonna kill those blues. So here are some songs I instead choose to wallow in.

Two of my earliest memories of recorded music are: 1) hearing Bob Dylan’s voice; and 2) listening to Christmas records. It never occurred to me that these threads would intertwine but in 2009, they did, in the form of Dylan’s  Christmas in the Heart album. My December listening habits haven’t been the same since then.

What was my favorite Christmas album from my youth? I could act cool and claim a holiday song collection by Elvis, Dean Martin or even the Beach Boys. That would be a massive lie. My parents didn’t own any of those albums in the small record collection that we lugged across the Atlantic Ocean.

Part 3 of an extensive interview with Jay Darlington

In 2012 Lanegan self-released a tour-only Christmas EP under the moniker of “Dark Mark.” In 2020, it was expanded to a full album and reissued again independently.  The album Dark Mark Does Christmas is a journey through the spiritual and the bleak, very reminiscent of Scrooge standing in front of the headstone that bears his name.

Music is one of the ways we all connect to Christmas. No matter what religion we are or what we celebrate, we can’t escape knowing all the lyrics to “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town. The Christmas industrial complex has been diabolically brilliant about spreading Christmas music out of every speaker for a few weeks out of every year.

We were huge Beatlemaniacs and already owned their previous releases. I spent most of my allowance on vinyl. Marsha and I sometimes combined our money to shop for albums at Wallich’s Music City in the heart of Hollywood. Located on the corner of Sunset and Vine, Wallich’s was the place to go for concert tickets, sheet music, LPs, 45s, 8-track and cassette tapes, musical instruments, and even TVs.

I Have That on Vinyl is a website in the original sense of the word. It doesn’t have an algorithm, you don’t have to have an account, it’s not selling your data to Palantir or whatever, just records and stories about records. IHTOV is old school internet.

IHTOV correspondent Owen Brazas spoke at length with Jay Darlington of Kula Shaker. This is a part 2.

Vinyl records are like watches – there’s no real need for them anymore, but try telling that to a collector. Do and you’ll discover as many reasons to collect as there are collectors. As an elder millennial who grew up spinning records at home, literally wearing out tapes—first 8-track and then cassette—in the car, and witnessing the dawn of digital music, I take an only-the-sentimental-hits approach.

IHTOV correspondent Owen Brazas spoke at length with Jay Darlington of Kula Shaker. This is a three parter. Part 2 will be posted Thursday, Part 3 on Saturday.

On the first anniversary of IHTOV

In honor of IHTOV’s first anniversary on December 17th, we have made a zine commemorating ten pieces from over the course of that year, chosen by a small committee.

My girlfriend gifting me that album is what etched her into my childhood memories of What’s The 411?, of riding around in the car with my mom, in my eternal crush on Mary J. Blige, of youth, of how fleeting time is.

Q&A is an occasional column where people from all walks of life answer questioins about their record collection

My listening covers a wide expanse; I love the standards (the Drifter’s version of “White Christmas” tops my chart), but I also love a treasure trove of covers of those classics (Bright Eyes has an

A small history of important Beastie Boys events in my life