Ideal Album Lengths

We knew we were in trouble when Aerosmith started putting out 60-minute records.

I recently purchased two Van Halen albums on vinyl and noticed how quickly I had to flip the record. VH wasn’t prone to long-winded releases. Check out the times of their first several records:

Van Halen, 35:34
Van Halen II, 31:36
Women and Children First, 33:35
Fair Warning, 31:11
Diver Down, 31:04
1984, 33:22

Not until you get into the CD era do their albums go over 40 minutes.

It’s not as if the LP format was limited to 35 minutes’ worth of music. I remember back in the day dubbing LPs onto a side of a Maxwell 90-minute cassette tape and having to cut songs when copying Genesis records. My first two purchases from Genesis were …And Then There Were Three and Selling England by the Pound, which both came in at over 53 minutes, more than an entire album side of material than your typical Van Halen record. Talk about getting more bang for your buck.

You could argue that the fidelity of those old Genesis albums wasn’t very good due to the physical constraints of the LP format and the compromises that had to be made to pack in that much music, but there were very good-sounding records with more content than your standard hard rock album:

Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon: 42:50
Stevie Wonder, Innervisions: 43:52
Supertramp, Breakfast in America: 46:06
Toto IV: 42:17
Michael Jackson, Thriller: 42:16

Clearly, even during the vinyl era, bands could put out records that were over 40 minutes that still sounded amazing (which is why engineer Ken Caillat’s argument that the wonderful song ”Silver Springs” had to be dropped from the 38-minute Rumours doesn’t really hold water).

But then came the CD, and things started to get out of hand. Aerosmith’s 1993 release Get a Grip clocked in at a whopping 62 minutes! Who on Earth needed to hear over 60 minutes of Aerosmith in 1993? Van Halen’s 1998 release Van Halen III was 63 minutes. Rush got into the act too, with Vapor Trails and Snakes and Arrows both well over an hour long.

I’m a big Rush fan. But that’s too damn long.

Listening to records from the CD era, it’s hard not to conclude that if artists had had some self-discipline, they could have ended up with a perfect 40-minute record. I recently listened to the Genesis album We Can’t Dance from 1991, and it’s generally regarded as a subpar album, but it’s over 71 minutes! If you cut out five of the weakest tracks (and there are definitely five weak tracks), I think you’d end up with a very good 45-minute album.

For a more recent example, Peter Gabriel’s I/O from 2023 may contain some good songs, but once again, it runs at almost 70 minutes long. It’s just too much, with too many tracks that aren’t distinctive enough to hold a listener’s attention for over an hour.

One could rightly point out that some of the greatest records ever released have been double-LPs with a lot of material. Consider the following:

The Beatles, The Beatles (White Album): 93:33
The Rolling Stones, Exile on Main St.: 67:07
The Who, Quadrophenia: 81:42
Led Zeppelin, Physical Graffiti: 85:59
Fleetwood Mac, Tusk: 74:02
Stevie Wonder, Songs in the Key of Life: if you include the extra EP included with the double album, a whopping 104:29
The Clash, London Calling: 65:07
Pink Floyd, The Wall: 80:42
Prince, 1999: 70:29

That’s a pretty amazing list, so why was it okay for those bands to put out lengthy records but not Aerosmith, Van Halen and Rush?

Well, it would have been okay for those bands to put out a double album when they were at their creative peaks. You want to combine Toys in the Attic and Rocks into one double album? Sold! It would be among the all-time best. The same for Van Halen’s first two records or Rush’s Permanent Waves and Moving Pictures.

But by the 1990s, these bands were not producing their best stuff. Yes, some of it was good. Maybe a lot of it was good. But an awful lot was filler, fluff, overwrought, drawn out and tedious. Long albums should be reserved for artists at their peaks, creating so much material that they can hardly stop themselves from composing great track after great track, struggling to find a way to get it all out on record. That’s why in the CD era it made sense for artists like Smashing Pumpkins, 2Pac, Drive-By Truckers, Beyonce, Christina Aguilera and Arcade Fire to put out really long albums. It was their time.

In the 1990s, it was not Rush’s time, nor Genesis’s nor Van Halen’s.

And let’s face it: sometimes less is more. I’ll take a perfect half-an hour record by Van Halen any day over a bloated album that has me constantly reaching for the skip button.

After writing the above, I wondered if I’d ever committed the sin of producing an album that was way too long. I did a quick check, and the longest one I’ve ever completed was The Palisades from 2016, clocking in at 47:53. And you know what? It would probably have been better at 40 minutes.

So there you are.

Twelve Albums from the 50s through the 80s

Last week I highlighted eleven albums from the past thirty years that have grabbed my attention as of late. Below I’ve listed an additional twelve albums in reverse chronological order from the 50s through the 80s that have inspired me recently. Next week I’ll discuss new musical artists and their struggle to find an audience. Stay tuned.

Dire Straits – Love Over Gold (1982).  Rewinding almost a decade from last week’s blog, this release was a regretful omission from my original list a few years ago. One of my all-time favorites. I’ll never forget camping up in Shawano, Wisconsin and awaking to the live version of “Telegraph Road” from the live Alchemy album (that is sadly unavailable on Spotify). It’s such a moody and moving piece, rivaled perhaps by the title track and “Private Investigations.” Wonderful.

Missing Persons – Spring Sessions M (1982).  Back when I was a snotty little teenager, I played in a band called The Grab, and we did the song “Walking in LA” by Missing Persons. Something prompted me to listen to the whole album a few years ago, and my, oh my, what a powerhouse of a record, led by the then-husband/wife duo of Dale and drummer extraordinaire Terry Bozzio. The album still sounds fresh and present, not of its time despite the synths. This might have something to the superb drums – the work of Terry on “U.S. Drag” is ridiculous.  In addition to “Walking in LA,” you probably know “Words,” “Windows,” and “Destination Unknown.” Once of those bands that never again reached the heights of their debut LP.

Donald Fagen – The Nightfly (1982).  Make it a trifecta from 1982!  Another album I overlooked in my top albums blogs, this is such a fun, positive and sophisticated album, in contrast to the ofttimes cynical Steely Dan. Not a bad cut on it. I love the comedic elements of the title track and the tight harmonies of “Walk Between Raindrops” and “Ruby.”

Jackson Browne – Hold Out (1980).  I’ve already listed Browne’s 2014 masterpiece Standing in the Breach as one of my favorite albums, but this release from when I was 12 years old put him on the map for me, and it hangs together oh so well, with a great combination of rockers along with some heart-felt numbers. Friends of mine who are a bit older prefer Jackson’s earlier records, but for me those releases have amazing songs along with some real clunkers. Hold Out holds up! If you want an example of horrific rock journalism, read the original Rolling Stone review of this release. It’s a mess.

Cheap Trick – Dream Police (1979).  Another one of those gems from the greatest year in music, I eliminated this from my original list of desert albums because of one song, “I Know What I Want,” but that was silly. The album is amazing! For me it’s one of the two best power-pop albums ever released, along with Off Broadway’s On.  I have some friends for whom “Gonna Raise Hell” doesn’t work, but I could probably put that song on repeat for several hours before pressing pause. Marvelous.

Gerry Rafferty – City to City (1978).  My son became familiar with “Baker Street” through a movie or game or something, and he would quiz me on the singer’s name, because, well, my mind is sometimes a jumbled mess of pop culture references and I can’t always keep things straight. But since then I dived into Rafferty’s City to City and I no longer have that problem. My favorite track – one that I have a faint recollection hearing in my childhood – is “Home and Dry,” without a doubt among my top 100 songs of all-time, but the whole album is strong. Rafferty has one of those voices that is instantly recognizable, but after a few follow-up albums, he disappeared from the charts.

Procol Harum – Grand Hotel (1973).  I was told that their 1969 release, Salty Dog, was the bee’s knees, but this one wins the prize for me. Full of bombast that might turn some people off, I love the complex chord changes and soaring melodies of the title track, “TV Caesar,” and “A Rum Tale,” a lover’s lament if ever there was one. And there’s some humor here too with “A Souvenir of London,” which was banned from the radio at the time!

Stevie Wonder – Innervisions (1973).  Another release from ’73 (a darn-good year for music – Quadrophenia, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Selling England by the Pound, Dark Side of the Moon, Houses of the Holy, Tales from Topographic Oceans, Band on the Run, etc.), I listened to this album in the car a few months ago, and damn, it’s nearly perfect, with Wonder doing the “wonderful” and handling virtually every instrument and vocal on the album. The funky tunes are balanced out nicely with the beautiful “All In Love Is Fair,” and “Visions,” a heartbreaking wish for a better world that seems especially current. The opening of “Living for the City” gives me chills. Perfect.

Rod Stewart – Every Picture Tells a Story (1971).  I originally went back and forth on this one, but there’s simply no denying that this is a stupendous effort from Stewart. The music is rough and raw and sloppy, the downbeats often played by three instruments at three different times, but damn, the energy the band (basically The Faces) exudes is infectious. One of those country-tinged efforts that I often eschew, but this one hits the mark for me, with wisely-chosen covers balancing out the marvelous “Mandolin Rain,” Maggie May,” and – among my favorites ever – the inimitable title track.

Emitt Rhodes – Emitt Rhodes (1970).  Chalk another one up for Spotify. While listening to Utopia’s self-titled 1982 release (which has already made by best-of list), the streaming service’s algorithm played the song “Somebody Made For Me” and my ears pricked up. Rhodes is another one of those artists like Nick Drake and Rodriquez who didn’t make the splash he deserved and got royally screwed by the record company. This is a power-pop masterpiece, with every instrument and vocal performed by the man himself. There’s a nice 2009 documentary about Rhodes called The One Man Beatles, and after a 43 year hiatus he managed to put out an album in 2016 before dying in 2020.  Here’s a nice summary of another record collector’s discovery of this fantastic musician. Isn’t it cool that my knowledge of Utopia led to Emitt Rhodes who then led to The Red Button (mentioned in last week’s blog). The musical rabbit holes you can go down are endless, especially since the advent of streaming services.

The Zombies – Odessey & Oracle (1968).  Yeah, I apparently was the only person on the planet who had never heard of this album despite it being listed as one of the best on most rock album retrospectives.  I came upon the 2008 40th anniversary live concert of this album on Spotify and actually like it better than the original release. The transition from “Brief Candles” to “Hung up on a Dream” makes to cry every time. I don’t know why, but the crowd reaction helps, and the chord progression of the latter tune is perfect, surprising the listener with the six-major chord after what starts as a very basic sequence. I’ve since discovered that my daughter sometimes plays “This Will Be Our Year” for her psych patients as a music therapist. Nice! Odessey & Oracle is the first new-pressing album I purchased since 1986! I’ve purchased quite a few more since then.  Once you break the seal, you’re in trouble.

Wild Bill Davison – Pretty Wild (1956).  This one is courtesy of my dad, who cleared out a bunch of his vinyl a half a decade ago or so, and I inherited a couple of dozen jazz records, some of which I’d neglected to listen to until recently. This recording is one of those lilting listens that calms my nagging nerves, neither calling too much attention to itself nor putting me to sleep. I don’t know if this is considered great jazz, but the combo of strings and Davison’s pure tone hits the spot.

So there you are! Twenty-three albums (between last week and this week) that have caught my attention over the past three years. Some of it old and familiar, much of it old and oddly unfamiliar to me, and a couple of newer releases.

There are some people who argue that there isn’t any good music today, to which I cry, bullshit. It’s harder to find good music on the radio than ever before, but there is so much good music coming out today it’s overwhelming. I’ll write about new music and how it’s harder and harder for today’s artists to find an audience in next week’s blog.

Eleven Albums from the Past 30 Years

A little over three years ago I wrote a number of blogs about albums I can’t live without – my desert island picks, if you will – and I ended up with 58 albums. Since then I’ve listened to a whole lot of music, including new discoveries and some older releases that I’d overlooked the first go around, and I thought I’d summarize my favorites in my next few blogs.

Incidentally, while I’ve written several times about the merits of physical music mediums – most recently in January of this year – I haven’t captured the case quite as eloquently as David Holmes in this month’s issue of Esquire. Check it out.

So here goes – in reverse chronological order – a bunch of albums that I’ve listened to over the past three years. And to Holmes’s point, I actually remembered these albums rather than relying on Spotify to tell me my play history.

Sammy Rae – Let’s Throw a Party (2021).  This is only an EP, so if I’m allowed to bend the rules, I’d couple this release with 2018’s The Good Life – also an EP – for one full-length album. My wife and I got to see Sammy Rae in November (and all of my children are seeing her in their respective cities – she’s managed to attract the attention of my 19-year-old all the way up to my 53-year-old self) and she is easily among the top five performers I’ve ever seen. If you have a chance to see her, do it, even if you don’t think her albums are the bee’s knees, which they are. Ebullient, energetic, contagious, Rae is also a vocal gymnast with a kick-ass band. Thanks to my son for exposing me to this artist.

Black Pumas – Black Pumas (2018).  I also got to see this band in 2021 – my first show in 18 months due to the pandemic, and this is simply the best rock band to come out in recent history. Offering swampy, Austin soul, this duo churns out melodies over intoxicating grooves and doesn’t let up. And singer Eric Burton is…well…as amazing as the aforementioned Sammy Rae. A powerhouse. And a kick-ass logo and album cover to boot! Rae could learn a thing or two about their graphic design.

Flying Colors – Second Nature (2014).  Oh, the alluring bombast of prog rock! It’s a genre that these days often borders on metal, which isn’t in my wheelhouse, but wowie wow wow, this release by Flying Colors, a sort of super group with former members of Dixie Dregs, Deep Purple, Dream Theater and others, is the bomb, offering grandiose, anthemic rock that’s complicated and heavy without going over the edge. It’s also melodic as hell, which is what I always desire. This release – the band’s second – is the better of their three releases, and it accompanied me for many hours as I worked on my basement in 2020. I wish I could remember how I first heard of them; I think it may have been the podcast Political Beats. As with so many albums from the CD Age, it’s too damn long and the final two or three tracks should have been scratched, but those first six tracks would make a killer normal album-length venture.

Queens of the Stone Age – …Like Clockwork (2013).  This probably should have made my list from 2019. I first heard the song “I Sat by the Ocean” while driving home late at night and nearly pulled the car over. What the hell was this? A pulsating, edgy ditty with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind lyrics and a unique vocalist. Wonderful, as is the whole album, toes dipping in melancholy and angst that often hits the spot for me. Why it took my TWENTY YEARS to discover this band is mind-boggling, but as I’ve admitted before, I have my blind spots. Like, nearly my entire periphery.

Bright Eyes – The People’s Key (2011).  Kudos to WXRT for playing the song “Jejune Stars” one afternoon while I was driving (You see? It really does pay to drive sometimes and listen to whatever is out there) and thought, hot damn. I memorized just enough lyrics to do a Google search upon arriving home and discovered once again that I was listening to a band that was TWENTY YEARS OLD! I’m seeing this band this Saturday in Chicago and am really excited to see how this band plays live. (Update: they were excellent.)

The Red Button – As Far As Yesterday Goes (2011).  Damn, this is good. Once again Spotify gets credit for this one, as the title track of this band’s sophomore effort came up while listening to Emitt Rhodes’s radio (Rhodes will come up in my next blog). I actually thought the song was a Rhodes recording; it was such early-70s-powerpop-perfection, but this comes from a duo of veteran LA musicians, and they really hit the nail on the head after their 2007 debut. Once again, I learned about a band ten years AFTER the fact. Sensing a trend?

William Shatner – Has Been (2004).  I’ve written about this one before but failed to include it in my top albums back in 2018. With Ben Folds at the helm and with contributions by Joe Jackson, Aimee Mann, Henry Rollins and Brad Paisley, this is a terrific blend of comedy, insight, vulnerability, irony and sentiment. If you’re skeptical, I get it, but listen to the first three tracks on the album and then tell me Shatner doesn’t have something very real to offer.

U2 – How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb (2004).  I remember seeing the iPod commercial with the accompanying U2 song “Vertigo” during the summer Olympics and thinking, well hell, this is refreshing! I love the tune, and probably the first 7 or 8 of this release before it starts to wane a bit. But for me, this is superior to the critically praised All the things You Can’t Leave Behind, and it represents the last gasp of a band that has probably overstayed its welcome. I’m still pissed that I’ve never seen these guys live. Hell, one of my daughters has seen them twice!

Kate Schrock – Dames Rocket (2000).  I’d completely forgotten about this gem, but then last year when I was cataloging my CDs on Discogs I happened upon this album again, having to clear away the cobwebs before my memory started to come back. Of course! I love this album! And those horns were arranged by my old Berklee buddy Tom Snow! I was delighted to be reacquainted with this singer from Maine. The album gets better as it goes, with “River,” “The Wait” and “St. Jude” absolutely killer. Wonderful.

k.d. lang – Ingenue (1992).  Another one of those gems that I simply forget to listen to, but after revisiting it I recalled that this is the real deal. Lang’s voice is unrivaled, absolutely perfect, and the music on this LP offers complex textures: sensual, moody and passionate, desire oozing from the grooves. The album takes it’s time – perfect for sitting back in the recliner with a bourbon in hand on a cold, winter’s evening. The final track, “Constant Craving,” got some radio play back in the day, but the penultimate “Tears of Love’s Recall” is one that really grabs me. 

Psychodots – Psychodots (1991).  Digging into the band The Bears led me to this follow-up band – with the same members minus Adrian Belew – and I spent the next two months listening to this album. The song “Stella” is perfect; I once played it on repeat for an hour straight on my back patio. This band played its last show just a few months ago in their hometown Cincinnati, and I’m sorry I never saw them in any formation, including the original band, The Raisins, whose LP I’m still on the lookout for.

That takes me through the 90s! I’ll add twelve additional album next week as I cover the 80s through the 50s.

Is Collecting Vinyl Pretentious?

Last week Katie Edwards of the Independent had a little fun with a provocative essay on how pointless ownings records is. She writes from the viewpoint of a fed-up wife whose vinyl-collecting husband has taken over a third of her dining room. To which I say, “Hey, at least it’s not half.”

But seriously, I think Edwards was writing partly for the thrill of poking the bear, knowing that geeky audiophiles would blow a gasket, because midway through her essay she actually answers her own question of why people purchase vinyl. She writes, “Perhaps it’s the experience of vinyl that’s the clincher? The same way I like to hold a physical copy of a book and turn actual pages rather than read an electronic version.”

I can’t speak for all vinyl collectors, but for me, that’s it, exactly. I’ve never bought into the claim that vinyl sounds better than other formats. I’ve also never owned records that I’m reluctant to play – as Edwards’s husband apparently is – for fear that they’ll get damaged. And I don’t eschew streaming music; according to Spotify, I streamed over 139 hours of music in 2021, 55% more than the average Spotify listener.

But streaming doesn’t just make music portable, it also makes it disposable. I’ve invested nothing into downloading the latest Sammy Rae EP (but you should do so – she’s amazing!). Not money. Not time. Not changing the dial on the radio. Worse, I don’t know who plays on her album, who produced it, where it was recorded or who wrote the songs. Her songs exist in the ether, as if they just appeared one day through no effort of gifted musicians. Vinyl and other physical formats force the listener to reckon with the music, to establish a relationship with it, and to devote physical space to it.

Katie Edwards concedes all of this, but then wonders if the real reason people buy vinyl is to flaunt their tastes over those whose musical knowledge they consider pedestrian. Edwards writes, “Having a showy collection of vinyl – that owners have to pull out and parade in front of uninterested guests stifling yawns – is a display of pretentiousness that turns me right off.”  She also writes, “ I just can’t be bothered with the inevitable scoffing by self-described music buffs who consider themselves authorities on taste just because they’ve got a couple of obscure LPs.”

Okay, I cry bullshit here. If she actually has friends who’ve scoffed at her musical tastes, then she needs to find new friends. More likely, I think Edwards is writing to provocate (as she apparently did me!). Either that or she’s projecting her own insecurities on her music-loving friends, the same way any insecure person might do to describe any other human endeavor.

For example, I have a friend who has a very impressive wine cellar in his basement and likes to present good bottles of wine for gatherings. I don’t really know anything about wine except that I like to drink it. Now, I could be intimidated by this and accuse my friend of arrogance, but really – I just think it’s cool. He’s into something I’m not into. I have no aspirations of becoming a wine aficionado, but I’m glad he is, and I’m happy to ask a few questions so that he can share his enthusiasm with me. The next time he comes over to my house, I will have no problems opening up a $12 bottle of cabernet. I don’t think he’ll judge me for it. I think he’ll ask for a glass.

Similarly, Edwards should have no problem streaming the Heart song “Alone” for her friends, as she claims she’s reluctant to do. If they truly look down on her as a result, then shame on them.

But methinks she doth protest too much. She must know that “Alone” blows.

Ha, I actually like that song. Two can play this provocation game!

Organizing, Records and Discogs

When the pandemic started last March, much of the nation went into house-organizing mode, as people gathered never-worn clothes from bedroom closets and outgrown toys from playrooms, making room for other purchases that will one day need to be discarded.  The pandemic may have facilitated this organizing trend by forcing people to spend countless hours inside their homes, but I think a lot of it came down to control: giving us some semblance of power in a world that increasingly seemed to be careening towards a path of its own demise.  I think that’s what most organizing constitutes: a chance to regain control in an otherwise uncontrollable world.

While others were discarding, I was adding.  Just as the state of Illinois was shutting down last spring, I made regular trips to Home Depot to build three record racks for my growing collection of vinyl, and while the racks achieved their purpose of properly displaying my albums in all their glory, I soon wanted even more control.  I wanted them cataloged.

Enter Discogs.

Websites aimed to catalog aspects of our lives are nothing new.  Letterboxd tracks the movies we’ve seen (or haven’t seen yet), Goodreads does the same for books, Untappd for the beers you’ve sampled.  As someone who has made lists all his life, who when asked what my favorite movies are can immediately rattle off ten titles, I find these websites to be a Godsend, a way to transform scraps of paper or poorly organized spreadsheet files into fun, interactive activities that facilitate sharing content with others who relate to my obsessions.

There are plenty of options for music collector, but Discogs appears to be the site of choice for the folks I know.  It has its quirks and limitations, but after spending a week or so entering data, I’ve managed to inventory all of my records, CDs and concert DVDs nicely in the cloud and I’ve organized them even better on a spreadsheet that I can manipulate however I choose.

A few details.  If you’re a vinyl collector for whom its important to properly identify the specific pressing of each record you own – and there are reasons why this might be important – the endeavor of cataloging your collection is going to cost you loads of time.  For me, I was happy just to note that I owned a particular album and not that it was a particular reissue of a particular year.  This posed a problem, however, because Discogs attempts to estimate the monetary value of your collection – a nice feature – and to have this estimate somewhat accurate, it’s important for me to at least note that my 1974 Genesis release isn’t a first pressing, but a reissue.  And, truth be told, this is a pain to do on Discogs for several reasons:

1)     When searching for a basic record – say, Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours – 538 versions of the album pop up, and even after filtering for country (U.S.) and format (vinyl) you’re left with over 90 options to choose from.  Which one do you choose without wanting to spend a great deal of time?  If you’re like me, knowing that I didn’t have a highly-valued first pressing – I chose the first reissue I could find.  But this leads to another problem…

2)     I want to be able to track my records based on the year they were released.  My mental timeline is part of what helps me navigate my world, and knowing that The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway came out in 1974 is one of those facts that anchors my historical timeline.  Unfortunately, if I want to properly recognize that I don’t own a valuable first pressing but rather an inexpensive reissue, it’s the year of the pressing that pops up when I chronologically order my collection, NOT the year the album was released.  I hate this.  Others hate it too, as a quick Google search confirmed, but while there are many likeminded people out there, there’s apparently only one solution to the problem:  download your collection, load it onto a spreadsheet, and physically change the dates to their original year of release.  That’s what I did.  Not ideal.

3)     Unless I’m missing something, I can’t set filtering defaults like searching only for vinyl releases in the U.S.  I have to tell Discogs to search only for “vinyl” and for “U.S. releases” every time search for a new record.  EVERY fricking time!  If I’m missing something, shame on me.  But this made entering data much more laborious.  And using the website is no better than the android app, as it takes a long time to even load the filtering page.  To date, there isn’t a Discogs app for PCs.  You have to go to the website if you want to make changes via your computer.  (I tried using “Disko for Discogs” which is supposed to be a way to use Discogs via an app, but this failed to even link up to my account).

These issues aside, Discogs is still a useful way to inventory of your collection, and if you own more recent CDs and albums, it’s easier still, as you can simply scan the barcode rather than typing in information (I entered my entire CD collection in less than a day).  Now that I’ve got everything entered and up to date, going forward when I purchase a new record, I’ll enter it separately onto Discogs and then onto the spreadsheet I’ve made to my preferred specifications.  Luckily for me, I only purchase 30 or 40 records a year, so this isn’t such a big deal.  If you’re a big collector with a lot of changes in inventory, this could be a major headache.   In addition to editing “year released” on my spreadsheet, I also manually edited the format of my items into basic categories (LPs, CDs and DVDs) and added a genre column (rock/pop, jazz, classical, spoken, humor).  This way I can sort my collection in any way I choose. (A question might be raised as to why I would feel compelled to sort my collection in multiple ways.  Again, it’s all about the illusion of control.)  The spreadsheet also serves as a way to enter albums that Disccogs can’t find – limited releases or self-released CDs that friends of mine have given to me over the years, for example. 

With everything entered, I’ve got upwards of 900 vinyl records and 500 CDs.  That’s a lot for sure, but each item is neatly arranged in the racks I built last spring, and as a result my mild obsession doesn’t seem like such a crazy endeavor.  When my records were stacked in boxes sprawled out on the basement floor, then I wondered if my collecting was getting out of hand.  Now if I ever feel this way, I need only look to a collecting friend of mine who’s amassed more than 5000 records.  Compared to him, my hobby seems downright sane.