My record collection is my autobiography.
I sit on the ground, in the center of ten moving boxes full of vinyl. I’m surrounded by the story of a young man—idealistic, foolish, and sincere. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get rid of these records, because no one else would want them. Many covers have rips and smashed corners. Some discs are just in paper sleeves. Some spines are shredded, thanks to an old cat. Some have center labels marked in Sharpie: “No!” to remind me the intro skips; “115” to note the BPM; “Break 4” to tell me where to drop the needle. These records are veterans. They’re too battered to sell and useless to the next generation of DJs. I can’t just abandon them at a thrift store, like some pants that don’t fit anymore. Throwing them away would be a mortal sin.
I love records because they can keep secrets. I’ve found a love note written decades ago, a newspaper clipping from the sixties about a Grateful Dead concert, and extra, unrelated records all within the sleeves. The album cover can have price tags on top of price tags stratified from stores that may not exist anymore, documenting the journey from Sam Goody, to Amoeba, to the thrift bin. Records are snapshots in time.
I can’t get rid of Outkast’s Aquemini because it reminds me of the first time I heard “Rosa Parks” while sitting in the back of my friend’s Honda Accord, the old boxy type, stoned out of my mind and in awe. We listened to that album twice through.
I can’t get rid of my Kraftwerk records because “Tour de France” was my first “find.” I brought the track to my DJ friends and played it because I thought it sounded cool. No one had heard of the band, but they knew the track from Breakin’—the scene where Turbo is dancing with the broom. “Zach found the Breakin’ track!” That record legitimized me.
I can’t get rid of my Frank Sinatra, Merle Haggard, and Nina Simone records (not to mention Roberta Flack, Woody Guthrie, and Ray Charles) because those were what I played when I was going through it, DJing alone, one melancholy tune after another, letting the sleeves, covers, and discs pile up in chaotic stacks.
I can’t get rid of The Muppet Movie soundtrack because I played “Movin’ Right Along” at a house party after the Zozobra festival in Santa Fe. It almost caused a riot on the dance floor with a nostalgic, drunken singalong.
I can’t get rid of my 99-cent Goodwill records, because that was my myopic line in the sand. When DJs were going digital, I was obstinate and rocked parties with only thrift store finds to make a point. I play digital now, too.
The ironic thing is that both my needles are broken. I can’t use my record players. But yes, I can stream the music. It even says lossless on the digital album page. But is it?
My record collection is my memories, my friendships, my aspirations, my regrets, my philosophy, my pretension, my influences, and my attachments.
If all of that sounds a bit too esoteric, well, it might be. What else could explain why I lug around boxes that weigh 70 pounds, cursing my life choices every time I move. It’s why I make space for a twelve-inch square that doesn’t really fit in the world anymore, let alone most shelves. It’s why I let them take up a conspicuous amount of room, stacking up in any spare corner, doorway, or floorspace. It’s not just music; it’s a record of my life.
Zach Wiles is an itinerant wanderer who at different times has been a DJ, a radio producer, a cog at a major music label, a grant writer, a man in love, the oldest person in class (by far), an immigrant, a party animal, even a monk. Most recently, he sold everything and moved to Italy to pursue a master’s degree. He writes stories that look deeper into our shared experiences as humans. His writing focuses on music, travel, culture, and tripping upwards through life.
Object-ives features flash nonfiction essays of 500-999 words on the possessions we can’t stop thinking about.
Recommended reading on possessions:
“decluttering makes me emotional” by alexis eldredge, Uninterrupted
“The perils of decluttering your childhood bedroom” by Emily, vignettes
“The World of Missoni” by Kate's Archive
“Collector vs. Hobby Funder” by Mr. Collect, The Collectors Edge
“A God-Tier Americana Collector Shares His Trove of Vintage Field Watches” by Jeremy Freed, GQ
“A Con Artist, a Music-Industry Legend and the Feud Over a Masterpiece” by Jenny Strasburg and Kelly Crow, The Wall Street Journal
“How Gen Z Fell for Estate Sales” by Madeline Weinfield, Elle
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Wow - thank you so much for mentioning my essay in this piece and sharing it with others :) Can’t wait to read the article in full when I am home from work!