TOM WILLS PRODUCTIONS: March 2014

This frame from a Peanuts comic strip really stuck a nerve with me, warmed my heart -- and got me to thinking.
Why have I been collecting records for half of a century?

Go hard, or don't go.

I'm thrilled that vinyl records are having a rather expensive resurgence. But for me, vinyl never stopped being popular.

Vault One

In the drawing below, from an old photo, I'm holding my very first vinyl (actually it's plastic as many 45 rpms are): Petula Clark's "Downtown." I still have the record, the album, her other singles and her other albums -- in both mono and stereo.

And so this is Christmas

Same with Paul Revere and the Raiders, The Beatles and others.
Yeah, it's like that. And, that's the problem with being a record collector. One leads to another, and another version, a different cover, another label.

Legacy

I decided to be a collector about 1982, in my 20s up at Kent State University. It was fun and cheap at the time. College towns are full of vinyl and youth desperate for cash.

Wall of voodoo

Vinyl records are both easy and difficult to store. They're narrow but wide, so they fit tightly together upright to prevent warping. They're more forgiving to temperature than magnetic tape but the sleeves will be ruined if they get damp. Two pumps and a dehumidifier keep vigils in my basement.

Big.

All of those little slabs, taken together, create tremendous weight. A couple of movers quit on me 12 years ago when I moved my collection into my current house. Stored in packing crates, the weight of all 10,000+ has cracked the concrete basement floor.

Everywhere.

I have ventured far and near to buy records. I've brought them home from trips to Los Angeles, St. Louis and even a high school trip to Germany (Pink Floyd's "Animals" on the Harvest/EMI label, not Columbia).

Like a library.

My vinyl came from stores when I was younger: Murphy Mart, Turney's, Woolworths, Sears, Strouss, Musicland, National Record Mart, Olsen's. I'd haul them home in a parent's car or between the handlebars of a bicycle. (My mother bought me "Let It Be" on a rainy night at Woolworth's in the Austin Village Plaza in Warren, Ohio. It had a booklet of pictures and a red Apple label.)

Vintage volume.

Now the records come from garage sales, flea markets, trades, eBay, Amazon and from my friends.
I once found a cache of sought-after Hank Williams Sr. records inside a closet in a basement filled with dog shit.

Most vinyl records really do sound better. There is far greater definition and a heavier bottom end. The treble is smooth and nuanced, rather than tinny.
It's even better in mono. Those great jazz, blues and classical records come to life, fill the room and illuminate my soul.
They were made with such care.

Miles, Duke and Bird

There is a skill to record playing and keeping. It's a manual experience involving touch and sight. Put the needle between the groove, not in it. Keep the record clean. Don't scratch it! Dust is the enemy.
Records are not for dummies.

Magna-Sonic

There are rainbows in my record room. All of those colored jackets, so bright! They are from the days when the album art was as important to the total package as the music. Fold-outs, cut-outs, triple jackets, inner sleeves, custom labels: there's a whole lot of color holding in that black circle.

All that jazz.

Everything that comes here gets played at least once, all of the way through -- even if it's unbearable.
I have cut back, sold some, and tossed a few that were not playable. Now I hunt and keep only those records that I will actually return to and play.

Those are General Motors parts crates.

I don't really play favorites because I like them all. But those being played most have always been Miles Davis, The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, The Who and Frank Sinatra. I'm sure I could list dozens more.

Acoustic Research mono turntable

Being a drummer, I will always love loud rock and soul. But in later years I have come to appreciate country, classical and most especially jazz. My jazz binge is in a serious phase these days, especially as I lurk for some obscure items by Duke Ellington and Charlie Parker.

Classical boxed sets

It is sad to me that the most thrown away music is classical. It's also the music in the most mint condition. People die and no one is left to appreciate the great care and respect that someone had put into keeping these records pristine. I will admit that this has worked to my greedy advantage: My classical music collection is deep and immaculate.
(There is more to Stravinsky's "Firebird Suite" than the snippet heard on the live "Yessongs" album.)

The library spinner

The 'why' of my record collecting, then, is because my records make me feel good.
They hold entertainment and reflect accomplishment, organization and perseverance.
They display the spoils of the hunt.
They unlock memories of milestones in lives.

Milestones in lives. Really.

I have a friend, from whom I have acquired hundreds of records, who simply got tired of them and sent his houseful of vinyl -- in his words -- "to record heaven."
I gasped when he told me. But he moved on to other things and didn't want to move them.

That will never happen here.
A song is always in my head as I maintain a constant inner rhythm, a groove.
I still turn it up, but not as often and not as loud as I used to. My love has taken her toll on my hearing.
But still she gives me wings and allows me to soar.

He shall soar, too.

Music was my first love and will be my last.
When I go out, I want a black circle to be spinning.

I have ensured that my library will be preserved, first by my daughters and my grandson, and then by the Kent State University School of Music.
This is history, it's important, and I have held and admired every piece.

Never say die.

I get a good feeling when I see my art hanging in people's homes. Most times they are more friends than customers. Leaving behind a drawing or two is a nice calling card -- and a great way to make sure I don't outstay my welcome. Part of me remains, after I've gone.

These four pieces were done between January and March of 2014. They were commissioned by two Cleveland-area television personalities. You may even recognize them (I hope). In a network merger of sorts, they've set up business in a house with walls that needed some character. Or, in their case, characters.

In the latest four, we have the couple, her mother, his parents, and his daughter. These will join other portraits in their household of her dad, dogs and somewhere in the family is a cat drawing.