Once upon a time (the 90s), I was a college radio DJ.
In high school, music was everything to me. I spent every waking hour finding it and listening to it. Because I could never do anything halfway, I ran down the rabbit hole of local indie record stores (not the local chain store-my tastes were too obscure for that) and went to record shows to hunt for the real rarities. I discovered new music through 120 Minutes, European penpals, and, yes, college radio.
My obsession extended to the (probably annoying) habit of sharing what (very little) I knew about music with anyone who would listen and many who wouldn’t. Starting around age 14, I constantly made unsolicited mixtapes for friends because “you need to hear this!” If someone didn’t listen to the same cool stuff I was, it was my duty to enlighten them. No fellow fans? Convert them. No scene? Build it.
Or as much as one can when one is in the exurbs with no car and a record collection never exceeding 150ish records, because I traded in as much as I bought. And my collection was primarily records, not the then-newer CD format. Proto-electronic dance music was my preference, and most remixes were (still are?) released in 12″ vinyl.
So my extracurricular trajectory once I hit campus was obvious.
By sophomore year, I played the dance show every other Tuesday in addition to my regular shift. Taking my own records meant dragging a heavy crate up four flights of stairs (the station had no elevator), but it was ok because I was sharing the Good Stuff. The occasional appreciative call assured me I was on the right track.
The next logical step was spinning at clubs and parties. I booked time in the station’s second studio to practice mixing, and when raving (finally!) hit Atlanta I grabbed it with both hands. But I never dragged my records into a club DJ booth.
Several things derailed me. I took a summer off and so lost seniority at the radio station, and with it, the dance show. I spent more time going out than working on my DJ skills. Worst, I dated a guy who discouraged my interest.
By the time I figured out this guy was a jerk, my collection had fallen out of date (then as now, new stuff comes out constantly) and it was too expensive and time-consuming to get back to where I’d left off.
Years passed. I pursued a variety of creative outlets. I broadened my musical horizons and learned just how narrow and shallow my musical “expertise” was. I’m hitting middle age as a reforming music snob who throttles down her recommendations in favor of just letting people enjoy things.
But I still have the records. And now I have a USB turntable.
I’m finally digitizing everything because much as I love vinyl, I still think digital music is one of the goddamn triumphs of modern media. Yeah, I lose a little sound quality but I’ll cheerfully take a flash drive over a heavy a milk crate of records! I doubt I’ll get back to teenage-level obsession but it’s been nice to revisit old favorites and discover the occasional new (or, at least, new to me) track.
