There’s something about vinyl that is intoxicating. Maybe it’s the sleeve art, big and beautiful. Or, it could be the warm sound from the speakers, or perchance it’s the physicality of the thing, where there are literal grooves that contain the sound, not just bits and bytes.
For me, it’s also the memories. We had one of those large console cabinets where you opened the top and there was the record player, as well as storage for the records, and the big speakers were built in. Dad would rifle through his collection that ranged from Hendrix to Haydn, and you’d hear the “Aha!” when he found what he was looking for.