‘Soundtrack of my life’: Why vinyl record collectors do what they do

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Don D’Ercole understands his collection of vinyl records by length, not quantity. If he were to place each record on top of one another and pull out a tape measure, the pile would stack up to about 35 feet, which he estimates is roughly 1,500 copies.

D’Ercole, 60, a mostly “rock-and-roll kid,” started buying vinyl records in the mid 1970s. The bulk of his collection contains classic, pop, and hard rock from the 1960s onwards, but he also has records of bluegrass, jazz, country, and classical music. His music ranges from American bandleader Dizzy Gillespie to singer Elvis Presley.

“Everything is wonderful and beautiful to listen to, and it can teach you something, give you another vocabulary,” D’Ercole says. “I just don’t speak English. In music, I speak multiple languages because I listen to multiple [kinds of] music.”

In the United States, one-in-three adults said they collect some kind of physical item as a hobby or investment in a 2021 Morning Consult survey, with 10 per cent of respondents considering themselves avid collectors.

When expanding the idea of collections to things like photos and music on smartphones, that number would be an underestimate, says Russell Belk, a marketing professor at York University who studies the meaning of possessions and collecting.

There are multiple reasons why people collect objects like vinyl records, such as it happening by chance, being encouraged by adults during their childhood, or for recreating a feeling they had at a younger age, says Belk, who is also Kraft Foods Canada’s marketing chair.

“I think in many cases, especially younger vinyl record collectors, who weren’t there when vinyl records were popular, are doing it as a hobby, as something that’s challenging and are getting some pleasure out of it and perhaps playing those records as a part of their enjoyment,” Belk says.

“For others who were around when vinyl records were popular, it may be a little bit different in that they’re bringing back the nostalgic memory of [that] time.”

At about age 5, D’Ercole watched his parents spin records from The Beatles to the top-40 hits off AM radio all day long.

Discovering vinyl records as a child was a “touchy feely thing,” when considering the 12-by-12-inch record with pictures on the album cover and liner notes with information about the artist, their songs, and lyrics. That kind of interaction sparked the marriage between him and records, he says.

By randomly pulling out any album from his collection and reading its information, D’Ercole would be able to determine details like where he was living, whether he was working or in school, and if he had a girlfriend at the time.

“I go alphabetically A to Z, that’s how we set up our vinyl, but if you did it chronologically, it really paints a picture of where my life was,” D’Ercole says. “And so, [it’s] the soundtrack of my life and it tells my story, and I think that’s what we are put on this planet for, is to tell our story. We’re storytellers.”

Andrew Beason, who owns about 500 records with music from rock bands like The Cure and Pixies, started his collection at 15. His parents had a record player, so he would buy old and cheap copies at thrift stores.

He continues building his collection as an adult and shops at places like Neptoon Records on Vancouver’s Main Street and Hooked on Phono in Burnaby, which is one of his go-tos as the owner shares his taste in music. This experience becomes more than just shopping for records — it is about being a part of a community.

“We always talk. I can go in there … and talk about new releases or stuff that he’s found online and then ordered in — special editions, signed copies,” Beason says. “That’s a great thing, too, I can go in there and spend easily half an hour [or] an hour just talking to these guys, and everyone’s really supportive and friendly.”

When it comes to listening to music, Beason says one of his favourite things to do on a weekend morning when making a big breakfast is listen to a whole album record while enjoying the little things like the sun coming through his living room window.

Although Beason could listen to music online with services like Spotify, which he does use, the experience is not the same because listening to a vinyl record requires more engagement. You have to flip a record over to listen to the remainder of its songs or be met with dead silence, he says.

Playing a vinyl record also prevents him from skipping songs or falling down a rabbit hole of listening to similar artists or any other suggestion that pops up on Spotify.

“You just really enjoy the album as a piece,” Beason says. “It takes active listening.”

D’Ercole’s record collection also includes tunes from Vancouver’s music scene during the 1980s. As an independent guitar player himself, he likes to support the “little guy.” But when a record company goes under or a band disappears, so does their production and the ease of finding their music.

“It’s like going into a cave and finding etchings on the wall from people 500 years ago, telling what was going on in the camp or in the village at the time,” D’Ercole says. “And so, it’s a snapshot of a certain era.”

If Beason sold his collection, he says he would likely get a decent amount of money, but he wants to hang onto it to share with others and listen to himself.

When D’Ercole’s father retired at 65, he passed down three quarters of his vinyl record collection to him, because he knew it was going to a good home and addressed his need to downsize. D’Ercole says he will give his collection to his two nephews, who are both in their late 20s and big vinyl record enthusiasts.

“[The] future of my collection is that it’s ever growing. It will always be a garden that I will constantly be tending to, but eventually, I’m going to have to depart with it.”