The Archive

My first post-high school job was in a record store. And I do mean a record store. Every Sunday I took inventory of our vinyl LPs so that Daryl, our manager, could send the weekly restock order in.

Though over my lifetime I have bought more CDs than albums (heresy!), I love records. I spent over a decade working in record stores, and if I ever win the lottery or strike it rich in this silly games business I will open my own record store and live out my days quite happily.

That’s why the story of Paul Mawhinney makes me sick and sad and wishing like hell I had $3 million and a place to store his incredible collection of vinyl. I mean, this is literally a historic treasure we’re talking about here. The thought that he can’t find a buyer for it stuns me beyond belief.

Mawhinney is absolutely right that there is something magical and inspiring about playing a record album. Besides the distinctive sound, it’s the extra care they require. You have to love an LP for it to survive the years. You have to be tender to it. You have to love it, and Paul has done that time and time again with his collection. You can see it in his face and hear it in his voice. Playing an album is a ritual, and we are a culture in desperate need of rituals.

Somebody somewhere has to step up and buy this collection. Give Paul Mawhinney the money he is due so he can live out his days happy and content, knowing that his life’s work will be enjoyed and appreciated for all time.

I’d do it in a heartbeat. Or thirty-three and a third of them.