My Parents' Record Collection

My parents had this trunk in their living room, made of wood and stamped tin. It was huge -- big enough that my sister and I could both hide in it easily, if it was empty, but it never was. It was filled with records. You know, LPs.

Oh, how I used to love to flip through those records and look at the covers. They were in no particular order (except when I was older and alphabetized them for fun), and there were so many that there always seemed to be a surprise to be found. In the early days, the most outrageous album covers caught my eye – the octagonal Through The Past Darkly, the fake Kodachrome of Richard Harris’s Slides, the woman on the Herb Alpert record wearing nothing but whipped cream . . .

As I grew older, I began to appreciate my parents’ collection. They had most of the Beatles catalog (but strangely, no Revolver). The Doors, Simon & Garfunkel, Bob Dylan. The Mamas and the Papas, James Taylor, Sinatra. Easy Rider, The Beach Boys, Hair. (My dad and I do a mean rendition of “Frank Mills.”

They had lots of popular stuff, of course. But their collection also included more eclectic things like whale songs, sound effects, random soundtracks like “Grand Prix,” reggae, The Tubes. I had some fun reminding them of some of their more faddish choices. Who needs three albums by the Fifth Dimension? (Hey, the covers were really cool.) Remember that track by 10cc about “I’m at the bottom of the pool?” Or Pablo Cruise’s “I Go To Rio?”

My folks put records on every single day. Arlo Guthrie was a favorite for a while, and later Carly Simon. Paul Simon’s “50 Ways To Leave Your Lover” used to crack me up, as did Wings’ “Let ‘Em In.” Every so often I come across a song that is maddeningly familiar, but at the same time haunting because I have no specific recollection of it. Pretty much always, it turns out to be something my parents played incessantly when I was two, or three, or four. Isaac Hayes’ “Chocolate Chip” album always reminds me of the dark green linoleum of my parents’ kitchen floor. With Guthrie’s “Deportees,” it’s the living room carpet. These, most likely, are the places I used to play in the months while those LPs were in steady rotation.

As I got older, I was permitted the occasional record purchase of my own. Michael Jackson’s “Off The Wall.” “Beauty and the Beat” by the GoGos. REO Speedwagon’s “High Fidelity.” My folks and I even had some overlap – we could all get excited about a Billy Joel record, or Hall & Oates, or the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever.

And they indulged us too. Marnie got the Annie soundtrack, even though it made my parents cringe. They were very kind to buy me things like K-Tel’s Night Flight (featuring Air Supply, Juice Newton, and my favorite, Joey Scarbury’s “Theme From the Greatest American Hero.”) They let us pick out 45s too – Pac Man Fever, You Light Up My Life, Axel F.

It comes as no surprise that pretty much all of the albums mentioned above have made it into my own collection. When a song plays at least a small role in your childhood, you may need to hear it every so often, just to take you back to that place and time. I’m grateful that my folks turned me on to so many great records.

Over the years, I’ve been able to return the favor. They missed Leonard Cohen the first time around, but I shared “I’m Your Man” with them, and now they’re rabid fans (we got to see him together at Berklee in the 90s). My interest in Mary-Chapin Carpenter opened a door to Cajun and Zydeco for them, when Beausoleil backed her up at a show. But they have yet to appreciate the finer points of the Violent Femmes.