Why Collect Records? (A Self Examination)

Running out of shelf space and trying to validate a lifelong obsession

I’m running out of shelf space. Again.

It’s becoming apparent that this is a problem I’ll always have. Continually running out of shelving space might be a hint that I need to slow down on buying records. And yet…that’s not going to happen. I start to get creative. While I already have a section of one of my shelves dedicated to “new pick-ups/records to revisit,” the space directly next to the turntable has now become “even newer pick-ups and records I need to revisit even sooner.” I’m constantly rearranging between shelves and milk crates to squeeze in just enough room for another record or two. God forbid I ever buy a box set and the whole thing gets thrown out of whack.

The crux of Another Thought has always been about self-investigation – trying to not just appreciate music and art, but to try and understand what it is that really grabs me about certain albums, books, etc. Recently, I’ve been thinking about one of my obsessions: collecting records. Why do I do it?

There are some easy answers to this question. Supporting artists, physical media, “the warmth of vinyl,” the typical stock answers. Good answers, even. But those, I feel, are almost like the FAQ responses for any serious collector. I want to understand why it’s such an important thing for me personally. Why can’t I stop? When will it ever be enough? And why do I have such a hard time getting rid of anything?

Instead of just mindlessly going forward, I wanted to take a minute to try and assess why I do this. And maybe there’s some buried truths in here for others as well.

Because I Think It’s Cool.

Well, this could sum it all up. Whether it’s objectively cool or cool to others is certainly debatable but irrelevant. On a base level, I just enjoy it. Ever since I first started buying records secondhand, I loved the very act of it. I find the most peace browsing through aisles and racks at the record store for hours. Just the same, I can spend all day just looking through my records. I complain every time I need to reorganize my records, but secretly I love it. I love the tactile feel of going through albums, the grips of the cellophane on my fingers, the smell of musty old albums, looking through all the different ways artists interpret the space of a 12’’ by 12’’ square.

Before vinyl, I’d keep binders of CDs. I have a decent cassette collection, too. I hoard MP3s and still stream music regularly. And yet, vinyl records remain supreme. Maybe it’s some sort of physical media Stockholm syndrome, but holding these large and inconvenient squares just feels right.

Compulsion.

Pack-rat, hoarding – whatever you want to call it – is in my blood. I’ve started many collections throughout my life. Especially when I was a kid, I collected everything from marbles, key chains, trading cards (Pokémon, Dragon Ball, Digimon, all across the board), and even the boxes from my Star Wars figurines. Let alone anything actually sentimental like birthday cards and handwritten notes.

Years ago, when I married a minimalist, I had to accept that I needed to hone it in. Now that main things I collect are records and books. This gave me focus. It also gave me… a lot more records and books.

I am not anti-collecting. In fact, quite the opposite. I think having any sort of collection is inherently interesting. The world is full of many wondrous things, and so much can go by. A collector is able to sift through it all and hone in on one thing or idea, giving it the attention or life it deserves.

Records were a natural choice for me. I started my collection when I was about 15, meaning I’ve been at it for 20 years now (yikes). I bought my first turntable from an antique mall in my hometown alongside two LPs: INXS’ Shabooh Shoobah and a copy of U2’s War that is burned around the edges (which I felt gave it more mystique considering the title). From that moment on I knew I was hooked. This was just before the vinyl boom, and I could pick up so many records for cheap.

I wish records were as cheap as they were back then, but the magic of dropping the needle on these two records meant there was no turning back. The damage was already done.

Records Have Opened Up the World to Me.

Whenever I’m traveling, one of the first things I do is research the great record stores in the area. I’ve found that this hasn’t just helped me find cool records, but it’s taken me to places I might have never gone.

Our family travels to the Philippines every so often to visit my wife’s family there. Ahead of a trip a couple of years ago, I learned of a cafe in Manila called Treskul that doubled as a record shop. I ventured off by myself to Mandaluyong City one night and was amazed by what I found. Manila is a huge city and overwhelming to figure out where to explore. This area wasn’t on my radar, but when I entered the shop, it felt like some sort of wish fulfillment. A packed room, everyone eating food, drinking San Miguel beer, a local hip-hop legend doing an all vinyl DJ set, and a small but perfectly curated selection of records off in the corner. It was heaven.

On a cold winter night in Calgary, I walked to a record store that doubled as a pharmacy – meaning I could buy candy, toothpaste, and a Godspeed You! Black Emperor record in one single transaction. In Reykjavik, I chatted with a record shop owner who made every guest a complimentary espresso. In Mexico City, I found camaraderie with the shop owners as we talked through the local indie rock and cumbia records I piled up on the counter.

And in all these places, I found so much else surrounding the shops beyond music. Coffee shops, parks, boutiques, new people, new ideas. Records and music and local culture are often connected. Some of the best parts of the world I’ve discovered have come through tracking the scent of vinyl.

It Feels Good to Disconnect.

Talking about disconnecting from the Internet borders on cliché at this point, and yet it’s still underrated. There’s a lot to be said about the ethics of streaming music, a worthy topic for another time. The convenience of streaming is hard to let go of. But on a purely listening level, I find that streaming music makes me feel a little too “online.” Again, I stream music every day. But there are times when I just don’t want to feel connected to anything else but the music. Not worrying about a queue or who can see what I’m listening to or getting suggestions of what else I might like.

Listening to a record feels like removing myself from that whole ecosystem. No one can tap in or influence the music. Just the needle, the record, and my ears. It feels like getting sonically off the grid. Sometimes I’ll even throw my phone to the other end of the couch (or better yet, leave it in another room) and just take the music for what it is. It’s a funny thing too – I lived in a world without streaming for over half my life. Yet there’s something novel about this practice. It’s amazing how much we adapt to things like this.

Permanence and a Sense of Memory.

The tired but true fact that physical media means actually owning your music and not just “renting it” from streaming or the risk of the cloud breaking down is very real. Whenever there’s an Internet outage, it feels like validation knowing I can just fall back on my analog collection.

This idea of permanence with vinyl dominates my thoughts. Whenever I go out with loved ones and I have a drink, I do the mental math: “wow, this cocktail could’ve been a record.” (Or in today’s economy, maybe half a record. Both drinks and records are getting more expensive so I’m not sure about the conversion rates anymore)—same thing with going out to eat or paying for parking or any irregularly high expense. I measure things in records. A mid-tasting cocktail I don’t actually enjoy that’ll last 30 minutes? Or a record I can cherish for a lifetime? It seems like a no-brainer.

But the more powerful feeling of permanence and records to me is having this collection that allows me to cement a moment in time. Like I said, I have a hard time getting rid of records. Whenever I pull a random record from my shelf, it awakens some memory in me – even if it’s small. An Elliott Smith record I bough at the Queen Anne Easy Street in high school. A beat-up and taped up copy of Def Leppard’s Pyromania I got in a stack of records from my godfather. An odd NAPA Auto Parts country music compilation I found in my grandparents attic. Or various LPs from bands I was into for exactly one week in 2014 and then totally forgot about…until finding the records again in my collection.

I’m overly sentimental to begin with, but I cherish being able to do this. Even records I don’t necessarily care for or just happened to fall into my lap all feel like they tell part of a story of my life. Passing moments that might otherwise have slipped my mind. This feeling is usually only heightened by putting the music, slipping back into another time and giving myself the opportunity to make a new memory with the record too.

I don’t see myself stopping or slowing down my collecting. Even if it would be wise to do so for various reasons. I’m probably going to always need more shelves. But I guess that’s a symptom of new memories, new people, and new worlds I’ve invited into my life.

Stray Thoughts

LISTENING: Mondo Lava - Utero Dei

Sometimes I listen to something and I wonder what people would say if they snatched my headphones and heard it without context. I thought about that a lot listening to Mondo Lava’s Utero Dei. I felt this particularly strongly listening to the second track, “Chickens in the Barn,” a trippy, acid-washed, fuzzed-out track that riffs on The Champs iconic song “Tequila.”

This 16-track tape is a head trip from start to finish. Familiar classic melodies pop in and out of the nastiest distortions mixed with gorgeous synth wandering, erratic percussion, and lots and lots of noise. It plays like a lost mix tape ran over by a truck and pieced back together. I’m still trying to get my head around it, which validates it as a total head trip.

20th Century Ambient is Coming in November

My upcoming book, 20th Century Ambient, is now available for pre-order! If you’ve been enjoying the blend of music deep dives and comics in Another Thought, I think you’ll really love this.

“Through text and comics, 20th Century Ambient searches through ambient music's recent history to unearth how the genre has evolved and the role it plays in our daily lives.”

It’s out November 13, 2025 from Bloomsbury Books. Don’t miss your chance to reserve a copy now.

Bloomsbury | Amazon | Bookshop | Barnes & Noble

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