My Musical Journey
The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once said, "Without music, life would be a mistake." This quote resonates with me because of my deep love for music. I never take music for granted, as it has given me so much. It's an essential part of my life. It's no coincidence that music became my biggest passion. When I think about my journey into the world of music, certain moments stand out as crucial in shaping my love. Let me take you through some of my fondest memories that have been fundamental in my musical education.
The first memory takes me back to when I was eight years old. I was in the living room of my family home in Enfield, North London, with my parents and siblings, watching a TV show that didn't capture my interest. I wandered off to a cupboard at the back of the living room, which my father had built to store his vinyl collection from his youth. As a child, I was forbidden from going near it, but my curiosity got the best of me. When I finally had the chance, with my mum distracted by the TV show and my dad asleep on the couch, I opened the cupboard.
Excited and nervous, I turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The first thing that hit me was a unique smell that could only come from vinyl. Now, it is a familiar smell when I visit record shops. This scent has always triggered the memory of the first introduction to records. This is why whenever I enter a record store now, I feel like a kid in a candy store, in paradise and full of excitement at the endless amount of choices.
Finally, after years of wondering and pondering what lay behind the cupboard, I found out.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the closet, I saw hundreds of records organised alphabetically by artist and genre. It was a musical treasure trove containing blues, jazz, pop, rock, and classical music. These records became my musical education, introducing me to Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Black Sabbath, and Led Zeppelin. The hundreds of records utterly enchanted me. I was excited, but there was so much to take in. I needed to figure out where to start.
I started flipping through the records, pulling ones out at random to explore further. What caught my attention was the detail of the records: the artwork, the lettering, and the detailed information on the back. The thought and attention that went into the whole product gave me the sense of holding something so much more than a simple musical format; it was a piece of art. My exploration of the record collection was cut short by a tug on my shoulder.
As I turned, I was face to face with my dad—his face stern, clearly annoyed by my adventure into the record cupboard. ''Shut the door and go to your room,' those were the only words he spoke to me, and his tone assured me that it wasn't a request but a command. I didn't need to be asked twice. I leapt off the floor and ran to my room. But that wasn't the end of the journey. Unlike most things to come into my life, I couldn't stop thinking about the records. I pleaded with my dad to let me listen to the records. In my ignorance, I was convinced that his reluctance was because he didn't want to let me near his prized possessions. But the real reason was he didn't have a record player. My heart sank as the door to hearing these mystical records seemed shut.
