About 5 years ago I moved into my own apartment. It was a particular moment in time where having a little bit of space to myself contributed greatly to working a few things out.

A couple months into my solitary living, I went out and bought myself a record player – yep – this is where it all began. From my office in Yorkville, I would walk through the slush and straight to the front of Kops where I would flip through the dollar bins.

What am I? 70 years old? I swear this happened 5 years ago and that the current year is 2018.

Starting a new record collection is pretty exciting – especially if you are okay with digging through endless copies of Venus vs Mars by Wings. You have so much to buy and explore, and if you are okay with a few coffee stained covers and squatting like a back-catcher for hours on end (uff no euphemisms please) you start to build this incredible collection for almost nothing.

It’s pretty great.

But, back to that old place.

If there is anything that I miss about that solitary place (besides never having say you are sorry and never having to close the washroom door- except maybe reverse those two) – it was my big sun-filled kitchen. It had wainscotting that I painted a perfect cream and above that an icy barely-there grey. I replaced the hardware on the cabinets and made a bench for my kitchen table- cushion and all. The main fixture- HOWEVER – was my record player, and my slowly growing collection of records.

On Sunday mornings I would put on a record, make myself breakfast, drink some coffee, wash the dishes and experience resplendent perfection. I would listen to Johnny Cash, Dusty Springfield and Aretha Franklin. It was my church. Cash would sing about war, and being a sinner and touch my goddamn soul every time. Dusty crushed me with her heartbreak and voice that sounds like melting butter. Aretha – holy fuck – Aretha. She would take me through the range of it ALL and then some.

And if one more person tries to convince me that Ed Sheeran is sooooo talented.

Exhale

I instantly relax a little thinking about that kitchen and my records and the simplicity of washing a coffee cup and listening to ‘I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You’.

That song, that album, that talent – they don’t make ’em like they used to.

To the very best – this one is for Aretha Franklin.

30 Minute Playlist –  Love in a void / Spirit in the dark