I’ve been contracted to write a book on the Beatle White album, which I am greatly enjoying. I thought I’d share a little snippet:
The Beatles White Album
I’m holding my copy of the album in my hands. I bought it when it first came out in 1968 and it’s travelled with me through my old student days and numerous house moves. It’s been played on quite a few turntables, played for students when I ran music clubs, played in an assembly when Lennon was murdered and featured in the History of Rock Music courses I used to run in adult education. The album is showing its age. The whiteness has degraded to a creamy off-white and has a few burn marks where various joints had come to rest. The spine is splitting and ragged. There are various scuff marks. The embossed title The BEATLES still stands proud and the number No. 0336910 is clear. Opening it up the inside cover has fared a little better. The track listing in grey is sharp. The four Beatles peer out at me in black and white across fifty odd years. I am time travelling.
I withdraw the two albums out of the top of the sleeve. They are still in their black inner sleeves although one sleeve is torn and crumpled. The first album looks a bit dull with some surface marks. It could do with a good deep clean and some love. The second album is similar with a couple of superficial scratches. Not that I care about the odd minor clicks. For me they are part of the warmth of vinyl. The music shines through.
I’ve given the albums a clean, holding them by the rim and inspecting the surfaces. I raise the armature and I’m lowering album one on to the turntable, locating the hole, starting the drive, gently lowering the stylus, it clicks hisses and finds the groove. There is something reverential about the process. It’s a well-rehearsed routine.
The Beatles roar into the speakers, planes are taking off in full stereo, they’re back in the USSR and I’m transported back to 1968.