In 1979, Philips and Sony developed a 1.2 millimeter thick piece
of plastic that comprehensively altered the path of music-listening
history. The polycorbonate plastic compact disc, in its
five-inch-diameter-glory, staged a successful coup against the
rectangular army of the disposable, breakable and aesthetically
lackluster cassette tape.

But as we approach the middle of the tumultuous
“noughts,” the CD’s two-decade reign is weakening
in the face of pockets of resistance, one of which dwells here in
Ann Arbor. The culprits are round, black, and 12 inches –
across. The past few years have produced what Wazoo Record’s
owner Dave Kerr describes as a “rediscovery of
vinyl.”

The rediscoverers are not (just) strung-out iconclasts searching
for a Terrapin Station original press – in fact, the latest
demographic noticed by Kerr is young women, who have apparently
been buying LPs by the bunches. To gain some perspective on this
revival phenomena (Is it hipster hype? Do people just buy them to
impress their peers with framed 12 x 12 art? Do these buyers even
own turntables?), I scoured the streets and stores of Ann
Arbor for a few thoughts on vinyl.

Maybe 15 feet across and 45 feet long, Wazoo Records (336 S.
State St.) isn’t much larger than a dorm room. Its size,
though, does not match its selection. This independently owned
store, the oldest of its kind in the area, is stocked with as many
albums as spatially possible. CDs, a few DVDs, and, of course, LPs
and EPs. Jazz, folk, ’60s and ’70s rock, and a few new
labels fill many a wooden crate of the second-floor-situated store.
Kerr, who has owned the 30-year old store for a quarter century,
has noticed a swell of vinyl-buyers in the past couple years.

Speaking over punk way-pavers the Modern Lovers, Kerr offers
some commentary. “Certainly some of it’s fad,” he
admits, but at the same time he understands and justifies the
interest. “People who didn’t grow up with vinyl as the
dominant format are sort of fascinated with it because it seems
more exotic; there’s just a certain undeniable quality to
records that a CD just doesn’t give you. You get your hands
on it, you get big artwork – it just has a warmer, different
kind of sound, and people are rediscovering that.”

Down the street at Shaman Drum bookstore, a few employees broke
the humdrum of book-buying by sharing their reasons for buying
vinyl. Patrick Elkins cites the tactile and aesthetic appeal of
records. “There’s just something about playing
(records) that way that seems like you’re more involved in
the process than just putting a CD in a CD player or something.
There’s something I love about taking it out and just putting
it on the turntable and putting the needle on it. The packaging,
too...there’s a lot of room to have lots of art.”

Selection is an attraction for LSA sophomore Matthew Wesley.
“There’s a lot of albums you get on vinyl you
can’t find on CDs, like Roxy Music.” Steve finds his
records at Encore and trades with friends.

Also on State Street, below Bivouac, is Schoolkids Records (332
S. State St.). Blaring the new Rilo Kiley, Schoolkids’ more
clinical and spacious layout contrasts with the warm coziness of
Wazoo. There are a fair number of records, but the store
doesn’t boast the same variety as Wazoo or Encore (417 E.
Liberty St.). Rock aficionados searching for ’70s albums or
DJ-wannabes checking out the latest electronica are the most
typical vinyl-shoppers at Schoolkids.

More than a few people, young and old, expressed sentiments that
they find the physical process of playing a record to be more
tactile and intimate than the comparatively mechanical act of
inserting a CD into a player. Vinyl is sexy — it would be
hard to deny that — but another lure that is almost hotter
than sex for a college student: Records are cheap. Cashing in at
under $5, a used record is much easier on the wallet than a $13 to
$20 CD. Many students credited thrift as one of the main driving
forces behind their 12-inch explorations. Keith Moorman, owner
Overture Audio (618 S. Main St.) points out that a linear foot of
records would cost about $900 on CD; Employee Tom Jankowski remarks
that 11 and 12-year olds, realizing that used vinyl jives with
their allowances, have been coming to the store to buy equipment
for their parents’ old tables.