Sometimes, ‘LP’ Means Lasting Pleasure

The announcement of a 50th anniversary tribute to the long-playing record--which took place recently at the National Academy of Sciences here--came just as I was making yet another stab at divesting some of my own LPs.

They do pile up, these souvenirs of a lifetime of record collecting; if I had unlimited space, I would house them forever. But most of the performances I loved on LP have been transferred long since to the less aesthetically satisfying but generally better-sounding and more durable compact disc, which also has the distinct advantage of being small and relatively light.

My turntable now goes for weeks without use, something that would have been unthinkable only 10 years ago. Moreover, I fear it will be difficult to find a suitable replacement when my old machine finally ceases its reliable revolutions at 33 1/3 times a minute. Nowadays, there seem to be mostly two types of turntables for sale: the ones you will find at flea markets or through a classified ad and the ones for which you will pay hundreds of dollars to a “high end” audio dealer.

The LP hasn’t entirely gone away, but it is certainly a marginal presence at this point in its history.

Some pop groups still insist on putting out a few LPs of their latest releases, in part to sting the record industry (which they suspect, not unreasonably, of hastening the demise of the LP to boost corporate profits with a new medium).

Then there are audiophiles who insist that the very best LPs (notably early stereo albums on Mercury and RCA Victor) sounded better than anything that has yet come out on CD and have too tried to carry on the tradition, remastering and re-releasing some of these classics on the finest vinyl at premium prices.

The LP will remain a principal frame of reference for those of us who obtained our musical education without the benefit of many live performances. For example, it might take me a moment to recall that the great love duet from “Les Troyens” takes place at the end of Act 4 in Berlioz’s score. But I will always remember that it takes up most of Side 8 of the Philips recording by Colin Davis. How could I forget? I must have listened to this hundreds of times during my teens and early 20s.

That old “Les Troyens” will remain in my collection, even though it has now been reissued on compact disc. Some LPs become keepsakes after a while. The object itself takes on a sentimental value: It was a gift from a parent or valued friend, perhaps.

And so I’ve kept some favorites: performances that have never been reissued on CD and some rock records with only one cut I might conceivably want to hear again. I kept some albums for the covers alone: Frank Zappa’s unbelievable “Weasels Ripped My Flesh,” for example, or an early RCA recording of Ravel’s “Daphnis and Chloe” with artwork by the young Andy Warhol. The rest will be given leisurely to friends or to a local library.