Rarely do you come across a collection that feels like a composition. Layered, precise, in balance. But sometimes you have to let go of what you’ve built with care over many years. A new life awaits in Greece. More sun, but less space. So the records may move on with us – to someone else, to be meaningful once again.
He’s a photographer, and you can tell. Not because there are cameras lying around, but in the light in the house. In the calm. In the way everything is placed as if it has always been exactly there.
Even before we see the collection, she comes toward us: a small dog with long, light-brown hair and one eye. She looks up, pauses for a moment, then turns around and walks ahead of us – slowly, as if she knows why we’re here.
The cabinet stands in a hallway that feels like a room in its own right. Black wood along both walls, spotlights in the ceiling, a glass door leading to the garden. The hallway is full, but never cluttered. Nearly six thousand records, all in top condition. And yet it feels light. Not collecting for the sake of it, but dedication.
The collection is broad, modern, precise. The classics are carefully embedded in the bigger picture. Prince. Queen. David Bowie. Alongside that: house from the very beginning. Trip-hop. Beats with breathing room. Jazz with a rough edge. Hundreds of Blue Note reissues, carefully selected – as if together they draw a line that makes sense.
Many releases are still in their original shrink wrap, complete with hype sticker. Modern, distinctive pressings, relevant contemporary artists, but also unknown gems. Everything preserved in perfect condition, virtually as new. With the many box sets, even the original protective outer boxes have often been kept. Not because it has to be. But because that’s how it should be.
You see it in the way he holds a sleeve. In how the hand moves before the sound begins. Rhythm isn’t only in the music, but in the way you handle it.
He hasn’t gone to concerts for a long time now. Too much noise. At home, it’s right. The needle, the space, the silence in between. Sound needs to be close. Direct. Precise.
Even now, while the cabinet has to be emptied, there are still new records waiting. He keeps those with him a little longer. Farewell can’t be forced.
The turntable is going to Greece. A selection of records too – the essence. The rest may continue on: to new listeners, new rooms, new moments.
The cabinet is empty. The house almost. Outside, the dog is lying once more in the pale winter sun, on the doorstep. One eye closed, the other just open. She watches us leave – with a look that feels a bit like approval. As if she knows: these records are beginning their second life. Just as she will, somewhere under the Greek sun.
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