When I moved my family moved into our new home a decade ago, I convinced myself the bonus room located above the garage would be my haven. I imagined spending time there to relax, reflect, and create.
Unfortunately, that never happened.
From the moment I stuck a large screen TV and couch into the space, my son and his cohort of friends made it their domain. Even though I had a desk in one corner and my guitar equipment in another, over time, the area I occupied became smaller and smaller until I finally moved my belongings into the accompanying crawl space under the eaves.
Once my presence was absent, the bonus room officially became the province of adolescent boys, a veritable “Lord of the Flies” experiment happening right under my roof. The destruction began soon after: food smeared into rugs, holes punched through walls, and furniture replete with stains and tears. It got so bad that my wife and I simply stopped looking inside, knowing it would only cause us angst.
But my son has graduated and is moving on with life, so he and his friends now spend little time at our home. As such, my wife decided that we were ready to renovate the bonus room and reclaim what was once ours.
Over the last few months, we’ve painted the entire room, installed carpeting and light fixtures, and purchased all new furniture. I also made the bold decision to revisit something that has been lying dormant in my life for decades.
I climbed into our attic a few weeks ago and found the dusty boxes labeled “Stereo Equipment.” I then proceeded to clean all my original components and reconnect them, hoping to dive back into my extensive album collection and return to those hallowed days of audiophilia.
Growing up, one of my jobs was working at a local record store in the mall. Subsequently, I developed a robust album collection, which I still have today. Although I haven’t listened to an album in years, I have painstakingly lugged the boxes containing hundreds of vinyl LPs from one house to another throughout three and a half decades.
And now, I was ready to revisit this gateway to my youth.
It took some time, but I finally got everything hooked up. My receiver and turntable still worked, but I had long since jettisoned my speakers, which were too large to justify moving around (plus, I knew when the day came, I would likely want new ones). After a bit of research, I landed on a pair of Klipsch bookshelf speakers with accompanying stands.
Once I knew everything was in working order, I wandered back into the attic and cracked open my boxes of albums. I then picked out several of my all-time favorites. I grabbed all my Beatles albums and key selections from Springsteen, Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd. I also chose an assortment of unique vinyl that had special meaning to me.
I knew the first album I touched the needle onto had to be a good one; it had to be a poignant choice. I wanted to hear a song that I hadn’t heard in decades. And I wanted to listen to the hisses and crackles of the needle moving across the vinyl as the song played (which I oddly miss since the digitization of music).
I finally landed on an album I have long admired and whose first song I consider as good as anything that’s ever been recorded (although it is likely unknown to most of the world). The song I chose was “Mainstreet” by Vermont native James Mee, off his 1982 debut, “Backroad to Mainstreet.”
Vermonters know Jimmy well since he played throughout the area for decades. Still, for some reason, “Backroad to Mainstreet” never made it to digital (it’s not available on CD and is unlisted on Spotify). But if you can get your hands on the vinyl, give it a listen.
I dropped the needle on “Mainstreet” and sat back on my couch to take it in. The moment was as magical and nostalgic as I hoped it would be, and Jimmy sounded as great as ever.
This week’s feature, “Becoming Led Zeppelin,” was also everything I hoped it would be. The documentary outlines the band’s inception, from their humble beginnings in post-war Britain to their meteoric rise into one of the world’s greatest bands.
I tried to be subjective while watching this film. I love Led Zeppelin; the band played an integral part in my high school and college years and has remained with me ever since. But I wanted an outsider’s perspective, so I dragged my son along. He’s familiar with Zeppelin (given my influence), but he’d never done a deep dive with them.
Ultimately, he enjoyed the film, although the extended concert footage proved too protracted for him. I didn’t feel the same way, but I could see how someone not deeply invested in the band might.
Fans of Led Zeppelin should be thrilled since the founding members have never given their blessing to a documentary. Ultimately, their commentary is what made this film a winner.
A garish “B+” for “Becoming Led Zeppelin,” currently playing in theaters everywhere.
Got a question or comment for Dom? You can email him at [email protected].
