Why I Can't Monetize My Vinyl Collection

A lot of people I know talk about their collection in monetary terms; "This album was 'this amount' " and "I scored this at a garage sale for 'x' dollars and it's worth 'this much more'". This is how a lot people valuate the vinyl collection... in dollars and cents... and that's okay... for them.

I see this in just about every collecting hobby known to me; comics, toys, sports cards. In every collectible market you have two basic types of collectors; those that are money motivated and those that are passionate about the subject of the collection.

I see a lot of comic book collectors that talk about their collection in terms of where they found a key issue, how much they paid for it and how much it's worth. They are obviously money motivated collectors. Then you have comic book collectors who talk about the same key issues, but instead of price/value, they talk about key elements of the story contained in the issues, how the stories relate to other stories and so on and so forth. These are people of love the books, not so much the money.

I can see where the money mentality comes from, but I don't understand it. This isn't me judging, but I don't see how someone can collect something, call themselves a collector, if they plan to sell some day.

While, I also associate a dollar value to my records, it's really only for insurance purposes. See if I want to get these cherished pieces of my life replaced if something were to happen to them, then I have to know how much would cost to replace. Other than that, the only other time I ever associate my collection with money is in the context of sharing with my friends where they can find vinyl and not pay through the nose for it.

So while I do, at some level, monetize my collection; I never look at my collections (yes, I have a collection of Hulk and horror figures, vinyl records as well as movies and comic books) as something that can be liquidated when times get tough or if something "better" comes along. I don't I see my record collection as dollar signs;  my collection is so much more than just "Benjamins" sitting in a milk crate.

Dick Clark nailed my view of music when he said, "Music is the soundtrack of our lives." That statement mirrors my view on how important and integrated music is to my life, even though, at the time I heard it, I lacked the words to express the sentiment as well as Mr. Clark did.

See, I remember the exact song that was playing when I experience my first slow dance with a girl I had "love" feelings for at a Junior High School dance; Journey's Open Arms. It was my first encounter with the feeling of romance.

I remember the song I fell asleep to every night the summer before my freshman year, identifying with the message of escaping the prison of a menial existence and moving on to something greater, more freedom; Styx: Mr. Roboto. Moving from junior high to high school was a big life event for me, as I am sure it was for many people; with huge changes to how social and institutional interactions operated. Mr. Roboto gave me the tools to understand that I didn't have to be the kid I was in junior high that I could grow, evolve. Mr. Roboto gave me permission to be myself, to choose my own path.

Yeah, at fourteen years old, I identified with a message of escapism and boredom; shocking isn't it.

I remember all the way back in kindergarten, as a part of show and tell, singing, unabashedly I might add, Helen Ready's Delta Dawn and not understanding why everyone else in the class didn't know the lyrics to the song when I asked them to sing along with me.

I remember in the fourth grade, when it rained, and living in pacific northwest, it was always raining, the two fourth grade classes getting together and playing Greased Lightning from the Grease soundtrack, dancing the moves from the movie. None of us any good, but each of feeling connected to one another through this song and the dance movies. My first feeling of belonging socially.

Music is a connection with my past, but it is also a connection with my present and future.

My collection is, for the most part, truly autobiographical. Even music from bands that I didn't get exposed to until much later in life, like, Led Zeppelin (age 19 when I knowingly heard my first Zeppelin Song) and Black Sabbath (age 18 when I heard my first Sabbath songs) remain my musical autobiography. They remain because they not only connect me with my past, they helped define my future.

See, music connected me with who I am today by connecting me with life lessons I might not have gotten anywhere else without getting into some pretty deep trouble.

Sammy Hagar's "Can't Drive 55" taught me that life was a series of choices and each choice presented me with a reward and a consequence. I could drive faster than 55 (for those of you not in the know, 55 was the national speed limit at the time) and get the thrill of speeding as a reward, but also lose my license and my freedom as the consequence. Sammy Hagar taught me that I had to look at each choice and ask myself, "Is the reward worth more than the consequence that comes with it."

For some, Sammy may have been singing about rock 'n roll rebellion, but for me Sammy was singing about choices.

I learned how to channel my rage into writing through listening to Metallica.

I learned how to understand and interpret foreign accents and broken English by listening to Ozzy Osbourne.

I learned how to accept and move beyond my own small town origins through Springsteen and Mellencamp.

I learned about friendship through the Popeye Movie soundtrack, even though I had not yet seen the movie.

Interpol and Radiohead taught me that it is okay to feel melancholy.

Bob Marley and Boston both taught me about thinking for myself and the importance of not be a lemming.

ZZ Top taught me what it meant to be cool.

Bobby McFerrin taught me the importance of learning to chill when things get tough.

I could go on and on with that list, but I won't bore you with every little detail of who taught me what, when and where. It is safe to say that every artist I have in my collection taught me a little something about myself, shaped a little part of who I am, or at a very minimum amplified a little trait in myself and allowed me, hell even gave me permission, to embrace that part of me.

For this reason alone, I can never view my record collection as currency.

I wanted to list the top five albums I would never let slip from my collection; records that truly shaped, in one way or another, the man I am today. But, five wasn't enough... it quickly turned into a list of a hundred albums... but to keep the list readable for you, I trimmed off the last 80 and present you with this list of 20 albums I hold near and dear to my heart.

1. Popeye: Movie Soundtrack
2. Red Hot Chili Peppers: Blood , Sex, Sugar, Magic
3. Otis Redding: The History of Otis Redding
4. Prince: 1999
5. Boston: Third Stage
6. Scorpions: Blackout
7. Bobby McFerrin: Simple Pleasures
8. Black Sabbath: Black Sabbath
9. Interpol: Interpol
10. High Fidelity: Soundtrack
11. White Zombie: La Sexorcisto: Devil Music Vol. 1
12. Stevie Ray Vaughan: Couldn't Stand The Weather
13. Pink Floyd: The Wall
14. Johnny Cash: Johnny Cash At San Quentin
15. The Rolling Stones: Sticky Fingers
16. Metallica: Master of Puppets
17. Stevie Wonder: Talking Book
18. Led Zeppelin: Led Zeppelin I
19. Carole King: Tapestry
20. Pink Floyd: Darkside of the Moon 

I don't think poorly of those that see nothing more than dollar signs in their collection. I just have a hard time connecting with that mentality. These albums, and every album I own, have no price tags associated to them in my heart, because their value runs deeper than a dollar sign. 

I can't monetize the value of my life, therefore I can't monetize my vinyl LPs.