Sometimes I forget to breathe. That’s not literally so, but it might as well be. In editing and publishing The Syncopated Times for four years (this is issue number 47), I find there are many things that I once saw as essential for my happiness and sanity that are now on the back burner—and the back burner is shut off. It happens.
Music itself congeals there, though I feel occasional stirrings. I have a habit of buying myself musical instruments that I can’t find the time or energy to play. There are many records here that I’ve yet to listen to, though I keep accumulating them with intention of getting back to producing my radio program. Music itself distracts and overwhelms me, and I can’t listen to it while I work—or while I think about work. Considering the nature of this publication, that is the very definition of “irony.”
Yet I crave the innocent relief of playing records without looking at the calendar or the clock. A week or so before Thanksgiving, I decided that I had to buy another phonograph. Wyatt Markus, an excellent technician dedicated to the art of restoring old machines, is a friend on Facebook—and a week ago today he posted a Marketplace item, a beautifully refurbished Brunswick Model 102 portable for a bargain price. (I quickly determined it was a bargain by going on eBay and looking at the sad and broken crank-up phonos available for as much
