Holiday Gift Guide: Gifts for music lovers

It’s easy to think of music as ephemeral and essentially free, rather than something you can pick up, acquire and give to your nearest and dearest. However, music is a brave and intimate gift. For decades, they could have been lovers; Virtually – they released carefully compiled mixtapes to communicate emotions that would have been impossible to express otherwise. Music is a useful, even sacred, way to communicate with another consciousness. In that spirit, I’ve deliberately failed to create a list of studio-quality headphones or the best Bluetooth speakers. (Just like people who instinctively cringe when someone says “artificial intelligence,” I have an unfair disgust for any Bluetooth technology.) Instead, here are some old-fashioned, tangible ways to honor sound and the people who make it.

Record selections from the end of all the music

Surely the best gift of all is manually thwarting the dominance of streaming algorithms — and simultaneously freeing your loved ones from corporate surveillance and the echo chamber of their own tastes — by letting the employees of your local record store take the wheel. My two favorite ways to do this are with Luna Music’s audio subscription service, which is run by the staff of this Indianapolis-based store ($333 for twelve months, which includes twelve select albums, free shipping, and a T-shirt), or the All Music End of the Month Club ($325 annually plus shipping, with additional gifts each month). The End of All Music — which is located in Oxford, Mississippi, and is, for my money, one of the best record stores in America — also offers an excellent “We Pick ‘Em” option if you’re looking to send in a one-off batch of new tunes. Some cash from Venmo or PayPal — anywhere from $50, though the store recommends a budget of around $150 to $200 to allow for a wide range of options — let the store know a little about what you like and don’t like, and ask a Crackerjack employee to organize a box of records for you. I’m a somewhat obsessive follower of new music, with uncompromisingly refined tastes, and whenever I feel overwhelmed by my own predilections, I scream with Oxford and demand to be saved from myself. (By the way, a very good companion gift to any vinyl-based subscription would be Liz Pelly’s excellent Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of the Perfect Playlist, a new book examining the dismal consolidation of the music industry and the ripple effects of frictionless streaming.)

Crosley Cruiser Plus turntable

True audiophiles may scoff, but I love buying plug-and-play turntables for young children – dropping the needle is a tactile pleasure, and what happens next can seem almost otherworldly, a kind of evocation. Thrift stores are often loaded with old baby records; Keep an eye out for anything released by Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, which released dozens of sophisticated, kid-friendly LPs in the 1950s and 1960s by artists like Ella Jenkins, Pete Seeger, and Woody Guthrie. For the gamer, there are plenty of brands to choose from; To my ears, they all sound almost the same (small but triumphant). Crosley’s variety of bright colors makes them perfect for kids’ messy spaces. (My four-year-old daughter has a Crosley Cruiser Plus in a shade called “tye-dye,” and on weekend mornings, she likes to play Buck Owens’ “I’ve Got a Tiger by the Tail” as many times as she can before I finally get home.)

For the charming obscurantist in your life, who’s already heard it all (and left a lengthy review to rate your music), perhaps try this wonderful four-LP set by the hitherto unknown Rhodesian folk singer John Phillips, which he called “the last great outsider folk discovery of the 20th century.” “Songs of Gentleness 1969-1976” contains all known recordings made by Phillips in the 1970s. There are echoes of Incredible String Band, Linda Perhacs, Donovan, Nick Drake and Canned Heat.

Who among us has not been crippled by fear and paranoia, leaving them paralyzed and unable to write? (Not me, of course.) Any aspiring artist—but especially any aspiring musician—would be grateful for these attractive performances, and the patronage of legendary producer and music composer Brian Eno. In 1975, Eno and artist Peter Schmidt created a set of one hundred cards, each printed with a straightforward aphorism intended to solve some creative puzzle. The group, called Oblique Strategies, turns 50 this year, but its wisdom (“Don’t Break the Silence,” “Disconnect from Desire,” “Retrace Your Steps”) is timeless. Last March, Eno also co-authored a short book called “What Art Does” with illustrator Beth Adrians. The intent is almost the same: What if we stopped being afraid and let art be art? (Pair the two; wait for the genius.)

The Record Runner is billed as “the world’s smallest record player,” which, frankly, buries the lead — it’s also a self-propelled Volkswagen minivan, with a stylus protruding from the bottom, cruising around the grooves in an LP. Would I let this thing roll over on a rare or exceptionally expensive album? Not a chance. (“We advise you not to work on invaluable records,” the company pleads.) But is it so funny to watch them sail over, say, an already muddled version of Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumors”? Yes. Sometimes we must choose whimsy over perfection.