Vinyl Forever: Nirvana

by Ma Nerriza dela Cerna
Erika Records Inc. Team Member 

We've all seen the articles, "Vinyl Records Are Making a Comeback," "Did Vinyl Really Die in the 90's," or some iteration examining the increased percentages in record manufacturing and sales. Those paying attention to the growth might say the reason for this surge is nostalgia. Others could say it's the economy in which the music buying demographic grew up. Young consumers are looking for their $1.29 to go further than the convenience of a single download in this post-Napster and post-LimeWire world. Consumers can find a used vinyl record in a sale bin with liner notes and photos of the band for the same price. And as a vinyl manufacturer Erika Records hopes the action of buying that old record will lead to buying a new one. 

But I think the action of buying and collecting records goes deeper than the desire for the simpler time that once was or the need to consume. The nature of vinyl is that it's made of material that is impervious to the elements. It will not decompose and can last beyond a lifetime. And it's my belief that there is something in all of us that wants to endure beyond our own life time; whether it be through our family traditions, heirlooms, or our journals. Another vehicle for that immortality is vinyl. 

As Seattle’s grunge scene bloomed in the late 80s, Erika Records started pressing vinyl for Sub Pop Records. Many of the records consisted of early career releases by bands such as Nirvana, Mud Honey, Soundgarden. I was introduced to Nirvana at an inappropriately young age by my angst-filled flannel-wearing preteen cousin, the summer of 1992. Like most children of the early 90s the prologue to my love story with Nirvana was Nevermind.  Up until then all I knew were the sweet sounds of The Beatles and Top 40 tracks like “Ice Ice Baby.” 

Nirvana taught me that there was a different way to deliver music: a more visceral way. Looking back I realize now it was the first time I ever understood that self-expression didn’t have to be agreeable or romantic hyperbole. Music and art could be angry and cathartic, and still find a way to connect with a kindergartener with zero knowledge of true cruelty.

I still remember watching MTV News in my grandparent’s room as Kurt’s passing was reported. There was a crowd of fans listening to Courtney Love read his note and burning candles that sat on the grass. I thought about how lonely Kurt must have felt. I thought about the wife and child he left behind. Kurt helped teach me empathy. And how world responded to the loss showed me how one’s essence can live beyond death. As a vinyl lover and eternal Nirvana fan my music life came full circle when I started working for Erika Records. I found out that Erika Records pressed the original release of Bleach, has pressed Sliver and manufactured the rare The “Priest” They Called Him picture record, the Kurt Cobain and William Burroughs collaboration.

 

Twenty one years have passed since Kurt Cobain’s death and his influence has yet to fade away into a faint echo. I hear his impact on the artists we cut and press records for today at Erika Records. His influence is as loud as the mastering engineer, the record player, and the listener will allow him to be.  And it’s pretty fucking loud. There is no doubt that Nirvana records will continue finding new ears to infiltrate and new minds to spur.

That revelation is why I collect records, so I can pass the same feeling to my own children one day. I have one record from my grandfather’s collection, my most treasured. Thirty five years after it was originally played, my grandfather has passed but his memory lives on partly in that record. I put it on my player every year on his birthday and the record my grandpa found joy in I’ve found joy in too. The year he died was the year I started working full time for Erika Records, helping people make their music everlasting on vinyl.

Vinyl sustains collective memories that made the music and feeds the memories made as the record plays in the background. There is comfort in the ritual: pulling the record out of the sleeve, the sound of the needle hitting the plastic, and watching that record spin. Sometimes those records create a twinge of the heart and sometimes a smile only seen in the mind's eye.They serve the much needed gravity and levity for our souls.

And one hundred years from now if only one vinyl copy of Bleach exists (due to a robot apocalypse), sitting on a shelf and waiting for rediscovery, Kurt Cobain and Nirvana will live. Because vinyl will never die. Vinyl is forever.