I never considered not building a collection of my own. It was important enough to not get pitched out of various moving vans as my family trekked from Texas to California to Georgia to Tennessee over the years. It was a huge physical presence that predated me and served as evidence of a version of him before he was my dad. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band - with the bright yellow gatefold, blood red back and all that colorful chaos on the front cover - in the hands of a 6-year-old and not expect something to happen. He's also a former radio DJ with enough vinyl records to one day construct the Carson Family mausoleum. I would now like to take the opportunity to blame my dad. It's about how, in wild-eyed frustration, I chose a hill to die on. This is about the ongoing battle for control over my own beloved music collection. No one is ever going to play a CD and mutter to themselves while clutching a cup of hot tea, 'mmm, so warm.' Vinyl lovers (a group I count myself as part of) will talk about sound quality and big, beautiful album art. This isn't so much about the CDs themselves. Yet here I am, vowing to be the last person on Earth buying CDs. Those numbers are up 12 percent from 2017. Last year, vinyl sales hit 10 million in the US. Approximately 51 million people in the US pay for music streaming services every month. I won't be letting go of that jewel case easily, and I look forward to that day when, with whatever strength I've got left, I get to educate that youth about CDs. Let me tell you something - there's going to be a tussle. There will come a day when some fresh-faced young person in a lab coat will try to coax an old Spoon record out of my ancient, gnarled hands.

Me against the world album cover