In an era where music has become an invisible utility, streaming from the ether like water from a tap, the heavy spinning disc of a vinyl record offers a defiant return to the physical. Digital audio is a miracle of convenience, yet it lacks the friction that makes art feel human. To play a record is to engage in a deliberate ceremony: the careful removal of the sleeve, the cleaning of the surface, and the delicate placement of the needle. This is not a “background” experience to be skipped or shuffled by an algorithm; it is a commitment to an album as a cohesive narrative, a journey that demands thirty…