It’s Saturday morning, maybe 11 a.m., and I’ve criss-crossed the floor of VinylCon at least a couple times already. This is the second time I’ve passed Ohm Records, who specialize in vintage Jamaican music, and I’m curious to see what they have, but, I don’t know where to start digging. I listen to ska and rocksteady and reggae and dub, but don’t collect these records and don’t feel all that knowledgeable on the subjects. I look around and notice two boxes of 45s priced at $5. I guess I should head there first. Almost instantly, I’m overwhelmed by the amount of music I don’t instantly recognize.
Last weekend, VinylCon, which has already had shows in Philadelphia and Denver, made its debut in Los Angeles with a two-day record fair at California Market Center. The event brought together dozens of vendors, whose collections varied from new and vintage rock to Latin American music to global dance to hip-hop. There was a lot to take in and, over the course of nearly two hours, I barely scratched the surface of what was inside VinylCon. While Random Internet Dude might think I should have spent more time perusing the bins, my budget said otherwise. Random Internet Dude will probably also side-eye my purchases. There was nothing rare in my haul. No grail records or undiscovered heat. It wasn’t even really a haul. In total, I bought five records. But, I’m not writing this for bragging rights.
The thing about record fairs is that they’re a constant reminder of what you don’t know. This is true even if you’re a lifelong, self-professed music nerd (guilty) who has been collecting vinyl since you were a teenager (also guilty) and goes to record fairs with some regularity. At the Ohm Records booth, I carefully pull up one record after the next by the corner of their dust sleeves, lifting them just high enough to read the center labels, looking for an artist or song title that I recognize. It’s an altogether different experience from my first stop at VinylCon.
Almost as soon as I step off the elevator and into the 10th floor exhibit hall, a pink neon sign that read Driptone lures me towards a table loaded with crates of vinyl. I spot the new releases, scan for the letter F and grab a copy of Fontaines D.C.’s album Romance, which I’ve been meaning to buy on vinyl ever since it hit me that I listen to my digital copy on a near-weekly basis. Then, I move over to the new wave bins and flip long enough to notice that their prices are really reasonable and Driptone has a lot of the albums and singles that are essential for a collection, what L.A. people would know as the “KROQ classics” along with old school goth and indie club hits. I pick up a double of a 12” that I already own because it *might* be a different mix of the song, but, also, it’s only $3 and there are some cute, funny doodles on the JDC sleeve.
Around the corner, I see a booth advertising rare post-punk, goth, etc. records. I consider stopping until I notice some of what they have, including a Visage 7” that makes me drool a little. Keep walking, I tell myself, this booth will be dangerous. In a back corner of the convention hall, a crowd hovers around me as I flip past a $300 Los Prisioneros record. When I hear someone ask, “Where are the rock en Español records?” I am relieved. There is already too much to pine over in this crate and I don’t want to know what’s tucked in the back of it. Someone else can take my spot. So, I make my escape and wander a few feet until I land at the Ohm Records booth.
I like that I feel a little clueless while browsing through these records. There’s this social media-fueled tendency for people to position themselves as know-it-alls, so they turn on authoritative voices while reading Wikipedia entries in TikToks/Reels/whatever that get shared far more than they should. It’s annoying af. I’d prefer to always be a little dumb, to always know that there’s more to learn.
Not long ago, I watched The Harder They Come, the early 1970s Jamaican movie starring Jimmy Cliff, so I did have it in my head that I’d like some of his records. I see a 45 for “Hard Road to Travel,” a song title I recognize. I place it on the small record player at the booth and pull the headphones over my ears. What a jam. I figure that, since I don’t have anything of his on vinyl at home, I should start with this.
After buying the record, I roam through VinylCon while picking up bits and pieces of other people’s conversations.
“Everyone is sick of Spotify” seems to be a popular subject here. I don’t really care how people listen to music, but there’s a false sense of discovery that comes with relying on streaming and social media. The big platforms rely on repetition to an insidious degree. If they’re not serving up the same songs and videos over and over again, they’re pushing a glut of bands that sound almost identical to each other. Inevitably, whether or not you realize it, you end up stuck in a loop of what the algorithms have now defined as your vibe, which you may in fact have adopted as your personality. As you share more and more on-brand content, your world view gets smaller and smaller, even if you think the opposite is happening.
It’s virtually impossible to break free from whatever personal brand the algorithm has assigned you (trust me, I’ve tried), so if you want something different, you really do need to put the phone away and get out into the world. Record fairs are a good place to do that.
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Liz O. is an L.A.-based writer and DJ. Read her recently published work and check out her upcoming gigs or listen to the latest Beatique Mix. Follow on Instagram or Bluesky for more updates.
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