The Social Aspects of Vinyl Clubs

Steven Clark (not his name but a real person), whom I wrote about in my last post, does not enjoy his collection of vinyl records alone. He belongs to a record club that meets roughly once a month at member homes. In this setting, he enjoys dinner with like-minded men (all men) who also enjoy collecting vinyl. Afterward, they engage in three to four hours of conversation about their hobby. All topics are related to records, for example, “how our different equipment setups impact the music.” Steven says, “It is music as the main event, but the active LP playback brings more to the (turn) table (pun intended).”

Mr. Clark isn’t alone in enjoying listening to vinyl with others. In the U.S., there are meet-up clubs, especially for this purpose in Houston, Washington, D.C., Chicago, Austin, Cambridge (MA), Fort Lauderdale, Atlanta, Richmond, Portland, Minneapolis, Denver, New Orleans, Atascadero (CA) and Overland Park (KS), Baltimore and Plano (TX). Canada also has vinyl clubs, with two in Vancouver alone. Abroad, the playing field is wide as well. It includes San Paulo (Brazil), Norwich (U.K.), three in London (U.K.), Bristol (U.K.), Dubai (U.A.E.), Rotterdam (Netherlands), Oslo (Norway), Lisbon (Portugal), Bangalore (India), Utrecht (Netherlands), The Sunshine Coast (Australia) and Toyoko (Japan).

During Covid, there were even vinyl clubs that met remotely (and, I believe, continue to do so) after the members purchased a vinyl record (or CD or cassette) locally, listened to it, and then attended a YouTube meeting regarding the music.

In-person meet-up vinyl clubs are different than earlier venues which were essentially buying clubs. The latter were often mail-order organizations selling records advertised by major record labels starting in the 1950s. Some of the major labels that started this service were EMI, Columbia House, Capitol, Citadel, Britannia, World Record, Record Club of America, and RCA.

Why did Steven join a vinyl collecting club as well as other collectors around the world? Because belonging to a club of like-minded people provides a social connection. Matthew Lieberman, in his book Social: Why Our Brains Are Wired to Connect (2014), makes the case that our need to bond socially is as essential as our need for food, water, and shelter, the very basics that sustain life. Martino et al. (2015) wrote that “there is significant evidence that social support and feeling connected can help people maintain a healthy body mass index, control blood sugars, improve cancer survival, decrease cardiovascular mortality and depressive symptoms, mitigate posttraumatic stress disorder symptoms, and improve overall mental health.”

In my own book, Inside the Head of a Collector: Neuropsychological Forces at Play (Lucia/Marquand, 2019), I devote a chapter to the benefits of social connectedness gained through collecting. In fact, I go so far as to relate it to neuropsychology, citing Tristen K. Inagaki et al. (2016): “Activity in an area of the brain known to be important in responding to rewards (such as food and sex) increases when faces of loved ones are presented to lonely individuals. This does not happen when images of strangers are offered, confirming that, indeed, intimate social interactions do influence our brain processes.”

What all of this means is that Steven Clark and his record collecting companions are not only looking for a pleasant evening together. They, like other collectors who also socialize with each other, are also unknowingly fending off loneliness and medical issues at the same time. What could be better?