The Objects Series, no. 2. Fiction inspired by real history: the turntable is real, the family is invented.

Marco was seventeen when he decided that the vintage turntable in the window of Ricordi Hi-Fi on Via Padova was the only thing in Milan worth owning. It was silver and black, heavy as a small anvil, with a strobe-dotted platter and a long, slender tonearm. The price tag read 180,000 lire. His wage at the bakery was 45,000 a month.

“Four months,” he told the shopkeeper.

“Four months,” the man agreed, and wrote his name on a card under the counter. “I’ll keep it for you. Nobody wants a machine this serious.”

Four months of flour and silence

He got up at three every morning, kneaded dough in the dark, and walked past the shop window at noon without looking in, as if the turntable might notice. He had no records yet. He had a cousin’s cassette of a Neapolitan singer, a radio that crackled after sunset, and a belief, hard to explain, that music should be something you had to sit down for.

His father, a tram driver who listened to opera on Sunday afternoons through a speaker the size of a bread box, thought the whole plan was vanity. “A machine to play a plate,” he said. “We have a radio.”

On the first Saturday of the fifth month, Marco carried the turntable home in both arms, wrapped in a bakery sheet. He set it on the sideboard, plugged it in, and realised he had nothing to play.

The first record

It was his father who went down to the market the next morning and came back with a record in a paper sleeve, not saying where from. It was an old Callas recording, scratched at the edges, the cover held together with tape.

Marco lowered the needle the way the shopkeeper had shown him, slowly, at the very edge. There was a soft hiss, the sound of a room breathing in. Then the orchestra, then the voice, so close and so human that his father sat down on the arm of the sofa without taking off his coat.

Neither of them said a word until the side was over and the tonearm lifted itself back to its rest with a small, decisive click.

“Again,” his father said.

When music demanded attention

The turntable stayed on that sideboard for forty-one years. It played opera on Sundays, Lucio Battisti on Saturdays, and every birthday record anyone ever gave Marco. When his father died, the last record on the platter was the Callas, and nobody lifted the needle for a long time.

Marco is sixty now. He keeps the old machine on a workbench in his flat and repairs other people’s turntables for a living: belts, cartridges, stubborn motors. The customers always ask the same question: why bother with vinyl?

He never answers directly. He puts a record on, lowers the needle, and says, “Sit down.”

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The real story behind the 1970s turntable

Marco is fictional, but the machine he saved for is a real piece of design history. The 1970s were the decade when high-quality turntables moved from specialist shops into ordinary homes.

• Direct drive arrives. In 1972 Technics introduced the SL-1200, a direct-drive turntable whose motor sat right under the platter. It was precise, durable and quick to reach speed, and it later became a standard in clubs and radio studios.
• Two speeds, 33⅓ and 45 rpm. Albums ran at 33⅓ revolutions per minute and singles at 45, which is why turntables carry a speed selector.
• Strobe dots. The dotted ring around the platter lets you check that the speed is correct under mains-powered light.
• Weighted tonearms. Adjustable counterweights let owners set the exact pressure of the stylus on the groove, protecting both record and needle.

Direct drive vs belt drive turntable

If you are shopping for a vintage record player, this is the first choice you will meet:

• Direct drive: the motor turns the platter directly. Fast start-up, stable speed, very robust. Favoured by DJs.
• Belt drive: a rubber belt links motor and platter, keeping motor vibration away from the stylus. Often preferred for quiet listening, but the belt perishes and needs replacing every few years.

How to clean and care for vinyl records

1. Brush before every play with an anti-static carbon-fibre brush, following the grooves.
2. Deep clean occasionally with a dedicated record-cleaning solution and a microfibre cloth. Avoid household cleaners.
3. Check the stylus. A worn stylus damages records. Most makers suggest replacing it after roughly 500 to 1,000 hours of play.
4. Store records upright in their sleeves, away from heat and sunlight. Stacking them flat can warp them.
5. Hold by the edges and the label, never by the grooves.

Frequently asked questions

Is a vintage turntable worth buying?

Often yes, particularly well-built 1970s models. Check the motor, the tonearm bearings and the platter mat, and budget for a new stylus and possibly a belt.

Why does vinyl sound different from streaming?

Vinyl is an analogue format and is mastered differently, and many listeners enjoy its warmth. Part of the appeal is the ritual: choosing a record, cleaning it, turning it over.

Can I connect an old turntable to modern speakers?

Yes. You need a phono preamp (some amplifiers have one built in) between the turntable and powered speakers or an amplifier.

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“When music demanded attention.” This story is part of a series built around 16 objects, each also a fine-art poster from MonoQuote. The Vinyl Turntable poster is available there as a print.

The Objects Series · No. 1: The Suitcase · Leggi in italiano