Needle Drop

“It looked like a horror movie poster. Naturally, I put it on...”

Jun 29, 2025

You know that first time you’re left alone as a kid? The house goes quiet in a new way. Freedom hums in the air. The rules are temporarily suspended, but you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself. The world feels full of possibility—and just unpredictable enough to be exciting.

For me, that first alone moment led straight to my older brother’s record collection.

I crept into his room with all the stealth I had and grabbed a couple of albums I wasn’t supposed to touch. With records in hand I made my way to the record player. One in particular called to me like a dare. The cover showed a motorcycle launching out of a grave, flames everywhere, a sky painted in apocalyptic reds. It looked like a horror movie poster. Naturally, I put it on and cranked the volume.

The needle dropped with that satisfying scratch. I braced myself for something terrifying. Instead… a piano. And then… was that… opera???

I stared at the stereo, confused. I checked the cover again. Yep. Same badass looking album. Meat Loaf: Bat Out of Hell.

*Meat Loaf: © Sony Music / Cleveland International / Richard Corben, Album Artwork.*

Now, nothing against ol’ Loaf, but this wasn’t what I expected from an album toting a flaming grave bike. This was dramatic and theatrical. It was like Broadway had taken some acid and wandered into a cemetery on accident.

With not much time before Mom got home, I reached for the next record. This one was blue, with four guys peering over a balcony of a high rise. Not particularly daring, but it was there. I dropped the needle.

And that’s when the second surprise of the day hit me.

“Strawberry Fields” filled the room.

I didn’t know what I was listening to… but I was in. Then came “Penny Lane,” then “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” These songs felt surreal, slightly elusive, and somehow totally relatable.

The music didn’t ask to be understood…it asked to be felt. And even with my pre-psychedelic mind, I did.

When “With a Little Help from My Friends” started, I finally caught that whiff of taboo I’d been chasing with Bat Out of Hell. But this time, it came wrapped in lightness and harmony instead of fire and leather.

Outside, the crunch of tires in the gravel driveway snapped me back to earth. I jumped up, slid the records back where they belonged, and turned on cartoons like nothing had happened.

As far as time alone goes, this seemed perfect.

Thinking about that day, I believe I encountered why so many artists in particular don’t mind solitude, in fact they thrive in it. There’s something magnetic about that kind of discovery… when no one’s watching and you can wander into strange territory.

You don’t always find what you were looking for, and sometimes, you find something better.

That quiet space is where curiosity takes over. It’s where you stumble into the unexpected, the confusing, and the beautiful.

Maybe creation, at its core, is just a kid left alone with a record player.

Keep spinning,

Michael

“working” on a painting… which is more like waiting and listening sometimes.

Thanks for reading! Have you heard these albums? Give them a listen and tell me what your favorite song is in the comments.

Learning to See: An Artist's Journey with Michael T Smith

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