Folk Thursday: Judy Collins double feature

I swear this woman is not paying me a commission to sell albums for her. And I promise I will shut up about her at some point in the not-too-distant future. Probably. Maybe. Ish. But I just bought her most recent album, Bohemian, which might be the prettiest thing she’s ever recorded, and I couldn’t resist rustling up a couple of samples on YouTube. “Morocco” is the first song on the album, and it just knocked me out the first time I heard it.

As for this next song … if this doesn’t make you sniffle a little bit, I’m not sure we can be friends any more. Ms. Collins wrote it for her mama:

Seriously: Go buy the album. It’s even better than Paradise — and I loved Paradise.

Speaking of music I love, Ron just surprised me with a brand-spanking-new copy of Neil Diamond’s Hot August Night on vinyl today. Yeah, you read that right: new. It was re-released on vinyl in honor of the 40th anniversary of the concert. They didn’t quite get it out in time for the actual anniversary (which was August 24), but it was soooooo worth the wait, if for no other reason than it gives me an excuse to upgrade my record player.

It seems the 2012 edition of Hot August Night was pressed on slightly heavier vinyl than my 1972 copy, and there’s a little too much give in the turntable assembly on my record player (which, sadly, doesn’t have a speed adjustment knob), so it sounds all draggy. I noticed the same problem on Joan Baez: From Every Stage and Carole King’s Tapestry the other day, so I’m thinking it’s time to bite the bullet (some might say “sell my soul to the false heathen gods of 21st-century technology”) and upgrade to one of those USB models that will turn all my old, scratchy records into new, scratchy MP3s with degraded sound quality.

Yeah, yeah, yeah — I know I shouldn’t snark about technology. YouTube is a beautiful thing, and I give mad props to Siri for finding me a Starbucks this morning in OKC, but I’m just not ready to swap the crackle of a record or the smell of newsprint for all this convenient sterility, y’know?