Hi! I’m a girl who lives in the crackle of vinyl. Scouring flea markets for warped LPs, cleaning them with a microfiber cloth, and listening to needle drops on a 1970s turntable is like traveling through static. I have a record cabinet labeled “sad songs” and “dancing shoes.” I can’t stand when a perfect album has a skip in the best song—last week a Beatles record jumped during “Hey Jude,” and I nearly cried