Tom Dunne: Silver lining of Covid was actually round and made of vinyl

When my daughter told me she had never heard anything quite like Bowieâs Starman I slipped her Ziggy Stardust.
Three hundred years ago in a land called âjust before Christmas,â the best laid plans were hatched. Gigs were booked, presents wrapped and family visits planned. But then, in a twist worthy of Dickens, the man in red came down the chimney with something far more transmissible than âgood cheer.â Our goose, it seemed, was not to be cooked.
Daughter #1 positively beamed when on Christmas Day, as Ireland recorded its then highest ever number of positive tests, hers was one of them. âLook ,âwe said, texting her in her room, âyou are somebody. Youâve arrived!â Behind the brave face it was a different story. By Stephenâs Day I was the last man standing, the only non-positive. I had three people in isolation, all gigs cancelled, a room full of ungifted presents and my wifeâs mum left uncollected in Kilkenny. We were in something of a pickle.
My immediate reaction was to boil wash everything in the house. Then I shopped, as much easy to prepare food as possible, and waited. It seemed inevitable that I too would fall fowl of the dreaded lurgy. But it didnât happen. Their symptoms proved light and I remained negative. The main threat to their lives became my cooking skills.
As a routine developed â feed them, clean up, feed them, clean up- a small ray of sunshine started to shine throughout the house. From behind Daughter #1âs door came the daily sound of Kirsty MacColl, David Bowie and Phil Lynott. It felt like I was walking past the room of my own teenage self.
She was playing these from vinyl having purloined a little deck that had been sent into the show as part of a promotion. Itâs a tiny little thing with two little speakers and although it will never win audio awards itâs great fun and doesnât harm the records.
A few days into her isolation I asked her if she wanted anything. Remember this is a child who for Christmas has been told to go her room, alone, for ten days. This would have been a good time for her to ask her dad for something expensive. Instead she wondered if I could get her some new vinyl. Tests had shown I was free of the virus, so off I went.
The local Golden Discs is mostly vinyl these days. I stood at its wall admiring the re-issues of albums I generally already own. I expected to see others my age at my side but I was completely wrong. I was the oldest at that wall by some considerable distance. I was also the sole male.
Studying the wall and lovingly comparing notes on the albums were mostly girls in their late teens or early twenties. One of them was holding a re-issued Marquee Moon, by Television. âThis is supposed to be great,â she said casually to a friend.
Back home my daughter was talking to a friend from her bedroom window. From her attire I guessed âCure fanâ but had to ask. âFavourite ever record?â I inquired.
âWell yours obviously,â she said in a heartbeat.
âGirl will go far,â I thought. âNo, go on,â I pushed.
âChangesOneBowie,â she told me.
That night the prisoner in room #2 sent me an article about vinyl sales. Last year, more than five million albums were bought in the UK. Vinyl there now accounts for one in four of all album purchases, the highest level since 1990, and its 14th year of consecutive growth.
I had assumed this was being driven by an older demographic with money to spare and a renewed love of that vinyl sound on a top-end system. I now suspect Iâve gotten that wrong. Golden Discs was also piled high with cute little stand-alone Bluetooth decks and these too seemed to be selling fast, and again to a younger audience.
When I asked my daughter why she loved vinyl the answer surprised me. She mentioned sound quality â which on those cheaper decks is dubious â but also, mainly, the âvibeâ. She likes the look and the feel of the vinyl, the theatre of putting it on, the sleeve, the photos. âThey are just really cool,â she concluded.
This has left me wonderfully placed. When she told me she had never heard anything quite like Bowieâs Starman I slipped her Ziggy Stardust. âTry this,â I said mysteriously. When she sought a suggestion for her Bowie-loving friendâs birthday I suggested ChangesTwoBowie. She too was blown away.
I can make suggestions like that for a very, very long time to come. My time has come. Again!