Vinyl Tap Fall 2024

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A letter from the desk of the editor: Welcome home! Or at least that’s what it feels like to return to Vinyl Tap for my fourth and final year, this time as editor-in-chief. Vinyl Tap was one of the first places at William & Mary that really felt like a home to me, and I am honored to be able to help others find their way toward it too. Being a college student has meant a lot of moving around– first, the initial on-campus move to my freshman dorm, then again each year. Four years of packing my life into cardboard boxes and then unpacking them all over again, carefully preserving the same desk knick-knacks and printer paper posters to be retaped onto another set of dorm room walls. It’s a strange feeling, living in a place that is meant to be a rest stop rather than a place of rest, but it has been through creating communities like Vinyl Tap that share passion and dedication that I have found the most fulfilling part of my college experience.

This semester, Vinyl Tap asks: What makes a house a home? How do you turn four walls and four years into a lifetime of fond memories and friendships? What role do art and music play in turning a physical space into something ineffable? Through excellent prose, poetry, and analysis, we attempt to make sense of that spark of soul which transforms a house into a home.

In these pages you will find a deep dive analysis of Bon Iver’s debut triumph For Emma, Forever Ago, and two lovely memoir pieces on the role of music in developing a sense of home, from a folk-rock childhood in the Colorado suburbs to the punk scene of the California coast to making your own playlists in the Virginia tidewater. You will read the story of a dissolving friendship set against a grand and sturdy house, a poem on the quiet intimacy of making a home out of the first apartment with a partner, and a reflection on a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young classic and its call to build yourself a new life, even at the cost of the old one. You will see some of the most beautiful art that has been included in an issue of this publication and photographs that belong in the most cherished family photo albums. And, of course, collaborative collages and recent album reviews, including our traditional haiku reviews. You, dear reader, are in for a treat.

Publishing this magazine would not be possible without the exec team, who put in extra time and energy each week to run meetings and wrangle team members. Thank you to Amelia, who I couldn’t do this (or much of anything) without; to Catherine, who has been there every step of the way; to Evelyn, who does so much but loves this magazine too much to stop; to Madeleine, whose creativity and compassion is awe-inspiring; to Rheina and Srinidhi, who never cease to amaze me; to Sarah, who breathes life into everything she touches; and to Sophia, who is gonna rule the world someday (and I can’t wait to watch). I’d also like to thank all the amazing contributors whose works make up these pages. To each talented writer and artist, to every photographer who shot houses full of excited college kids, to every model who participated, and to every designer who put in late-night hours to make this issue look so beautiful: this is for you. You make this house a home. I’m so proud to be able to share it with you.

Welcome, once again, to Vinyl Tap Magazine! Make yourself at home.

Natalie Lopez, Editor-In-Chief

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Layout by Tiba Alnaqshbandi

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To All The Homes I’ve Loved Before

by Eloise Griffin art by Madeleine Babcock

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My Home Was

Once Yours

by Srinidhi Lakshminarayanan

art by Madeleine Babcock Was the photograph of Lady always so crooked? Suddenly it seemed her hands were not her hands, they were too slender and almost looked like they’d been caressed by another. That is, they looked touched and misshapen in the wrong places.

Anne had once been told she possessed the untethered, naked tenderness of a childless woman.

Though profoundly insulted by this, she ironically (and secretly!) found this to be true whenever she was with Lady. However, where Anne had gently marked her thumb seemed now bruised. It was always indented, even slightly pink, but now that indent seemed more a pit of lust. And that could not have been Anne’s doing! The more she looked at this photograph the more she felt this mounting, terrible unease, a discomfort not unlike nausea trapped in the throat. It is dull at first, but one is wildly aware that it is only minutes to hours before the body is consumed by it, and then there is no controlling what leaves.

Anne then felt an overwhelming urge to inspect her walls as it had been just a year since they were painted and she liked looking at how some parts had grown to

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reflect the moistness of their birth and creation. (They still had not dried, but even that was relaxing to her.) But it was odd — the whiteness that she had loved was now constrictive, and it felt more funerary by the second. She suddenly felt like she could not breathe unless she herself was in a casket, because then at least the space she inhabited would make sense.

How long had it been since Lady visited? She surely would have told her if something looked off. Two doors away, men swear and drink beer to Wes Mongomery, and Anne can hear it but not join.

It was two years after they met when Anne first took Lady to see the apartment. Anne was mortified by the state of it, so much so that it almost brought her to tears. Lady was always perfectly pristine and neat, and though her home was small, it was handsomely decorated. Anne’s apartment was situated right in the center of Bergen Avenue, arguably the worst part of town. The most notable thing about it was its proximity to West Broadway, in which a fire had ravaged the Max & Grocery Liquor Store. The tenants of her apartment, mainly balding and profane men, mourned this loss like they’d never mourned before.

Anne remembered it like it was yesterday, seeing Lady for the first time. It was 1994, just two miles from northern Paterson, where cigar smoke curved veeringly up the noses of white, middle-class children and the air stunk like it did when her face was slim and she’d kiss men like they were women.

Anyway, Anne knew it at first sight – Lady’s movement, eyes, and guttural Staten accent recalled the testy, obstinate air of a born and bred Paterson lady — a real, true urban woman. It was only natural that Anne invited herself to her home, and arm in arm they walked their way.

Lady’s flat was incredible. Her walls were painted yellow! Like an amateur had done it! Maybe her children had helped, but that served only to make it more beautiful and innocent. Was it Carla Bley playing in the back? Or was it Davis? It was now so hard to remember. One thing was certain – it was never silent in her home. Music that was brash, somber, or even elegant would always punctuate their conversations, and as they would drink to men singing of retired love, Anne felt inebriated with joy. It was this day they took the photograph.

Sprawled on the floor was a one-hundredpiece puzzle. They would speak of the singers only they listened to and then Anne

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1. scented candles 2. metal scissors 3. bracelet 4. ipod with forlorn songs 5. puzzle pieces

would whisper that the tenants of her building do not let her sing. Then Lady would smile and tell Anne she could sing as loud as she’d like as long as she is here. Then they spoke of everything wrong with Paterson, acting self-congratulatory about the decrease in crime as if it was their doing.

They reveled in the fact that they both could be as horribly self-referential as they wanted, and then Lady would fall asleep to the sound of rain, and it was so quiet, almost docile like it knew the woman was watching it and it wished to perform. Anne hums Anticipation quietly.

It was strange – even when they argued, it was clear that their words would barrel off of one another like how a scraper meets a tongue; a dull, fixed sensation – there was no amount of talking or cleaning they couldn’t do that wouldn’t help fix it.

What is that knocking? Anne asks. What is that knocking? Is he home? Lady simply smiles and tells her not to worry about it. Her hand is so soft on

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6. trinkets 7. encased bug things and a ring 8. marbles 9. candlesticks

10. rusted dice 11. playing cards 12. hand mirrors 13. souvenir mug 14. an old watch

Anne’s shoulder. Anne wishes they could stay like this forever, and then she wonders why she always needs to return home.

In Anne’s kitchen, a grand clock ticks solemnly, and it serves only as a reminder that it is time for Anne to go to Lady’s home! Anne will go there today, and then she will know that she was being silly about the photograph.

Walking there, Anne looks through a car window.

She had slept fine —- why did she look so tired?

Her skin looks morbid and white; almost sewn together. A bit of snow falls on her tongue. Was it not just September? Had the sun risen by mistake?

A child laughs and then runs when Anne turns, but she hardly takes notice. All of this will be explained when she sees Lady. The home looks like it did yesterday, and then Anne knocks. And then she knocks again, and there is no answer, and she decides that maybe Lady is just not home, but hasn’t it been many years since she was?

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Layout by Evel yn Hall

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Do you ever want to run away? Take off and never look back? Here’s a story about a man who did. He experienced prolific pain; had a gambling addiction, got kicked out of his band, was dumped by his long-time girlfriend, and was afflicted with mononucleosis and a liver infection. He decided to flee to a deserted cabin in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. From the cold burrows of the cabin, behind the frosted windows overlooking the great beyond, Justin Vernon, famously known as Bon Iver, created his debut album that captured his isolation and torment. For Emma, Forever Ago, became a pinnacle for the indie folk genre, inspiring many artists. The album launched Vernon’s career and became beloved by millions of listeners even 16 years after its release. For Emma is often regarded as one of the best break-up albums, which was not Vernon’s intention. In an article from The New Yorker, Vernon states “Emma isn’t a person . . . Emma is a place that you get stuck in. Emma’s a pain that you can’t erase.” This album transcends the pain of heartbreak and delves into this idea of Emma; Emma is not defined, it’s loose, elusive. For Emma takes the listeners on a journey of running away, being isolated, and learning how to come back home. Even though the album has an abysmal folk feel, it’s a celebration of finding your way back home. It’s an anti-isolation album, telling a story about how problems are not fixed by running away, as this concept of Emma follows. I have designated myself with the mission of analyzing the 9 tracks on the album to discover: what is Emma?

“Flume” is the first track as it welcomes listeners into the eerie canted atmosphere of the album. Vernon visualizes the song as “(an) attempt to build odd landscapes that you could exist in that has weird feelings but also cool-sounding words.” It’s a song about heartbreak and pain, and how he’s trying to stop the hurting. “Only love is all maroon,” repeats in the haunting chorus; maroon, like the color of blood, is also a verb meaning “to abandon or isolate.” To Vernon, all love is painful and brings forth isolation– to love is to be wounded. He’s looking for a sense of recovery, through the innate sense of comfort from a mother. In the lyric, “sky is womb, she is the moon,” he looks up to his mother for solace, yet his ex-lover still glows down on him. No matter how much comfort he gets, all his pain still lingers. For him, being at home means being stuck in his misery. The instrumental break works as a bridge with the instruments attempting to harmonize with each other. All trying to play the same song, but detached, at different tempos, unsure of when to begin or end. “Flume” is a chaotic symphony that reflects the war of his emotions, setting the tone for the album with its echoey melody and dreary lyrics. In this song, Emma is the driving pain that leaves you in anguish even when in a place of comfort.

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If “Flume” is the exposition into Vernon’s isolation, “Lump Sum” is the start of the adventure. Opening with a cathedral-esque choir as it breaks into an acoustic melody, the lyrics start with a list of the things Vernon sold. A cold knot, a heavy stone, and a red horse. He is getting rid of the things that remind him of the past. He tries to get rid of his pain, the cold knot, that has been weighing him down. The heavy stone relates to a diamond ring, a symbol of commitment that did not last. His red horse, a car, for a “venture home” which is a get-away place. He’s trying to outrun his pain by retreating into this cabin of isolation, thinking leaving home will solve his problems. “Lump Sum” is more of an upbeat song compared to “Flume,” showing his optimism. “Balance we won’t know, we will see when it gets warm” is him waiting for things to get better.

He has already moved away from all he has known, where all of his problems lay, but is now anticipating the good to come and free him into this new life of staunch isolation.

Emma is the reason for running away.

“Skinny Love” is the most popular song off the album. It’s a plea for the relationship to survive even though there’s nothing left to fix. It’s not about their relationship, but rather everything else in Vernon’s life falling apart, he wants to find security in his relationship; it’s the last thing he can rely on. It’s a desire for things to stay the same. In the chorus, he states “I told you to be patient /to be fine / to be balanced / to be kind.”

It’s all things he is trying to tell his lover, a plea to do what he asks of them in order for the relationship to survive. In the outro, he asks the question for his lover but also himself, “Who will love you / who will fight / who will fall far behind?” Without each other who will be there to provide comfort for the other? He sings with a shaky rasp and falsetto in a way that emphasizes his begging. It hurts as he pleads for a chance to make this work. Emma is the things you regret, fight, lose, and long for -- even once you’re far away.

“The Wolves (Act I and II)” is a song about regrets. Regretting the isolation he’s in and how his relationship ended. The song’s autotune and layers of vocals showcase Vernon’s aching voice. The song is isolated– only chords and percussive strumming on his guitar.

It opens with a bitter “Someday my pain will mark you,” showing he is in turmoil.

He wants his ex-lover to share his pain, at least then he is not suffering alone. In the second verse, he states “Solace my game, it stars you.” He is in a place of solitude yet she is the only thing that exists for him. In the bridge, he reflects in a less than gentle, and rather chaotic bitter turbulence of “What might have been lost.” His choices haunt him, leaving did not fix his pain as he still feels broken and lost. He repeats the same question, yet he never receives any answers. It is followed by him saying “Don’t bother me,” asking for all the weight of his memories to stop looming over him. He is distant from it physically, but not mentally as it still follows. Emma is the feelings that won’t– can’t– leave.

“Blindside” is an attempt at reconciling with the idea of society. He tries to become something more than his one-man island. In this song, he accounts his attempts to break into an abandoned building. He’s doing it for the thrill, the enjoyment of the memory. The song provides imagery of him biking to the building, sneakily trying to enter. It is abandoned just like him internally. He’s trying to find a new space in the midst of his isolation, but he’s at a loss. He states this is not of his usual character, he’s doing it for the sake of finding something more than him. The line “For the agony, I’d rather know” is him reflecting on his melancholy that’s easier to sulk in than to try changing. The line “Would you really rush out (for me now)?” is him thinking about his home, his family, friends, ex. He’s rethinking it all and wondering if they still care about him even though he ran away. The song ends with “I was blindsided,” which represents this awareness of his emotions, realizing his hasty actions of fleeing in pain were out of impulse. He cannot survive healthily in this isolation and needs a sense of home in people and places other than himself and his cabin. Emma is the good from the past that calls you back.

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“Creature Fear” simmers with ambience in its brevity. The verses are stripped down with vocals and guitar as Vernon sings memories from his past relationship. He felt so enamored in the moment, but he is looking back, realizing there’s more that exists for him beyond that relationship. The chorus picks up the pace with this idea of his future; it’s wide, bright, and limitless. It is this creature of fear that awaits him. He’s scared but welcomes the inevitable future, filled with opportunities of good, bad, and growth. He doesn’t have to run away to experience a better future.

Emma is the bad you let go of to accept the new.

“Team” is an instrumental, bridging “Creature Fear” to “For Emma” illustrating this epiphany of how his thinking changes. It loses the acoustic guitar, in exchange for a drum and electric guitar; no longer eerie quiet strums, but proud brash ones, making its presence heard. Just like the lesson Vernon has realized. He never had to run away to heal. It was internal, he had to change himself. His home was there for support, full of family and friends. He has reached the final stage of his grief. He now is on a mission: to go back home. Emma is all that you’ve learned how to heal from.

“For Emma” has the accompaniment by two musicians, John DeHaven and Randy Pingrey, showing the metaphorical and physical break from the isolation period.

This is Vernon’s acceptance back into reclaiming his sense of community and his idea of home. He repeats “running home” parading how he’s no longer fleeing, but coming back to what he has been missing. The trumpets add a wistful tune, of optimism and good fortune. In the second half of the song, he talks to this Emma, the pain that brought him into this separate, unnamed void. He tells it to “go find another lover to string along.” He is no longer going to linger in his depressive isolation, he won’t be a victim of it. It follows with, “With all your lies, you’re still very lovable.” The idea of running away to a cabin to forget all of your pains is so ideal but it’s not helpful or healthy; it’s futile. He goes on with, “I toured the light/so many foreign roads,” searching to find something to replace the pain and it led him farther away from where he needed to be. The last line is the title of the album: “For Emma, forever ago.” He’s distant from when it happened but it is still within him. He carried Emma with him wherever he went, he learned from it. Even now with him healed, coming back from his grief, he has learned to let go of the past and thank it for the adventure it allowed him to undertake. Emma is how you move forward.

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“Re:Stacks” is the closing track, reflecting on the hero’s journey of Vernon. It’s calm, with Vernon’s somber vocal and guitar as the stacks are depicted as the burdens that weighed him down. The “Re:” like in an email, for regarding, is him reevaluating his life and all the stacks he faced. The chorus is a play of words mixed with a rundown of his process. “On your back with the racks as the stacks of your load,” is about how he first felt, stuck-on-his-back type of helpless with stacks just keep getting added to his life, with no viable way out. The chorus ends with, “In the back with the racks and you’re unstacking your load,” which is him coming to a point where he is moving on and the pain is being released. Verse 3 depicts Vernon coming back to an abandoned home, the one that he left to run away where “The fountain in the front yard is rusted out/ all my love was down in a frozen ground.” He realizes by fleeing, he did not heal his heart but froze it, not truly fixing anything. He strikes the listeners with the question “Whatever could it be that has brought me to this loss?” This question is rhetorical but he has been looking for answers throughout the whole album. In the final verse “This is not the sound of a new man/ or crispy realization/ its the sound of the unlocking and the lift away,” he is not a different man than he was before. He is releasing all the grief that held him down.

He now is back in a place of comfort, where hurt can no longer linger. The song ends with “Your love will be safe with me,” where he is not looking for a way back into the relationship, as it was too long ago, but he will carry it with him. He will carry on too. He understands things will never be the same but he’s willing to move on. A somber acknowledgment of the past and a bittersweet arrival of the forthcoming future. Emma is not forever.

This album produced so many different, yet warranted, theories about the meaning. Vernon made the lyrics intentionally vague and metaphorical so each listener can relate this to their own Emma. But what is Emma? It changes from song to song throughout the entire album. I like when things give me answers and For Emma, Forever Ago doesn’t. It never will.

No matter how many times you listen. It’s not a formula, instructional, or how-to; it’s an antidote. It doesn’t tell you how to heal, it doesn’t tell you where to go. It just ensures you that it will get better, the winter will melt and home never goes away. I think many of us are in similar places as Vernon; we aren’t fleeing to an isolated cabin, but running away from the pain that haunts by escaping from everything in totality. It follows, making you plagued by it. Home is the only place that provides comfort. That’s the bittersweet joy about heartache and pain– it’s never something that leaves you, you just become bigger than it. It won’t happen overnight. You won’t feel it until you realize one day you’re changed. The pain was enduring, but like Emma, it was forever ago.

Home, however, is permanent. It always acts as a lighthouse, there to greet you; to tell you you were missed and you are loved forever.

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Layout by Amelia Goetz

Layout by Chichi Lu and Emily Garloff

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You Grew Up

What

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by Rheina Camacho 38

art by Tiba Alnaqshbandi

The Southern California dry heat had finally simmered off from the afternoon as the evening air circulated in my dad’s car. His back is turned as he lights his cigarette away from my direction and I try to mess with the AC to point at my face. I needed the extra cooling for my warmed cheeks that couldn’t be chilled from the breeze. My chipped nail polish kept falling in chunks on my lap as I bit the color off, wondering why he was wearing his black zip-up hoodie when it was still 90 degrees outside. He wore it all the time, especially on his way to bartending shifts. For some reason, it was still draped over him on our way to the store – one of many spontaneous trips in the summer as a kid I knew I would cherish in the future.

Spending summers with my dad always felt like a different reality, to the point where time didn’t exist in the same way. Life there was filled with regular outings to Walmart, where we couldn’t leave without picking up a RedBox movie that he would inevitably fall asleep to 5 minutes in. Nightly walks to our neighborhood pool through that one alley swarming with bees that terrified me every time. Going to every 7-Eleven in town on free Slurpee Day, only to get sick afterward. Random hiking excursions where there was a 75% chance my sister Ivy and I would complain the entire way through. Watching my dad break something while skateboarding outside our garage, trying to do tricks he could do when he wasn’t pushing 45.

There was a specific amount of freedom I felt there that was hard to replicate for most of the year in Virginia. A freedom that was at times uncomfortable only during the day. I usually had the house to myself until midnight, until my dad would come back from bartending and my siblings would reappear from whatever they were doing at 18 years old. I always looked forward to those summer nights because I loved to sit in the passenger seat and listen to “Dad’s Music,” which made me feel closer to him.

Music was an integral part of my dad’s life growing up, essentially forming his identity. He grew up in the San Fernando Valley but went to high school in Lancaster, CA, and then stayed in the Los Angeles area when my siblings and I were born. After my summers in Southern California, he moved up north to the small town of Orcutt to be closer to my grandparents and aunt, while my siblings stayed down south. Now, when I go visit him every year and we ride in his car playing his music, the memories from before still linger; even though the scenery has changed and so have I. My dad has been a huge influence on my love for music. I got introduced to all the Riot grrrl bands, local California punk rock bands, and of course the staple ones like Nirvana, Fugazi, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc., all in his car with the windows down or blasting from his stereo.

I scrambled together a few questions to ask my dad about what feels like home when listening to music, and the journey of that realization. “It shaped me as an individual,” he explains while also noting the huge impact family had on his music taste. “My dad had a record player so I would listen to his records when he wasn’t home.” He mentions my grandpa’s love for Carlos Santana and how the song, “Oye Como Va” holds sentimental value for him along with “The Tracks of My Tears” by Smokey Robinson & The Miracles which my grandma loved to play as well. My great-tias and tios were always into music, and he put the spotlight on my tia Stella who would, “play her hippie music,” like ‘Sympathy for the Devil’

by The Rolling Stones when she took care of him and my aunt as kids.

I had to consult my dad on what he played when I was little and he said,“ I tried to keep it mellow as to not blow out your ears. Hot Water Music, Explosions In The Sky, Hot Rod Circuit, and a lot of Face to Face.” Apparently, I loved ‘The Aquabats!’ the most, which is a 90s superhero rock band based in Huntington Beach, CA. Explosions in The Sky, an instrumental rock band from Texas, has recently

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taken on new value to me once I found out its significance. A couple of years ago in a record store close to Pismo Beach, CA, my dad found their 2003 album The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place and told me it was all he could play to get me to sleep, and that we would take naps together during the day with it on repeat. I’d never even heard of this band but I immediately bought the record that day. Once I played it, it was like something clicked in my brain. I instantly felt at peace. I can’t explain the feeling without sounding crazy, but every time I listen to the album front to back, I instantly think about my dad and the comfort he gave me. I feel at home. The album came out November 4th, 2003, 13 days before I was born, and remains a sentimental token of my childhood home.

Family wasn’t the only influence on my dad’s music. If anything, skateboarding made it more personal.

“When I found skateboarding in the late ’80s, punk rock was a big part of my music taste because of videos.” Skateboarding and Punk Rock went hand in hand music and culture-wise, especially in Southern California. Eventually, the subgenre, Skate punk was created, taking influence from the high tempo and guitar solos of major Hardcore Punk bands from the 70s and 80s. Punk Rock bands that feel like home to him include The Descendents, Dinosaur Jr., or Fugazi, but when I asked which specific song, he nailed it down to Freak Scene by Dinosaur Jr. “I hear a song and think how it would work with a skateboard part. Ollies on beat, stomp the landing on beat.”

I remember my dad taking me to skateparks as a kid and being so fascinated with everyone there. I thought to myself, “I want to be like them someday.” Mind you, I can barely cruise down a street. But skateboarding was such a vital piece of my dad’s identity. Some days, I would find him snoring to the sounds of yet another skateboarding video like it was white noise. Skateboarding is still an integral part of who he is, considering he currently works at a local skate shop. He says that the punk rock that he found through skating “taught me I could be whoever I wanted to be.”

When I think of home in terms of music, Explosions in the Sky comes to mind but also Charly Bliss, The Regrettes, and Mannequin Pussy, all introduced to me by my dad (And also my sister. Sorry Ivy). They hold the same kind of instrumentals I remember hearing in my dad’s car growing up, and make me think of California summers when there was nothing to do except sit on the roof outside my sister’s bedroom window. I also consider slower artists like Elliott Smith, Mazzy Star, and Twin Peaks as homelike because they stop me from spiraling with anxiety, a struggle I share with my dad. He says, “If I need to block out the world, music soothes me. I find myself thinking in 4/4 time just to calm my nerves.” I didn’t realize that I did the same thing until he shared that, which made me realize the sheer impact he has had on my identity.

Homes were never just one place growing up. When someone asked, “Where are you from?” I have to decide whether to say California, because I was born there and most of my family currently live there, or Virginia, where I built a community through school. But music has taught me that home isn’t a physical place we occupy, but rather the people we hold dear in life and remind us how to live our truest selves.

For me, that is my dad and always will be.

“Music has shaped the way I think about life.”

- Ronald Camacho Jr.

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