As a child born in the eighties, I didn’t have time for much of a love affair with the vinyl record. A few years laid out on our brown shag carpet listening to the soft whir and tick of the record needle – gone in a flash with the appearance of the compact disc player. With its built-in lasers and shiny discs that occupied less space on cramped apartment shelves, the new device easily charmed our family. The records were quickly scuttled away in pine boxes to the dank recesses of our storage space. There was no looking back. Now almost three decades later, armed with an iPod, a BlackBerry and a lovely home network of Macintosh computers, I find myself happily rediscovering vinyl. And I’m