A Music Collection… or a Music Library?
Hi, Phil Aston here from Now Spinning Magazine, and this is one of those conversations that starts out light-hearted and ends up going somewhere much deeper than you might expect.
Do we have music collections… or do we have music libraries?
At first glance, this might sound like semantics. Just words. But words matter. They shape how we think about what we do, why we do it, and how others perceive it—especially those “other humans” we share our homes with, who sometimes raise an eyebrow when several box sets mysteriously arrive on the same day.
We’ve all been there.
The Problem With “Collecting”
The word collector is a tricky one. A collection sounds like stuff. Things. Objects piling up. It can drift uncomfortably close to ideas of hoarding, obsession, or clutter. And while hoarding is a word never used in music circles (for obvious reasons), the language around collecting doesn’t always do justice to what’s really going on.
Because most of us aren’t just accumulating objects.
We’re choosing. Curating. Shaping something over time.
Welcome to the Music Library
That’s why I prefer a different phrase:
I am not a collector. I am a curator of a music library.
Better still:
A hand-curated cultural music library.
Feel the difference?
A library isn’t random. It’s intentional. It’s built over a lifetime. It tells a story. And crucially, it carries meaning far beyond the physical space it occupies.
Say that out loud and suddenly the room you’re standing in isn’t “full of records”… it’s a cultural archive. A personal museum. A diary you don’t write in words.
A Soundtrack to a Life
Most of us started buying music young—really young—when we were still a blank page. Singles first. Then albums. Then whole worlds opening up through conversations, friendships, chance recommendations, and late-night rabbit holes.
That library grows alongside you.
It’s there when you buy your first car.
When you fall in love.
When things fall apart.
When you heal.
When you grieve.
When you rediscover joy.
This isn’t a soundtrack written by one composer for a two-hour film. This is a sprawling, ever-expanding score that follows you through decades. Thousands of songs, layered with memories, emotions, places, and people.
Every album on your shelf has a reason for being there—even if you can’t immediately remember what it was.
Browsing Someone’s Soul
Let’s be honest—many of us do this.
You go to someone’s house for the first time and your eyes automatically scan the room. Bookshelves. Records. CDs. You start building a picture of who this person is.
That’s because a music library reveals personality. Tastes. Curiosity. Open-mindedness. Comfort zones. Risk-taking.
Nostalgia.
A pile of old newspapers might be a collection.
A music library invites you in.
Community Changed Everything
For me, Now Spinning Magazine completely reignited this relationship with music.
I started it because I missed something. Friends weren’t buying records anymore. We weren’t talking about music the way we used to—down the pub, comparing notes, arguing, discovering.
And suddenly… it all came back.
Someone posts an album.
“I’ve got that.”
“I haven’t played that in years.”
“That reminds me of…”
Next thing, you’re pulling boxes down from the garage, putting up shelves, making space—not just physically, but emotionally. Albums become visible again. Accessible. Alive.
That sense of community—shared enthusiasm, shared discovery—has probably expanded my music library more than anything else in recent years. Not because of consumerism, but because of connection.
Why Physical Still Matters
Streaming is brilliant for discovery. I use it all the time. But it’s anonymous. It’s rented. It’s someone else’s library.
You don’t own it.
You can’t guarantee it’ll be there tomorrow.
Your own library? That’s different. That’s tangible. Three-dimensional. Artwork. Lyrics. Liner notes. The weight of a box set in your hands. The knowledge that an artist poured thought into every aspect of that release.
You can’t stream food. You can look at it—but eventually you need to taste it.
Music is the same.
Music as a Diary
Some people keep meticulous written diaries. I never really did.
My diary is my music library.
Every album carries an imprint of the moment it entered my life. What was happening then. Why I chose it. Who I was. Each replay adds another layer.
That’s why this matters.
A music library isn’t “stuff”.
It’s memory.
It’s identity.
It’s healing.
It’s connection.
The only real danger?
Space.
But that’s a conversation for another video.
Phil Aston | Now Spinning Magazine
