The Joy of Decks

There was a book doing the rounds in the 1970s and 80s that found its way onto countless bookshelves, mostly hidden in bedside drawers. It was called The Joy of Sex.

But what’s a manual for sex got to do with vinyl?

Well, dear reader, welcome to The Joy of Decks, a joyful exploration of something wonderfully analogue, intimate, ritualistic… often rather fiddly, mostly less messy, though playing with one can often lead to engaging in a “bit of the other”…if you catch my drift.

There’s something profoundly satisfying about owning a turntable and vinyl. Not just the listening, but the actual doing; the physicality of it all. From sliding a record out of its sleeve (sometimes with a touch more static than you’d like), to brushing away the dust, to cueing up the needle with laser-like precision…it’s a ceremony.

It’s a bit like using a manual camera. You don’t just point and click. You set the aperture, choose your focus, dial in the shutter speed, and only then do you release the shutter, hoping to capture that decisive moment. The result is a photograph that feels earned, not just taken. I still recall the moment I pressed the shutter button on a lot of the photos I have taken, and I still remember the moment I put particular records on the platter for the first time. 

And so it is with vinyl. Listening becomes an event, not a background activity. It’s not just “Alexa, play Bowie.” It’s walking over to the shelves, choosing a record (maybe zigzagging between a few before finally settling), checking the surface, giving it a clean, cueing it up, and sitting down with intent. You don’t scroll through tracks,  you commit to an album side. And then, 20 minutes later, you get up and do it again. You’re not a passive listener. You’re engaged. And the beauty of a record over a bit of the other is that you can get straight back on it and flip it over to the mutual satisfaction of all concerned. 

For many of us, our turntable is more than a piece of gear; it’s a statement. It kind of says, “I care about music.” But not in a superior or snobby way (although there’s no shortage of snobbery in this world of ours). The deck you choose may be a factor of many cues, not all based on its sonic properties. 

Turntables are beautiful objects. Unlike so many items in modern HiFi that get smaller, plainer, blacker, turntables are visual. Platters get polished and shine. Tonearms curve…unless they’re straight. Some are skeletal and minimalist; others are burly beasts made of wood and brass and damped to within an inch of their lives. Some float on magnetic bearings. Some use belt drives, some direct, and some use idler drives. It doesn’t matter; they all kind of say, “Slow down. Enjoy this.”

The joy of decks is that they don’t disappear into the background. They demand you notice them. And that’s part of their charm.

Let’s not pretend vinyl is a plug-and-play affair…well, not often. In the main, setting up a turntable is an art form in itself. Get the tracking force wrong, and you’ll either damage your stylus or your records. Set the anti-skate incorrectly, and you’ll get channel imbalance. Have a warped surface, and you’ll hear it. Bad isolation? You’ll feel the rumble.

The truth is, vinyl isn’t for everyone; or rather, it’s not for everyone without a bit of help.

But here’s the good news: if you don’t fancy poring over protractors and adjusting VTA until the early hours, you don’t have to. Many excellent turntables now come pre-assembled and pre-calibrated. Rega, Pro-Ject, and even the Michell TecnoDec I recently reviewed, for example, come ready set up and calibrated, and sound fantastic straight out of the box.

And if you’re buying from a proper bricks-and-mortar HiFi dealer, they’ll usually help you with setup. They should do it for you. Cartridge alignment, tracking weight, anti-skate, all those fiddly details that matter a great deal but scare off the casual user, should be part of the service.

You don’t have to go it alone, though some do prefer an isolationist approach to many things in life.

Here’s another thing most people don’t talk about much: cleaning records. It sounds boring, doesn’t it, but there’s a strange satisfaction in it. A record cleaning brush is a start. An anti-static gun might help. But then there are record cleaning machines (manual and vacuum), ultrasonic cleaners, and solutions with names like something out of a Bond villain’s lair. Because a clean record is a happy record, and crackles and pops are usually a matter of grime, not age.

And again, this isn’t a chore, it’s part of the ritual. It slows you down. It focuses you. It’s a physical connection to the music you’re about to hear.

Let’s be clear: vinyl doesn’t “sound better” than digital in some objective, mathematical sense – well, I don’t believe it does. A well-mastered high-res digital file played through a top-end DAC can be astonishingly clear and true to source. But vinyl sounds different, despite what some YouTubists might declare to be “the truth”.

There’s a rightness, a fullness, a sense of flow that many associate with vinyl playback. Everything in the chain adds a bit of flavour and spice to proceedings.

But it’s not just about accuracy. It’s about pleasure. The same way some people prefer the harmonics of valve amps, or the slight vignette and softness of a vintage camera lens. Vinyl’s imperfections are often its charms.

And yes, vinyl forces you to slow down. Not just metaphorically, but physically. There’s no instant skip. No 10,000-track potential playlist that gets you so confused you give up. You’re living in that moment, in that album side, with that artist. And in an age of dopamine-generating scrolling and algorithmically-curated chaos, that is a rare and beautiful thing.

Let’s talk money, as sadly, this is one activity you really are going to have to pay to play.

Turntables range from £100 to £100,000+. But the good news is you don’t need to take out a second mortgage to get a decent vinyl setup.

A sensible entry-level system (deck, cartridge, phono stage) can be had for a few hundred quid. Add a pair of speakers and a modest amplifier, and you’ve got a system that’ll sound fab, and, if well cared for, may well last a lifetime.

And records? Yes, new vinyl can be pricey. £25–£40 for an LP is not uncommon these days. But second-hand vinyl is still out there in abundance; charity shops, car boot sales, dedicated record shops, and online platforms. There’s joy in the hunt, too. 

Sure, it’s not the cheapest hobby. But it’s one of the most rewarding. And unlike the box set you binged on Netflix last weekend, that album you bought today will still be giving you aural pleasure in 30 years.

But turntables are fussy creatures. They don’t like vibration. They don’t like being knocked. They prefer level surfaces and a bit of breathing room.

Wall shelves can help. So can isolation platforms. But again, this is where a good dealer can advise you. And don’t feel you have to turn your living room into a laboratory, though some might well like that particular aesthetic. With some care and some common sense, most rooms can accommodate a turntable without too much fuss. Just don’t put it on top of the subwoofer – the earth will move, for sure, but that’s not a good thing where records are concerned.

Owning vinyl encourages conversation and discussion. It’s visible. It’s shareable. Guests flick through your collection like they’d scan your bookshelves. It’s a talking point. It’s communal. People judge you on how you treat animals, your collection of books, and your record collection – well, I do. 

So is vinyl “better” than digital? No! Not always. But it’s different. It’s involved. It’s human. It requires effort, and in return, it gives you pleasure. Like a photograph taken on a manual camera, it might not be perfect, but it’s real. And it means something. It’s about perfect imperfections. I think it was celebrated and much-loved BBC Radio 1 DJ John Peel who said, “Listen, mate, life has surface noise.”

There’s a joy in decks; owning them, using them, tinkering with them, and even cleaning them goes beyond the sound. It’s about reintroducing a degree of friction in a world of frictionless convenience. And real joy often lives in that friction.

So if you’ve never tried it, or if your old turntable is gathering dust in the loft, maybe it’s time to get it out, give it a clean, give the bearing a bit of fresh oil by way of lubrication, and rediscover The Joy of Decks.

Just mind your stylus and get that ’70s beard sorted; they don’t tickle everyone’s fancy.

Stuart Smith

What do you reckon? Does vinyl and the whole process do it for you, or are you more of a “wam-bam thank you, Ma’am” kind of (music) lover? Let us know over on our socials. 

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