Take your vinyl for a spin. Needles still rock The bliss as the stylus hits the vinyl and hisses until it finds the lead-in groove and then the first notes blare out. ONE of my sons bought a turntable the other day. You know, those kooky old gizmos that play vinyl records. Actually this one is pretty hi-tech. It has a USB port at the back, which I assume allows you to connect with things like Blueface and YouTooth. It's a natty little contraption. But the most wonderful thing about it is I can dig out all my old records and give them another spin. Oh, the bliss as the stylus hits the vinyl and hisses until it finds the lead-in groove and then the first notes blare out. The warm fug of the sound. As the diamond needle digs deep into the grooves of Johnny Cash and Gene Vincent and the Beatles and Frank Sinatra at his peak and Chet Atkins and Thelonius Monk and Edith Piaf and you hear their sounds crackle out of the past, ancient joys awaken. The buzz of Normie Rowe singing Shaking All Over. A 45rpm of Elvis Presley's Suspicious Minds. Neil Young's Harvest. Hendrix, Hank Williams, Lightning Hopkins, the other Elvis (Mr Costello). The past enters the present though a tiny needle made of diamond, a sliver of compressed carbon formed underground millions of years ago. My youngest boy, who is 10, has developed a particular love for an old album of mine by country and western singer Marty Robbins called Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs. I can't fault his taste. Rediscovering old records is like finding a diary that you tossed in a shoebox in the shed and forgot. Blow off the dust, open the covers, there you are. Or there you were, not quite as your remember yourself. Did I really have a Barry White album? That must have been my kitsch so-bad-it's-good phase. I even had a Rolf Harris record. Please don't hate me for it. The other curious thing about the arrival of the turntable is how my children seem to be completely bamboozled by this version of technology. How does a pointy bit of diamond plonked on a piece of scratched plastic make sound? Do you put the needle at the outside or the inside of the record? "How do you fast-forward to the next song?" my youngest asked. These are children who are perfectly comfortable with iPods and iTunes and mobile phones that suck music and information and photos out of the ether, but they're puzzled by a simple, clunky phonograph. There are other pleasures with a turntable. Like switching the speed on an LP from 33 to 45 and making every singer sound like a Chipmunk. Or slowing a 45 down and making them sound like a very old bear with a sore head. Sifting through vinyl records, it's easy to get nostalgic. But today's technology is fabulous. Ipods that can hold enough music for the rest of your life. YouTube videos of almost any musical act that was ever recorded in any medium. It's post-modern alchemy. But there is one thing about old vinyl records I do miss. The liner notes. Remember those? Almost every pre-1970s album had a spiel on the back written by some record industry hack with a poor grasp of English or a fawning journalist telling you exactly why you simply had to own this record. Here are some genuine examples from my collection. Assembled on this LP are outstanding songs and arrangements which only need the firing-spark of the singer to enable it to explode into action on your record machine. Songs that comment with sly or broad humour on the fate of the human specimen in the toils of love. He creates an electric excitement that springs directly from his own personality. He's not only an outstanding musician, he's one wonderful guy. And: "Este disco esta grabado con verdadera alta fidelidad" (yeah, I don't know either, it's on a Cuban record).