Anyone shows up to a meeting with one of those new-fangled 33 rpm records would get laughed out of the house. The older 78s were the rule although some members even had Edison cylinder players from as early as the 1880s.

Grandpa Otto had raised him on old music from the Old Country—marches and folksongs, opera and Classical. It was a longshot trying that with a teenager who had a massive chip on his shoulder and who thought Black Flag was the highest in musical achievement, but something in the music resonated with him, especially the albums with lyrics. Something about those crackly voices calling down the decades from another era moved him. When he had been clearing out Grandpa Otto’s things, tossing the gramophone, and the 78s was the hardest thing.

It wasn’t long before he started to rebuild the collection, saving money for a 1910 Columbia gramophone with a beautiful pressed brass horn and building up a good library of jazz, blues, and some European folk singers and bands. He told himself it had nothing to do with remembering his grandfather and made sure never to buy an album Otto had owned.

“Joe Turner Blues” by Wilbur Sweatman, a hit in 1917, was playing when the guys showed up.

“Still playing this new shit?” Jordan Carter joked as he came through the door, a bottle of 16-year-old Scapa in one hand and a large box tucked under his arm. He was a beefy African-American with a ready smile and hair turning to grey.

“Holy crap,” Heinrich said, indicating to the box. “You actually brought it here?”

“The Edison?” Jordan said. “Don’t worry, I packed it well. We got to give you a big send off. Also I found a great deal down at Minnie’s on cylinders. She bought a major lot from some old storage container. Tons of stuff. Kiara would kill me if she knew how much I spent.”

“Sell more light bulbs,” Heinrich advised. Jordan owned a light bulb factory and was by far the richest guy in the group. If Kiara really would get mad at knowing the price tag for those cylinders, then he had laid down some serious cash.

The cylinder was the first music format before the more familiar disc record was developed, and Jordan was one of a few hardcore collectors in the country with a good library of cylinders for them. He even had some of the earliest soft wax recordings before the Edison company switched to hardened wax and later celluloid.

Heinrich cleared a side table of a lamp and a few empty Chinese takeaway cartons while Jordan chuckled.

“I won’t tell Kiara you’re still a slob,” he said, setting down the box in the cleared space.

“Good. I won’t tell her how much you spent at Minnie’s. I got some good sides there last week. One’s playing now.”

Jordan glanced at the gramophone. “Yeah, I thought that was new.”

“Ain’t nothing new in this club.”

Jordan laughed. There was another knock at the door so Heinrich left him unpacking the Edison cylinder player while he answered it.

Neil, Thornton, and Avram had all come together. Neil Balfort was a lawyer at some high-flying office. He did contract law and so his and Heinrich’s professional paths never crossed. Thornton Bell was a violinist with the New York Philharmonic who had crazy inside connections for vintage Classical and opera 78s. He snapped up the best stuff even before it got listed online. Avram was the newest member, a forty-something paper pusher at some municipal office, a job so boring he groaned any time someone asked him what he did for a living. He’d gotten bitten by the collecting bug hard and the other members were teaching him how not to get ripped off.

“Make yourself at home, guys,” Heinrich said, indicating to the worn sofa and a pair of aging armchairs. The table was already supplied with chips, cheese, a bottle of 10-year-old Talisker, and a box of real Cuban cigars courtesy of a previous client.

Neil spotted the Cubans instantly. Setting his pile of early ethnographic recordings on the coffee table, he picked one up and smelled it.

“Ah, the rich bouquet of illegality.”

“They go well with a good single malt,” Heinrich said.

Thornton plunked a bottle of 10-year-old Laphroaig on the table.