A Spin of Pure Shellac

Dragging that glossy vinyl record out into the sun was merely the opening act! With the grooved disc resting flat upon the polished floorboards, I perched on one knee and pressed the pointed tip of my microphone staff firmly into its outer spiraling track. With my other hand, I gave the edge of the record a firm, spirited spin. *Ssshh-krrr-whir!* The textured ridges hissed beneath my staff with an exquisite friction, throwing a fine needle of static resonance straight through the wooden cane. Not quite a full brass orchestra just yet, my friend, but the primitive rasp of real shellac makes for an undeniably thrilling midday preview!