I recently inherited my father’s turntable and record collection, an acquisition that’s become an unexpected joy to me in the past few months. My reasons at the time for setting up the system were simple: pay homage to my father and occupy some empty square footage in my apartment. I never quite believed the earnest claims of audiophiles, that music actually sounded better through that antiquated machine. But when I dropped the needle onto Eric Clapton’s Slowhand and the beginning notes of “Cocaine” crept from the speakers, I felt like I was hearing the song for the first time… [Continued below the fold]