THE PRESENCE OF SOUND

Vinyl records. Film cameras. Polaroids. Cassette tapes. On the surface, it might seem like nostalgia, yet it speaks of something deeper, a longing for texture, ritual, and presence. An Analog Revival in a Digital Age

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In a world where moments blur into notifications and memories vanish into a feed, something subtle yet quietly powerful is unfolding. A return to the tangible. Vinyl records. Film cameras. Polaroids. Cassette tapes. On the surface, it might feel like nostalgia. But it’s more than that. It’s about longing for texture. For ritual. For presence. And for an aesthetic that resists being flattened into pixels.

The crackle of a needle isn’t noise- it’s a pause. The sound of vinyl, the weight of a camera, the whisper of turning pages-each one an act of resistance against the clean, soulless efficiency of digital life. And the numbers confirm it. In 2022, vinyl outsold CDs in the U.S. for the first time since 1987, with 41 million records sold and over $1.2 billion in revenue (RIAA, 2023). In 2023, sales climbed again-up another 10% (Pitchfork, 2024).

Yet it isn’t about sales. It’s about seeing the music, touching it, holding an album, exploring its artwork, flipping through lyrics, and listening to a story unfold from start to finish. Jack White said it best:

“The ritual of vinyl demands your attention. And that’s exactly what makes it worthwhile.”

The same goes for photography. An analog camera offers no instant previews, no delete button, no second chances, only the silence before a shutter click, the wait that follows, and the quiet magic of development. In early 2024, Kodak temporarily halted film production-not because demand slowed, but because they couldn’t keep up (Fstoppers, 2024). That’s not nostalgia-it’s momentum.

For Gen Z, the most connected generation in history, analog has become a form of quiet rebellion. They are not romanticizing the past; they are rejecting the speed of the present. They choose cameras without screens and create images that live offline, that wait, that breathe. According to the Vinyl Alliance, Gen Z became the fastest-growing group of record buyers in 2023 (Vinyl Alliance, 2023). For them, this is not a trend; it is a language.

Across Instagram and TikTok, the #vinylcommunity is thriving. Teens and young adults share handwritten playlists, show their thrifted LP finds, and exchange notes about pressings, sound quality, and memories. Gigi Hadid’s analog account @gisposable and David Dobrik’s Dispo project both reflect the same desire to slow down, capture, and savor.

In Berlin, Claas Brieler, a musician and vinyl archivist, plays records from his 15,000-piece collection in candlelit rooms, convinced that analog is the only way to be fully present with music (Analog Foundation, 2023). In New York, Jamal Alnasr runs Village Revival Records with the care of a librarian. He knows every album and every story. Regular visitors include Rosalía, Bella Hadid, and neighborhood kids who wander in and leave transformed.

Justin Cary began developing film in his kitchen in Kansas in 2019. Today, his lab Midwest Film Co. processes rolls sent from across the country by photographers, artists, and musicians who want more than megapixels. His work isn’t just chemistry. It’s resistance. To speed. To polish. To burnout.

That resistance has a sound: the soft crackle of vinyl, the grain in a print, light leaking where it should not, colors untouched by presets, and a smell of paper, dust, and developer fluid. These so-called flaws are what make analog feel alive - honest and beautiful.

Photographers like Thalíe Gochez, who shoot entirely on film, and visual artists like Bastiaan Woudt, whose digital work channels the calm and depth of analog tones, remind us that the medium matters, but intention matters more. It is about what you notice, what you slow down to capture, and what you allow to remain imperfect.

Sound engineers, DJs, designers, and collectors are not trying to revive the past. They are reimagining the present, bringing weight back to the fleeting, meaning back to form, and silence back into listening.

Maybe we cannot unplug, but we can choose when to tune in. Analog does not offer escape; it offers return - to rhythm, to space, to stillness, to self. That is not retro. That is human.