Featured Essay: My Father: A Life in Vinyl 

by Hayley Annikki Voudouris

My father’s sudden passing left us crushed, forced to pick up shattered pieces that can only be forged back together through fire and time, reassembling in their own unique, storied way. Like any loss, so much was left in the wake of his sudden absence: memories, longings, things left unsaid. If you’ve ever had a loss like this you know that feeling well. A tug in your gut that’s that horrifically unique. Suddenly here you are, in this hollow earth shatteringly empty space, alone with the things that made that person uniquely them. 

My dad leaves so much behind in this way. His overwhelming, distinctive presence, and truthful giving spirit a vacuum. He was part sage, part musician. Part rocker, part cowboy. All warrior. So much could be said of him and his ways that in trying to convey his essence, I’m quite unsure I could never do him justice. 

Among the material things he leaves, his childhood record collection stands out as being a powerful piece of him, an integral part the foundation of who he became. To me, it is a personal reminder of his uniqueness, his passion. The collection jumpstarted his life, serving as a springboard to the career he loved, the life he lived, and the legacy of dreaming he passed on to me. 

My dad, Steve Voudouris grew up in the 1950s and 60s, just down the street from a little drug store in Sacramento, California which housed Russ Solomon’s precursor to the world famous Tower Records. His collection consists of original Beatles albums, complete with vivid stories of racing to buy them on rainy mornings, the familiar suburban streets covered with crunchy autumn leaves. The tales, and the feelings they invoke so vivid I recall them as if they were my own. 

Today the records, worn with love and time somehow echo the excitement of getting them RIGHT when they came out. They exude the power of hearing classic songs like, “I Want to Hold Your Hand” when they’d barely played on the radio and no one knew them by heart. Through him and them, I too have experienced brave new worlds: The British Invasion, psychedelic rock, his very favorite, Jimi Hendrix. 

Our collection ranges from classics like these we all know, to more obscure albums of that day, by artists like Johnny Horton, and comedians such as Vaughn Meader, whose album The First Family, a gentle lampooning of President Kennedy’s daily life, won the Grammy Award for the album of the year in 1963. Additions to the collection like these, remind me not of my dad’s musical inclinations but also of his lighthearted love for comedy, politics and history, something he continually shared with everyone around him. Perhaps these albums also spawned his love for doing impressions, his Ed Sullivan was flawless.

The records were a powerful tool that helped dad become a student and lover of music right from the very start. This was not about being what we now call “a fanboy”, or wanting to live a certain kind of life, although he certainly did. He was a true connoisseur and artist, someone who not only made a comparative study of what he was listening to, and who was playing it, but who could also play those pieces on his own, self taught. He continued to critique the music this way throughout his whole life. It was his bliss.

Throughout my life with him, he would very often (at least once a day when he was not on the road) come and get me, or any one of us and make us listen to something he’d just heard and want to discuss the nuances of the piece, its influences, people he knew who were associated with it, and so forth. The records taught him to do this. Often this was a conversation lost on me, at least in terms of technicality. As creative as I am, I inherited no musical prowess whatsoever. At the same time, I carry that level of enthusiasm and critical thinking into my own areas of artistic endeavor.  

My dad’s early love for these albums, and the music within them inspired him and his brother, not just to study but to act: to pick up guitars, start bands, and pursue music as a paid profession well before they were old enough to drive. At the time, it seemed improbable to think that two young Greek boys from a smallish town would make it into the fantastical world of rock music The Beatles introduced us to, especially with the discouragement of stuffy naysayer neighbors and relatives. The music became an escape for an imaginative young man who wasn’t treated well by his family. 

Nonetheless, he persisted. As he always did with everything. And it became his life.

By his early teens, my dad was playing in, and working with local bands, playing and arranging gigs and making money. And as you could in those days, taking tapes to local radio AM stations and getting them played across town. His love for music, and natural inclination toward producing a happy marriage. 

By his early 20s he was touring the world, working for artists such as John Mayall, and Elton John. Ultimately, he became a tour and production manager for other major artists, a career that lasted over 50 years. He’s worked for and I’ve known people like: Warren Zevon, John Denver, The Strokes, Dwight Yoakam, and Lynyrd Skynyrd. 

In some ways, he won the ultimate prize, becoming friends with people he grew up listening to. Being famous among famous people. He got to visit, and live in places he grew up dreaming about like London, New York, and countless others. Today, his record collection is important to me and my mom, not because of a storied career, but because it really reminds us that despite achieving much of his impossible dream, nothing was more important to him than his family.

He always used his story, and his records, and his memories as words of inspiration to me: a path to follow. He was the dad who always encouraged me in everything, especially in pursuit of dreams that quite honestly were difficult to achieve. I carry this with me every day as an artist, writer and aspiring TV writer, who is still trying her best despite things not being easy in the entertainment world right now (as if they ever really were). He certainly knew what that was like. 

When I look at the records, I see the dreams of a man who continually fueled my own dreams. I see the excitement of a new world, love for the art, and belief in possibility. I see the stories others have told me about his encouragement of them, about things he did to help them. I see a man whose memory is a blessing. 

For him, the boyhood memories and record collection and all the hope he’d accrued in amassing them weren’t forgotten. They were always special to him, an integral part of his being. They are now heritage. 

Devastatingly, he passed away on the road at a show in 2022, doing what he loved. Today, when I look at his collection, it isn’t about the music. It isn’t about the dreamer he was, or the professional he grew to be. It’s a reminder of how the collection shaped him into who he was… A one of a kind person whose memory is a blessing to me and so many others. The albums are precious because they’re worn with time and his love. They tell us his story, reminding us of the love he had to give. We, in many ways, are left with shattered pieces. But the albums remind us of his courage and persistence, reminding us we have the ability to put everything back together.

Hayley Annikki Voudouris is a fiction writer and emerging op-ed journalist who examines pop culture and social dynamics in search of unique ways to make our communities their best selves.