Featured Essay: What Vinyl Taught Me About My Dad

by Saffina Jinnah

May 15, 1993. Ribbons, banners, balloons. I was putting on my navy-blue polka dot outfit and my dad was setting up the tripod for my sixth birthday party. We heard a sound, ran downstairs, and within minutes, everything changed. A heart attack. He was gone.

For the last 32 years, I have filled this emptiness with snippets and stories from anyone who knew him. No detail is too small, too irrelevant, everything is important as I try to piece him together. And while I have a lot of factual information, key dates in his life, I long for the answers to the questions that you often come to know naturally. How does he like his steak cooked? What hockey team does he support? What song did he turn up? Some of these, I will never know the answer to and I have to accept that. But some things, I might come across by sheer luck.

My mom always told me he loved music. And I grew up hearing about this mysterious seemingly mythical record collection. A collection my father cherished and loved but had yet to be found. However, a few years ago, my mother’s basement flooded, leading us to clear and clean every corner, crevice, and crack. And in the very back of the small crawl space were boxes of records. Some in their bright paper flap covers, others round, black, askew. I could not believe how many there were, 45s and LPs. While many were damaged from the flood, most were in good condition. 

Now, when I say this collection was eclectic, I mean there was everything from The Beatles, Santana, Anne Murry, Miriam Makeba, to the World of Strauss, and Bollywood and more. I flipped through every box, each record, unaware of just how passionate about music my dad truly was. 

As an Indian Ismaili Muslim, born and raised in Uganda, he moved to the United Kingdom to study in his 20s. Clearly influenced by the British Invasion of the 60s, he had classics like The Beatles, The Hollies, and The Bee Gees, to name a few. The joy of discovering these only doubles when listening to them as I imagine him walking the streets of London, scanning different shops, seeking the perfect find. Did he scour shops for hours in search of the right one? Did he casually lean over a stack and have banter with the shopkeeper? As I sat on the garage floor doing this exact thing myself, it dawned on me, could it be that my dad was…cool? In any case, it doesn’t matter what is on the albums, after years of hearing about it, and even more trying to learn and understand this mystery man, I want it all.  

Though this may confirm my dad was cool and part of the cultural revolution that overtook Britian in the 60s, this collection also represents years of my father’s diverse musical tastes which frankly ranges from positively brilliant to quite simply…what the actual f***. Never had I heard of “Son of Dracula – Starring Harry Nillson and Ringo Starr.” Largely considered the worst rendition in the many telling’s of Dracula, this also makes it the most fascinating! And the soundtrack includes hits such as “Without You”, originally by Badfinger and popularized again in the 90s by Mariah Carey (the only version I knew before finding this)! It also features “Jump into the Fire”, which he performed in the film, a track, again, I only recognized from another 1990’ hit, the mobster film, “Goodfellas”. 

The boxes contained so many artists I had never heard of. I learned of Lucille Starr and her infamous “French Song”. She was a Canadian singer, songwriter, and…yodeler. Yes, you read that right. A yodeler. A yodeler so widely known and respected that she often did the yodeling on the popular TV series, Beverly Hillbillies. I learned she was born in Manitoba and moved to my home province of British Columbia. Is this just a coincidence? These peculiar facts make each find more interesting.

Everything was so different, so unique, so unexpected. I realized I didn’t really know my father at all. I know fragments of him. But this collection opened a new dimension to me. As I continued to skim each album, judging my father’s tastes, one dusty album at a time, I realized, perhaps these vinyl relics contribute to my own obscure musical tastes.

His collection also mimics my love for Bollywood. It may be that his Bollywood vinyls in fact out number his western ones. However, I have come to learn that much of these purchases were for my mother so that she may enjoy soothing sounds off the gramophone as she calls it. A sweet nonchalant recognition of their love. He has all her favourites, which are now my favourites too. Known today as the golden era of Bollywood, the collection even included my favourites, Kabhi Kabhie as well as Qurbani, titles you would be hard pressed to find today.

Mixed among the Bollywood albums, I came across albums of religious themes. I had long heard my father was a religious person. And while I know he practiced, I did not expect to find albums of commemorative moments with recordings of tributes and ginans. Finding these are not only rare, but incredibly telling of his faith and the importance it held in his life. 

Flipping through the stacks was like looking through an old family photo album. Some are discoloured polaroids of youth in bell bottoms, some are refined dinner parties with clinking flutes, others are visions of romance, while some are snapshots of mature moments in time. With every vinyl, I gain another glimpse into my father’s life and I am grateful. The way I remember him is ordinary. But when I play his records, I am taken back in time. He is in his checkered textured blazer with large lapels, nonchalantly dancing through the house looking around at us with a grin, excited about the family and life that he built.

I purchased a relatively cheap record player and my mom had to dig deep into her archived memories and teach me how to handle vinyls with care, using the lever and placing the pin, and changing the needle. It was a special moment, learning something new to hang on to something old. Playing these vinyls, I was hearing the history of my father. A person I never knew. Zinat Jinnah, not just dad. 

Saffina Jinnah is a freelance writer based in Vancouver, B.C. A first generation Canadian, her parents are from Uganda. She is passionate about social justice. In her day-to-day life she works in non-profit funding, is an active volunteer, and loves to read in coffee shops sipping something over-sweetened and over-caffeinated. You can read more of her writing at Confessions of a Brown Girl. https://www.saffinajinnah.com/