Vinyls And Stories Behind Them

by Barbara Yakimchuk

Vinyls And Stories Behind Them

18 Jul 2025

Ask any collector what their collection is really about, and most will say the same thing — it is all about the memories. You could hand them an item that means nothing to you, and they would still have a whole story to tell.

That was the idea I wanted to explore — a little experiment of my own. And naturally, I knew exactly which world to step into: music. Because when it comes to collecting, few things are as iconic — or as personal — as vinyl.

What followed was a fascinating journey, one we shared with a few friends of The Sandy Times, each opening up about the stories behind their most meaningful records.

Kito Jempere on...

…pressed in vinyl, buried in a secondhand stall in Budapest — a forgotten track, quietly waiting for its second life.

Once, while on tour in Budapest, I found myself wandering through local record shops. It was a transitional moment in my career — I had just rebranded, moving from my Saint Petersburg Disco Spin Club alias to Kito Jempere. Around that time, I had also released a record on the UK label Freerange, which was even reviewed by Resident Advisor — right in the heart of the house music world. It felt like a real shift in my life.

So there I was, digging through vinyl at a secondhand stall in the centre of the city. I have always been drawn to different musical styles, and that is how I came across a record from a local label called "Neoton Família". The record was titled "Carnival". I ended up buying quite a few that day — I still remember they cost around 2,000–3,000 forints each.

Back home, I started going through the tracks, and one in particular really stayed with me: “Lányi.”

I began playing it during my more laid-back sets — not the typical house gigs, but warm-up hours, bar nights, or those long all-night sessions that start slow and build. I absolutely loved the track, but I noticed that something in it — maybe the chorus or the structure — would occasionally throw the crowd off a bit.

So, around 2015 or 2017, I decided to make my own edit. I added it to my USB and started playing it live — fully reworked. That version eventually caught the attention of the mysterious Italian label Duca Bianco, which, as it turned out, was run by my friend Chuggy, who is also my partner on the UK label Emotional Response.

He heard the track in one of my sets and suggested releasing it. And here is the twist: the original composer from the ’70s somehow discovered the edit, found my contact, and emailed me — telling me he loved it. He didn’t sign any formal contract, but he gave me his informal permission to release it. So, in a way, it became an officially blessed bootleg.

I told him the whole story — how I found the record while walking through Budapest with my wife. Now that track is tied to so many beautiful memories in my life. It is wild to think that a vinyl from the ’70s sat in a dusty bin for decades before being rediscovered and given a second life through music.

Cyrill Reaidy on…

…a record that cost more than most — but earned its weight in meaning and future musical sound.

"Queerifications & Ruins Vinyl Sampler 1" by DJ Sprinkles is the most personal record I own.

I bought it off Discogs — a popular online platform for music collectors, especially those into vinyl, CDs, and cassettes — on November 14, 2017, not realising I was picking up something that would leave a lasting mark on how I understand music. It was also the first time I ever spent a significant amount of money on a single record. That alone made it feel like a real commitment — and it ended up being worth every cent.

The remix of Oh Yoko’s "Seashore" plays like a dream I was never part of, yet somehow deeply long for. It is so delicate, so slow-burning — it gives me goosebumps every single time. Sprinkles doesn’t just make deep house — they stretch it into something haunting, political, and profoundly human.

These days, my sound leans into heavier territory, but this record still holds the emotional blueprint. It taught me to trust silence, to let tension breathe, to build with subtlety and intention.

I rarely play it out — not because it wouldn’t work, but because it feels sacred. It is more than a favourite. It is a reminder of why I started, and a compass I still carry, even as I move in new directions.

Jayesh Veralkar on...

…two records that remind him how community and kindness can find you anywhere — whether you are in San Francisco or in Dubai.

With over 1,200 records in my collection, it is hard to pick just one or two. But since we are keeping it strict, here are two that truly mean the world to me — ironically, each from a different time and a different corner of the world.

"Lost in the Dream" by The War on Drugs

Work took me to San Francisco for the first time 11 years ago. On my very first day in the city, I started browsing gig listings, hoping to catch some live music. That is when I came across a band I had never heard of — The War on Drugs — playing at The Independent. I gave them a quick listen on Spotify, and their album Lost in the Dream instantly pulled me in.

The show was sold out, but I went to the venue anyway, hoping to find a scalper. No luck. Just as I was about to head back, I noticed a crew member outside, rolling a cigarette. On a whim, I struck up a conversation and told him how I had just landed from India and was really hoping to see the show. Something must have clicked — he spoke to the bouncer, and next thing I knew, I was inside.

Later that night, at the merch stand, I found out that guy was actually the tour manager. I bought him a beer, grabbed a tote bag, and picked up "Lost in the Dream" on vinyl — even though I didn’t even own a turntable at the time. The band played an unforgettable set, and little did I know that very album would soon become their breakout record. Even now, it is still firmly in my top ten.

Photo: Dominic East

"Made in the Emirates – Volume 1"

This one is deeply personal. It is the first release under our own label, Vinyl Souk Records — a project so close to my heart, created to spotlight incredible independent artists from the UAE. The response was amazing. We sold out the first pressing and just repressed a second batch to meet demand. More than just a record, it is a celebration of the vibrant and growing music scene in this part of the world.

Kevork Keshishian on...

…a record that echoes his childhood love for music — and the moment he began drifting toward dance.

It isn’t exactly my favorite record, but it is definitely one of the most meaningful in my journey. Back then in Beirut, vinyl wasn’t really a thing. We mostly bought CDs — they were easier to find, and honestly, there weren’t many places to get music in general. When it came to vinyl, there was really just one spot everyone knew: La CD-Tech. It was the only shop bringing in independent music, and eventually, they started stocking small batches of records too. Once I found out it existed, I kept going back.

My friends and I were obsessed with music. We weren’t DJs yet — just the kids who loved listening, breaking down lyrics, talking about producers, and getting into the stories behind each album. DJing came a little later — naturally and gradually — in early 2004.

As I said, I already knew that store — had probably been there a hundred times. Then one day, I came across this one record from the German label Kompakt — it was called "Kompakt 100", marking their hundredth release, I think. That record became my first real doorway into electronic music — especially dance music. Before that, I wasn’t into that scene at all. But Kompakt changed something for me — along with artists like Black Strobe from the French scene, Jennifer Cardini, Chloé, and Michael Mayer.

Funny enough, when I first started playing gigs, I wasn’t even playing dance music. My sets were more eclectic — a mix of downtempo and leftfield sounds. But about a year in, I began leaning more toward the dance floor. And this record… it was always somewhere around, waiting for its time — and finally, it marked that turning point. It felt different. It had a presence. I think it was the first proper electronic dance music record I ever bought. I still have it, tucked away back home in Beirut.

by Barbara Yakimchuk