Dropping the needle, winter silence. - 70s folk and the warmth of wood -

Hello, this is Lucy!

February 7th. Even though the beginning of spring has passed, the night air is still as cold as ice. On nights like this, I want to push the cold outside to the other side of the window and warm up my room with "sound" and "light".

My partners for tonight are an old analog record I recently acquired and my favorite chair.

■ The texture of sound painted by analog

Lately, I've been hooked on listening to 70s Japanese folk songs and some slightly obscure world music. While I like the convenience of listening to music via subscription services, that "ritual"-like time of gently dropping the needle onto a record player feels incredibly luxurious.

The slightly raspy guitar tone that flows out after the "crackle" of noise. The thick sound, unique to recordings of that era, that conveys even the vibration of the air. It's that same feeling of having more affection for a well-worn wooden floor than for a shiny new wall.

■ A small piece of architecture called a "chair"

When listening to music, what I value is "where I sit." An old wooden chair designed by a Nordic architect. The backrest, which curves exquisitely to fit the body, is truly like a "sculpture for sitting."

I dim the lights a little, leaving only the soft glow of indirect lighting. Then, the shadow of the chair stretches long across the wall, creating a new depth in the room. A good chair and good music. With just that, I am enveloped in a strange sense of liberation, as if the square room is connected to somewhere far away.

■ Tonight's playlist is a melody from those days

What I chose tonight are folk songs from the early 70s that are somewhat lonely, yet have a strong core. The fragments of casual daily life and the subtle movements of the heart woven into the lyrics. Even listening to them in this day and age—no, perhaps precisely because it is this day and age—those unadorned words fall straight into my heart.

To accompany them, a spice tea with plenty of milk. As I listen to the melody flowing on the other side of the steam, it's strange how even the sound of the cold wind outside starts to sound like wonderful percussion.

Outside is still the middle of deep winter. But a night spent surrounded by my favorite "materials" is a precious time that prepares my heart for the arrival of spring.

What kind of sounds do you keep by your side on freezing nights?

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