Thea’s Missing Records
Updated: August 2026. Time has passed since I originally wrote this post in January 2024, and I have now reached my own conclusion about what I believe happened to my missing music. It’s been a heartbreaking realisation. I’ve added links to my follow-up posts at the bottom.
Have you ever lost something that meant the world to you?
Picture this: a collection of vinyl records, each one a memory, a story, a piece of my heart. These records shaped my musical journey in my youth. It wasn’t just music; it was the soundtrack of my life.
Then, in January 2024, I realised many of them were gone. More than 150 records, each with its own tale, had mysteriously vanished.
This isn’t just a story about loss, though. It’s also one of rediscovery, of embarking on an adventure to reclaim what was once mine and perhaps finding some new treasures along the way.
Join me as I share the story of my missing records and my ongoing journey to bring this beloved collection back to life.
Firstly, the backstory…
My Back Catalogue
In the ’80s, my life was inextricably linked with music. After high school, I worked in record shops, including the iconic Tower Records in Mountain View and later Glasgow, as well as a brief stint at Rainbow Records in Sonoma County.
My journey took me through internships at major and indie record labels including RCA, A&M and WEA, followed by a record store rep position at IRS Records.
The end of the ’80s saw my first foray into radio, starting with college radio before eventually moving into commercial radio in Scotland in 1992.
These experiences weren’t just jobs. They were gateways to a world of rare vinyl treasures, including promos, cutouts and limited editions that most music enthusiasts could only dream of.
My collection was more than just a hobby. It was a reason for living, with many of those records representing unique chapters of my life.
Where’s the Vinyl Been? Where Did It Go?
The saga of these records is a tale of transitions and trust. Since the early ’90s, they had been safely housed at my father’s place in California. His passing in 2018 marked the beginning of their journey through the hands of various friends who took on the role of guardians.
Fast forward to January 2024, when the boxes finally made their way to Scotland. As I started unpacking them, I sensed something was amiss.
Pieces of my musical mosaic were missing.
That unsettling feeling sent me digging through archived photos I’d taken in January 2020, followed by more photos and videos from October 2022.
A startling discovery awaited me in those digital memories.
While I had been reunited with only eight boxes, the photographs clearly showed there had originally been ten.
Through those old photos and videos, I could actually identify records that were no longer with me.
Suddenly, this wasn’t simply a vague feeling that a few records were missing. I had visual evidence of a much larger collection than the one that eventually arrived in Scotland.
And that brought far more questions than answers…
The Three Two Possibilities
When I originally wrote this post, I was trying to work out what could possibly have happened.
Over time, the possibilities narrowed considerably.
- Had I set some records aside to be stored elsewhere for safekeeping? At first, I hoped that might explain at least some of the missing collection. As time passed, that possibility became increasingly unlikely.
- I now believe a former friend cherry-picked records from my collection before the boxes were eventually moved interstate. I can’t state with absolute certainty what happened, but based on the records that disappeared, the timeline and the information I’ve pieced together since, this is the conclusion I’ve personally reached. If I’m wrong, then someone else with an exceptional ear for music somehow had the opportunity and time to hand-pick a remarkable selection of records from those boxes. Either way, losing them has broken my heart.
The Digital-Analogue Tussle
There’s been something of an inner civil war within me.
On one hand, as some less-than-sympathetic friends have pointed out, they’re material possessions.
Then comes the argument that we’re living in a digital age. Most of the music is only a click away on Spotify, YouTube or elsewhere.
Heck, I even own some of it on CD.
But this collection was never simply an assortment of vinyl. It was my pride and joy, a tangible piece of my life’s journey.
Many of those records hold a story or an irreplaceable memory. There’s the Cure album given to me by my dear friend Carol for my 16th birthday. There’s a limited edition Nick Heyward record connected to the chain of events that eventually led me to living in Scotland.
This isn’t just about the music.
It’s about the moments, people and experiences those records represent. They’re the soundtrack to my life. Not simply a playlist, but a personal anthology of memories that is now incomplete.
Personal Responsibility
You may be wondering, “If you valued them so much, why didn’t you ship them sooner?”
It’s a fair question.
For years, I believed it would cost thousands to ship the collection from California to Scotland. It turned out that wasn’t the case.
The other mistake I made was not cataloguing every single record in every box and recording exactly who had which boxes during the pandemic.
Those were my mistakes in all of this, and I have to own them.
What I didn’t expect was that I’d ever need such a detailed inventory to prove what was mine.
My New Adventure Begins
When I first shared what had happened, several people suggested starting a GoFundMe. In an overwhelming display of kindness, others even offered albums from their own collections.
Instead, I decided to focus on the records that mattered most and slowly begin rebuilding.
And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.
Since January 2024, I’ve searched record shops, charity shops, record fairs and online marketplaces on both sides of the Atlantic. I’ve replaced some hugely important records and found plenty of unexpected treasures along the way.
There have been emotional replacements, ridiculous bargains and a few occasions where I’ve blown straight through my usual £10 limit because sometimes a record simply means too much to leave behind.
Amidst all the frustration and sadness, I remain a firm believer in silver linings.
I wouldn’t have chosen this particular adventure, but rebuilding the collection has reminded me just how much physical music means to me.
The quest continues.
Some of my most treasured records are finally back on my shelves. Others remain stubbornly elusive, and I’m sure there are still records missing that I haven’t even remembered yet.
But every replacement feels like reclaiming a tiny piece of my history.
Take a look at my missing vinyl.
If you’d like to help me replace a record, you can make a donation of any amount via PayPal US or PayPal UK. 🙂
If you enjoyed this post, you can follow the story in Steal My Heart, Not My Records and my December 2024 update, My Vinyl (Re)Quest.
Were My Cassette Tapes Stolen Too?
It wasn’t only vinyl that disappeared.
Around 130 cassette tapes from my collection were also missing when my music eventually reached Scotland. Just like the records, I’ve slowly started rebuilding that collection too.
A “Friend” Stole My Tape Collection?
by u/sybd_t in cassetteculture
Your records are your babies, not things, memories of your life and love of music which I have always admired and looked up to you for. Things can be replaced, but these aren’t things. I, as one of your closest, lifelong friends, remain optimistic that your babies will be returned to you, no questions asked.
These “babies” spent years under my stairwell, I wish I was the one who “accidentally” misplaced them….I love you, Thea Pia! YOU are the reason I love so many “off-the-beaten-path” songs and bands! I plea for the safe return of your babies, no questions asked…
This is great.
I found myself in a very similar situation. I’d stored all my vinyl in boxes in the attic of a flat I owned in London, and had them been sent to New York for work. One thing led to another, and I ended up staying and renting out the flat.
Then the flat e lnded up being sold, and the pass the parcel if my vinyl boxes began.
First to friends who lived in Devon. They stayed there for a year or two while I was busy with work and moving too many times in New York city. I’d decided I was going to wait until we’d settled. Then we had kids and I thought my treasured vinyl would be best kept away from prying toddlers fingers, so Devon they stayed..
My friend in Devon moved, so my vinyl had to move as well. Off to North London they went.
Years passed, and I almost forgot about my beloved albums. Then my friend in north London emailed to say they were clearing out their garage and maybe I’d think about taking my vinyl back?
By this time we’d moved upstate to a big house with a spare room, and I though it was a great opportunity to send the collection over.
5 weeks later my records were back with me.
It was such a lovely feeling having them all back, and like you say, it’s the memories attached to them all that come flooding back.
It was only after being with them for a while that id started noticing some albums missing.
To be fair, my friend in north London had said that so e of the boxes seemed water damaged, and my feeling is that the shipping company just decided to trash them and say nothing.
In this day and age, Discogs has been my savior.
I’ve replaced most of the records I remembered I had. I have no photo evidence of the ones I used to have and I’m pretty sure I’m still missing some I don’t remember at all. But I’m getting there.
Oh my gosh, so you get it. Not everyone does.
It’s a bit disconcerting when you realise records are missing…It’s an almost daily occurrence. Because I sold some before moving here in the 90s – some may have been gone since then. But the ones that missing between 2020 and 2022 it’s stomach-churning because I can see them missing. Sounds like you have a great music room set up now!