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Another relatively pain-free year of analog-induced bliss had passed, and I thought maybe — just maybe — the call wouldn’t come through this time around. I had disabled my Bluetooth and thrown up an extra firewall or two, or so I thought. And yet, at the stroke of midnight Borneo time, I indeed saw the telltale yellow Schnappchat window pop up in the lower right-hand corner of my screen, and I instantly knew who it was — who only it could be.

I thought I had hit the ignore button, but my carpal-tunneled index finger had instead reflexively slid across the accept mode, and then it was too late to stop the oncoming deluge. “Hello Muckleberry,” came the mangled gurgle across the line. “Once again, it is I, Dr. Loof Lirpa, and gee-whiz willikers golly gee, do I have some farm-fresh vinyl news for you, and for me.”

Suffice it to say that I’ve long receded from correcting my name with the cursed good doctor. We’ve gone over this ground many, many times before — decades that now seem like centuries before, in fact, dating all the way back to his mid-’70s bicentennial-year independent declaration concerning the Lirpa Turbo Steamtable and Lirpa Liberty Freedom 1776 A-FY loudspeaker, a flag-unfurling gear combo made in American Elbow Grease Heaven (or AEGH, for short). “We will be celebrating that speaker/table millstone 99 days from now, give or take a bottle of craft beer on the wall or two,” Lirpa told me before I even technically sighed said anything into the receiver, “but I have something super new and shiny for you today.”

For additional contempt context, I hesitatingly point out to the AP faithful that we had long since blanket-covered Lirpa’s libations over in our dearly departed print-medium first cousin, Audio, prior to his berating us at our also now late-and-lamented sister pub/site Sound & Vision, and we were pummeled intrigued anew by the good doctor exactly two years ago here on AP when we scorned oh-so-lovingly tag-team-reviewed his current-challenging Noah’s Arc turntable, and yet again last year with the Lirpa John Cage 4'33" Silent turntable, semi-seen below. (Footnote Ohno Uno)

“How do you do, Loof,” I spat into the voice simulator, using a setting that made me sound more like Tommy Shelby of Peaky Blinders than my own Mike-like microphone tone. “What pray tell do you have for me to ignore peruse from you today?”

“I’ve really poured my heart and soul into it this time,” Lirpa countered with his traditional non-otone glee. (That’s one tick less than monotone, just in case you’re wondering.) “Since I graced you and your fellow analog phreaks with a one-of-a-kind silent turntable last year, I figured it was low time that I gave you something to actually play on it.”

“Oh, do spill the teal,” I Tommy-talked in response, trying to be semi-clever by just barely avoiding a trendy phrase by substituting a color reference I knew would be lost on him and his colorblind mind’s eye.

“As you wish, my Michelin Man. What I have conjured for you and your exquisite Avalon Planetary readership today is a truly unique piece of paraffin that brings together the best thing a recorded disquette has to offer. What my ace-hole team and I have smelted and dealted is a record with a real depth-charge to it. You’ve seen those LPs that have liquid treatments sealed between their layers like they did for that orca movie soundtrack, right?”

Yes, I forced myself to reply, wishing a foreboding John Williams-conducted soundtrack cue would bring on the inevitable sweet release.

“Well, Mickey Finnegan, we’ve gone beyond the liquid pale with our own limited-edition LP. What we’ve done is placed etchings between the layers on both sides of the record so that you can see my full signature in rotation no matter what direction or side you choose. It follows you like the eyes on a painting, plus you get to hear it in your head.”

So it’s a double LP, I half-asked.

“Double only in that it has two sides. Try to keep up, dear Milligan. The etchings were liquid-infused by using my private-blend see-through sauce so that it spins hot, but without any semblance of sibilance. Let me send you a Polaroid of it.”

The Polaroid was fuzzy, as you can see above, so I tried to buy some time. Does this abomination thing have a name?

“The band name is the L-Pop Denim Hunters, and the song they’re performing for you is — wait for it now, wait for it. Are you waiting? Are you still waiting?”

I was waiting, but not for what he wanted. I was waiting for that dang Polaroid to finish uploading. I debated shaking my phone like a you-know-what to see if that would help matters, then decided against it.

“It’s ‘Forever in Blue Jeans’ — but they do the Hiromi Go version, not the original. For that, you’d need to order my Neil Diamond stylus.”

Needless to say, I was not in stitches, but Loof carried on (and on).

“The song plays from the middle of the side outward, and it can play backwards and forwards on both sides at 44¼ rpm. Since the Denim Hunters are playing it like a ballad, I had to slow down the playback to match it.”

Ok, I see it now. Just the name is there, so the song title must be implied. And why are one set of your etched initials spilling over onto the label?

“That’s an optometrist illusion, Mick Marston. As the LP rotates, those initials will slide over to the side like the tide rolling in when the liquid inside it moves and sways.”

I, sea, er, see. And how much will this monstrosity LP cost us?

“Well, Mitch Mango, since it’s a limited edition of 969 copies, it will run you a mere $96.69, a palindrome of a price steal if ever there was. And you can play it on my static-free John Cage turntable too, which is well equipped to handle the silence you’ll hear in the runout grooves — all four of them.”

I too had gone silent, then Loof made his final push — one I felt I had heard somewhere before, word for word.

“Would you like to explore additional elements or hear me refine any part of this concept further, dear boyo?”

“I think we’re all good here, Loof,” I Tommy-toned back, “by order of the Analog Planeteers.”

“I can pretend to respect that, Michelangelo L’Mysterioso. I will endeavor to send you a test copy of this finely tuned L-Pop Liquid-Etched LP for you to review in your No-Wax Hump Day column, and I expect your vaunted ratings for it to go up to 13 at least. Until we AI-meet again out here on the tiles, au reservoir.”

And thus, the man, the myth, the Lirpa lamebrain legend virtually pogo’ed on out of sight, relegated to that off-the-grid perch for which he is always much better suited. Spin on, Doc. Spin on (and on).

For our two-by-two review of the Lirpa Labs Noah’s Arc turntable, go here.