It was probably 1973 or 1974 when I first came across this album. My then-girlfriend, Anna Weitzman, introduced me to the wonders of Discount Book and Record on Connecticut Avenue, near Dupont Circle in D.C. In those heady early days of my having a driver’s license, we’d make our way down from the suburbs, through Chevy Chase, and into the (even then) chi-chi world of far northwest Washington. Anna was hip and worldly and I can’t imagine how long it would have taken me to discover this place (or Dupont Circle) without her.

I don’t know how I picked this album out of the thousands – all spine-faced, like books in a library. Somehow I’d gotten it into my head that I was interested in Renaissance choral music. Turnabout was a budget label and I probably paid $3.99 or so for this work. Anyway, it became for me in the classical world what the first Crosby, Stills, & Nash album was in the pop world. I wasn’t sure how I’d gone so long without being aware of such astonishing music. I immediately recorded the album onto cassette – you did that first thing to minimize the inevitable pops and scratches that would accumulate on the vinyl.

I listened to that Mass more times than I could count. I listened to it going to sleep. I probably listened to it when Anna dumped me for a guy who was smarter, nicer, and better-looking. [1] I listened to it throughout college and ever since. But somewhere along the way, the album itself went MIA, as did the cassette. I found other recordings of Palestrina’s Missa de Beata Virgine, but never one that I liked as much. Or maybe one that so effectively brought me back to the relatively care-free high school days. Days when I was playing music of every sort in every kind of venue (including rock music at drunken 40th birthday parties and Brahms at Wolf Trap).

A couple of weeks ago, I went searching for this album on a lark; much to my astonishment I found it listed by a UK record seller. For a mere $23, I got my memory back. I haven’t been able to play it yet for the most obvious reason: I don’t own a turntable. But that can and will be rectified quickly; all the turntables these days have outputs to MP3 or wave file.

So now I can’t wait to have a turntable, put on my noise-canceling headphones, and see what 1567, via 1973, sounds like.

[1] I’ve never been able to begrudge her that choice; my logical brain said that the switch was as clear as the Monty Hall problem.