A first pressing day at the plant

Some customers ask if they can come and watch their record get pressed. I always say yes, mostly because I still enjoy watching it myself, six weeks after they sent us a playlist and a colour pairing they’d clearly thought about for longer than they’d admit.

The plant opens at ten

We’re a small operation at 14 Ledger Lane, Unit B, open Wednesday to Saturday, ten until six, and pressing day always starts the same way: checking the stampers are seated correctly and warming up Bertha, our press since 1978, who takes a good half hour to reach a steady working temperature and does not appreciate being rushed.

Weighing out the colour

For a two colour job, we weigh the PVC pellets separately by colour, usually close to a 135 gram total charge for a 12 inch, split roughly by how much of each colour the customer wants visible. Too much of one colour and the swirl reads as a solid disc with a hint of the other. This particular morning it was Persimmon × Violet, weighed out into two small heated hoppers that feed into the same charge before it drops into the mould.

The first disc off the press tells you everything

The first pressing of any run is never the one that goes in a sleeve. We call it the settling disc, and we check it against a checklist:

• Groove definition under a loupe, looking for any softness at the edges
• Flatness on the light table
• Colour balance and swirl pattern against what was agreed
• Any visible flash or flaws at the edge of the disc

If it passes, we’re off. If it doesn’t, it goes straight into the reject crate by the door, which by the way is not a place records go to be forgotten, we open it up for seconds sales a few times a year and some people specifically want the ones with slightly wonky swirls.

The best compliment a pressing day gets is when nothing interesting happens. Boring means it’s working.

Why six weeks, not six days

People occasionally ask why turnaround sits around six weeks when the pressing itself takes seconds per disc. The honest answer is that pressing is the fast part. Cutting the lacquer, plating it into a stamper, queuing behind other customers’ jobs, quality checking, packing, all of that adds up long before Bertha does her part. I’d rather tell someone six weeks and beat it occasionally than promise something faster and let them down.

The bit I still like best

Watching someone hold a record that started as a playlist on their phone, now spinning in two colours they picked themselves, never really gets old. It’s a small, specific kind of alchemy, and I get to watch it happen most weeks. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday.

By the time that customer left, Bertha had pressed through most of the run, the light table had waved through every disc after the settling one, and the reject crate had gained exactly one new occupant, a slightly lopsided swirl that will probably sell within the week regardless. That’s most pressing days, honestly. Long, warm, a bit noisy, and quietly satisfying by the time we lock up at six.

Curious what your own playlist would look like on wax? Start your order.