🎵 In an age where "music lives on your smartphone," Japan's vinyl record production has exploded. Annual manufacturing plummeted to just 100,000 units in 2009 — but by 2024, it had surged to 3.15 million. That's a 30x V-shaped recovery. Why are people choosing the "inconvenient" format of vinyl in the most convenient era of music history? Insights from a 60-year-old Japanese pressing plant and global data reveal what's really driving this boom.
The Streaming Paradox: Digital Dominance Created Analog Desire
With platforms like Spotify and Apple Music offering instant access to tens of millions of songs, the convenience of music consumption has never been higher. Yet paradoxically, this very convenience has sparked an opposite movement: analog vinyl records are experiencing unprecedented demand.
According to the Recording Industry Association of Japan (RIAJ), vinyl record production in 2024 reached approximately 3.15 million units (up 17% year-over-year), with production value hitting ¥7.89 billion — roughly $52.5 million. That revenue figure exceeded ¥7 billion ($47 million) for the first time in 35 years, since 1989.
Toyo Kasei Co., Ltd., Japan's only fully integrated vinyl record manufacturer and jacket printer — operating continuously since 1959 — explains the phenomenon this way: "Because digital streaming has become the mainstream way to experience music, a counter-desire has emerged — people want to physically own the music they love." The company reports that orders have been climbing steadily for 15 to 16 years, and notably, vinyl production has grown in parallel with the expansion of streaming services since 2016.
In other words, digital and analog aren't enemies — they're partners. Listeners discover music through streaming, then want to hold it in their hands as a vinyl record. That desire is the engine behind this extraordinary comeback.
"The Inconvenience Is the Point" — Vinyl as Experiential Consumption
Toyo Kasei identifies the key appeal of vinyl records as "taiken-kan" (体験感) — a Japanese concept that translates roughly to "the feeling of a full experience." It's more than just "experiencing" something; it describes the deep sense of immersion and satisfaction gained through an entire ritual-like process.
Listening to a record requires deliberate action: carefully sliding the disc from its oversized jacket, placing it on the turntable, gently lowering the needle, and flipping to Side B when the first half ends. This "ritual" creates a fundamentally different relationship with music compared to tapping a play button on a phone.
Records offer distinct qualities that digital formats cannot replicate. There's the warm, rich analog sound quality that audiophiles cherish. The 12-inch (approximately 30 cm) jacket transforms album artwork into a displayable art piece. And the very "inconvenience" of needing a turntable, amplifier, and physical interaction becomes a feature — forcing listeners to slow down and give music their full attention.
An IFPI survey found that among vinyl buyers, 49% said they wanted to "physically own music," 41% wanted to "look at the record," and 36% enjoyed "the ritual of playing it." Perhaps most striking: approximately half of people who bought vinyl in 2022 didn't even own a turntable. They purchased records not to listen, but simply to possess them.
Gen Z Is Leading the Global Vinyl Renaissance
The driving force behind this vinyl boom isn't nostalgic baby boomers — it's Gen Z, the generation that barely knows what a CD is.
At one of Tokyo's top vintage record shops, 40–50% of customers are now in their teens and twenties. A female university student in Tokyo shared: "Honestly, I can't really tell the difference in sound quality. But they look cute, and the colored vinyl editions are so collectible." She spends about ¥10,000 ($65) per month on records.
For Gen Z, vinyl records serve multiple roles: they're Instagram-worthy aesthetic objects, a way to support — or "oshi" (推し) — favorite artists directly, and an experience that streaming simply can't deliver. Videos of turntables spinning on TikTok and Instagram continue to multiply, with hashtags like #vinyl and #RecordCollection trending globally.
This isn't just a Japanese phenomenon. In the U.S., 43.6 million LPs were sold in 2024 — the 18th consecutive year of growth — generating $1.4 billion in revenue and dramatically outpacing CD sales of $541 million. The UK saw 6.7 million vinyl albums sold in 2024, marking 17 consecutive years of growth and the highest total in three decades. The global vinyl market, valued at approximately $1.9 billion in 2024, is projected to reach $3.5 billion by 2033.
City Pop: How Japan's Retro Sound Fueled International Vinyl Hunting
No discussion of Japan's vinyl boom is complete without mentioning "City Pop" — the smooth, sophisticated Japanese pop music from the 1970s and '80s. Artists like Tatsuro Yamashita, Mariya Takeuchi, and Taeko Onuki were "discovered" by international audiences through YouTube algorithms and TikTok videos, sparking a worldwide phenomenon.
The result? Foreign tourists now flock to record shops in Tokyo's Shibuya and Shimokitazawa neighborhoods as a must-do cultural activity. At Tower Vinyl Shibuya — Tower Records' analog-specialized store boasting 70,000 titles — there are times when almost every customer in the store is a foreign visitor. Thanks partly to the favorable exchange rate, many buy 10 or more records in a single visit.
Sony Music's reissue of Tatsuro Yamashita's eight 1970s–80s albums on vinyl sold out repeatedly, requiring additional pressings. A reissue of Happy End, a legendary 1970s rock band, also sold out instantly — "unprecedented popularity for 50-year-old music," according to industry insiders. Even current artists are joining in: YOASOBI released their hit "Idol" as a limited-edition vinyl, and acts like LiSA, Spitz, and Sambomaster now regularly include vinyl formats in their releases.
A 100-Year-Old Medium With a Future — Because "Experience" Never Goes Out of Style
Looking ahead, Toyo Kasei offers this perspective: "Analog records will likely re-establish themselves as 'one form of music experience' well into the 2020s and beyond. The history of analog records spans over 100 years. We'd like to believe that demand will continue to exist, adapted to each era."
Coming from a company that has devoted itself exclusively to vinyl records for over 60 years since its founding in 1959, these words carry weight. The ultimate advance of digitalization hasn't killed analog — it has reminded people of the value in things you can touch, things that demand your time and attention. The V-shaped recovery of vinyl records is a profoundly modern phenomenon, born at the intersection of technological progress and a fundamentally human craving for tangible experience.
Is vinyl or analog culture making a comeback in your country too? What experiences do you choose to keep "analog" in this digital age? We'd love to hear from you.
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Reactions in Japan
Buying an album on vinyl after falling in love with it on streaming — that's the ultimate luxury. The moment you drop the needle while admiring the jacket art is pure bliss.
Aren't records expensive though? New releases cost over $27, and players aren't cheap either. They say it's booming among young people, but that's tough on disposable income.
My 60-year-old dad showed me his record shelf and said 'So you finally get it' with a huge grin. Love that vinyl has become a shared language across generations.
3.15 million is tiny compared to the 200-million peak. People are getting carried away with 'V-shaped recovery.' The multiplier looks big because the base was so small.
Found a café in Nakameguro where you can listen to records. The combination of coffee aroma and that vinyl crackle is absolutely perfect ☕🎶
Toyo Kasei kept manufacturing all this time — that's why we still have vinyl culture in Japan. Without them, it might have been completely lost.
I'm 22 and bought my first vinyl because my favorite artist released one. I don't have a turntable, but the jacket is huge and looks amazing displayed in my room.
Sound quality aside, honestly — the act of 'putting on a record' itself is what matters. Time spent NOT touching your phone is incredibly precious these days.
The vinyl boom is fine, but secondhand prices have skyrocketed. Classic city pop records now cost hundreds of dollars — as a long-time collector, I have mixed feelings.
Living in a tiny apartment makes storing records a real challenge. 12-inch discs take up so much space... but I just can't stop collecting.
Went to a record shop in Shibuya and it was packed with foreign tourists. They were crowding around the Tatsuro Yamashita and Mariya Takeuchi sections — made me proud as a Japanese person.
I think the record boom is basically fashion consumption. If you truly love music, shouldn't you focus on the songs themselves, not the format?
Found about 100 records in my grandparents' closet. So glad they weren't thrown away — it's a treasure trove now. Way to go, grandma.
I'm concerned about the environmental angle. Is mass-producing PVC records sustainable? Feels contradictory to increase plastic products in an era that preaches eco-friendliness.
Lined up early on Record Store Day for a limited edition. Chatting with fellow enthusiasts in line is part of the fun. This is what community feels like.
Technically, hi-res streaming contains more audio data, so saying vinyl 'sounds better' isn't accurate. But I get that people 'prefer' the sound — that's a different thing entirely.
I work at an indie record store in Texas and every year the Record Store Day line gets longer. Japanese city pop vinyl sells out the second it hits the shelf. Tatsuro is a legend.
In Paris, vinyl is treated like wine now. Playing a carefully chosen record at a dinner party is the ultimate hospitality. Japan's $52 million market is impressive, but France's vinyl culture never really died.
Based in the UK. Vinyl outsold CDs here in 2022. But pressing delays are a serious issue — indie bands routinely wait 6–9 months to get their records made. That's the downside of the boom.
In Korea, K-pop idols releasing vinyl spread the trend among fans. BTS and BLACKPINK records hit premium prices immediately after release. But most buyers collect them — they don't actually play them.
Europe has solid pressing infrastructure — GZ Media in Czechia is one of the world's biggest. The fact that Toyo Kasei has single-handedly sustained Japan's vinyl manufacturing is remarkable and deserves more recognition.
Vinyl bars are popping up in Shanghai, but in China records are still seen as a 'rich person's hobby.' The culture where students casually buy records like in Japan hasn't developed here yet.
I'm Swedish — the irony of collecting vinyl in Spotify's home country isn't lost on me. I can't give up streaming convenience, but weekend vinyl sessions are on another level. Coexistence is the way.
In India, vinyl culture is still limited to enthusiasts. But a vinyl café recently opened in Mumbai and young creatives are gathering there. Japan's market trends are a useful reference for what might come here.
In Brazil, original pressings of bossa nova and MPB classics sell for insane prices. It's maybe similar to Japan's city pop phenomenon. It's exciting when your country's retro music gets global recognition.
In Australia, vinyl prices are nearly double Japan's. Import costs push new releases over 50 AUD. That's why bulk-buying records during trips to Japan has become a thing for Aussie collectors.
I attend every record fair in Mexico City. More kids without turntables are showing up lately — buying vinyl as 'fan merch' seems to be a universal thing now.
I work at GZ Media in Czechia. Orders from around the world are flooding in — we run 24/7. But ramping up production at the cost of quality control defeats the purpose. Quality over quantity matters.
Vinyl culture is budding in Dubai too. But honestly, storing records in this climate is tough. High heat and humidity can warp discs, so you need a dedicated climate-controlled setup.
As a Canadian, the industry needs to take environmental impact more seriously. Recycled PVC records and plant-based material research is progressing, but it's far from mainstream yet.
I'm Japanese-American in LA. Seeing Japanese records with OBI strips (the paper band on the spine) selling for crazy prices at local shops was mind-blowing. 'OBI strip' is even used as-is in English now.