A brass gramophone horn, a stack of records, a single cupcake with its candle lit, all arranged on deep green velvet with sprigs of white blossom. It feels like a birthday in a jazz club after hours.
For the man or woman who still buys records, hums old songs, or has strong opinions about speakers. The parchment band across the middle takes any name in classic bronze letters that match the gold of the heading. A good picture for a sixtieth or seventieth birthday too, when the music was better anyway.
Something to say with it: “Happy birthday. May this year have the best soundtrack yet.” Or: “Still the smoothest record in the collection. Happy birthday.”
