Much to the amusement of my friends, I’ve never been quick to adopt new technology. I only purchased my first so-called “smart phone” last October. And although I do keep up with changes in the music industry, and in fact consider myself progressive as far as those issues are concerned, I’m downright conservative when it comes to medium. I clearly remember as kid lamenting the death of cassette tapes. I remember feeling like I’d built my whole collection around cassette tapes, and now some of my friends had started getting into these things called “compact discs” that seemed cumbersome and moreover wouldn’t fit into any of the neat little cassette tape carriers I’d purchased over the years. I felt like I’d bet on the wrong horse, invested in the wrong medium. It wouldn’t be the last time.
Eventually I ditched cassette tapes in favor of CDs, which I collected with enthusiasm for the next several decades. Like I’d done with cassettes, I bought all sorts of racks and shelving units to display my CD collection. I’d spend hours rearranging them, grouping them by genre, by mood, or simply alphabetically. Then, in the mid-90s I started “ripping” and “burning” CDs, as did most kids of my generation. The only difference was that I still wanted something to display on my shelves. So, a friend of mine and I would make full color copies of the album art, including the spine, and then insert them into empty CD cases along with the burned disc. Strange I know, but it satisfied my organizational fetish. As technology developed, I followed along, usually slightly behind the rest of the pack.
Eventually, and long after everyone else had forgotten CDs, I followed suit. I ripped my CDs onto my computer and then stored the physical collection in boxes at my parent’s house where they still reside today. Around this time I began collecting vinyl, perhaps in an effort to maintain an element of tactility in my collection. Now, another sea change is occurring in the music industry. More and more people—most of them younger than me—are turning to streaming services for their music. Fewer people are paying to download songs. Instead, when they want to hear a song, they point their browser to services like Spotify. You shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve yet to catch on to this trend, although—if the past is any indication—my acquiescence is inevitable.
But before I reach that point, allow me to explain why I’m hesitant to embrace “the cloud.” Of course, there’s the whole issue with artist compensation (or lack thereof). Spotify hasn’t figured it out yet, but I’m withholding judgment on the service as a whole because it’s still relatively early in their development and I’m pulling for them to succeed because there’s not really anything else out there vying for Top Dog in the “new music industry model.” The best way to compensate artists is still to buy their music, preferably directly from them. But that’s the topic of another post. And really, my hesitancy to embrace streaming is more personal than the artist compensation issue. Call it snobbery, but I’ve always assessed people based on their music collection. Music is a huge part of my life, and while I have friends who listen to music I dislike, experience has shown me that if someone likes the same or similar music as I do, then there’s a good chance that other interests will intersect as well, and shared interests are usually the first step towards friendship. At the very least, it gives you something to talk about.
I remember my first day at college wearing a David Bowie shirt, conscious that I was erecting a personality marker. People would see it and if they also liked Bowie, then they might approach me. Conversely, if they said, referring to me, “Who is that weird guy with the transvestite on his shirt?” then there was a possibility that we wouldn’t hit if off right away. Forget the medicine cabinet, for a good many years the first place I went in your house or apartment was your bookshelf and CD or vinyl collection. There, the analysis was more in depth. Okay, so you know who Bowie is but did you have Diamond Dogs? Okay, you recognized the name Dinosaur Jr. but did you just have the Reality Bites soundtrack or did you have Green Mind as well? When did you stop buying Weezer records?
Once my peers starting going digital this game was somewhat curtailed. Now, I have to gain access to your computer to peruse your collection. Still, the music you have on your hard drive tells me that at least you cared enough to rip the music from a CD or pay to download it (presumably, that is—we won’t get into the nefarious act of file-sharing, which I did my share of before I was old enough to grow a conscience about it). Your purchased digital music told me that not only did you like a particular song, but that you liked it enough to invest in it, to purchase it, to allocate your limited resources towards owning it.
Sure, these days you show off your music taste and knowledge by compiling public playlists on Spotify or Turntable.fm, and I’m down with that, and in fact think it’s reinvigorated music listening by making it social again. And yes, you still have to find the right songs to signal to me that you know what you’re talking about. But even though I’ve long since stopped assessing people based solely on their personal tastes (a product of the maturation process), I still prefer to think about a music collection in terms of ownership. I can’t help but think that if you paid money for something, then you probably like it more. When it comes down to it, maybe I’m just of the wrong generation. Maybe I’ve been doing something for so long it’s hard for me to totally shift gears. Maybe I’m a Luddite.
Regardless, I don’t begrudge your desire to abandon the ownership model in music; after all, that’s where things are headed. I’m just saying that, for me, for right now, I still want to feel like I “own” something, even if it’s just a digital track replete with digital rights management (which I despise–but again, that’s the subject of another post). So leave me with my precious terrestrial collections. I’ll see you in the cloud one day, but not today.
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