How technology ruined music
At least for me, it has, in a certain limited way.
Some years back I decided to rip my entire CD collection, which numbered upwards of a thousand, to mp3 files. (This took me a solid week to do, with two machines running.) The goal of this was to have easy random access to the tracks for burning CDs for the car or whatnot.
What I didn’t expect was how much the ease of access would change my listening habits.
At first nothing changed very much. I used the computer files in the intended way - burning discs for the car and such - and if I wanted to hear, say, the Beatles, I would pull a Beatles CD off the shelf and play it. But eventually I started upgrading the technology. First I got a media streamer for the stereo in my bedroom, enabling me to play the tracks on that stereo over a network connection. Then another media streamer for the main stereo in the family room. After that I decided to build a file server to sit on my home network and host these things, so I wouldn’t have to be running my desktop all the time. It sits in the basement, running Linux, and serves up music files to the media streamers and to any other computer on the network. All the mp3 files are organized in a folder structure by artist and album title, and all the tags are regularized. By the time I moved into my new house two years ago, I had become so accustomed to accessing music this way that I rarely played an actual CD any more, so I did not install shelving for them in the new house. They are stored in boxes in the basement. If I get a new CD, it gets used once - to rip it to mp3s - and then joins the others in storage. If I want to listen to music, I use the media streamer on the stereo, or music player software on my computer, or I burn discs to play in the car and give them away (or throw them away) when I’m done with them.
This has fundamentally changed the way I listen.
It’s rare that I sit down and listen to an album the whole way through any more. The act of putting in a CD to play it encouraged you to listen to the whole thing. But with every track in the collection available with just a few button presses or mouse clicks, there’s nothing to push you in that direction. If I get a new CD I might listen to it all the way through, once or twice, either on the streamer or in the car. But I don’t always. Either way it then goes to join the random pool, which is increasingly how I listen to things. If I’m in the mood for jazz, I’m as likely to set the streamer on Genre:Jazz and select “shuffle” as I am to actually pick some specific album - and if I do pick a specific album to play, it’s usually from a fairly abbreviated list of favorites. But mostly it’s random. The car discs are even more random; I usually burn randomly-generated discs without regard to genre. It’s like having a commercial-free radio station that just plays things from my own collection - except that on this radio station you can skip tracks. I find myself skipping tracks a lot.
The disturbing thing to me about this is that I don’t feel engaged with the music any more. I’ve made it too easy. I took the effort out of selecting and listening to music, and now I find that there is nothing holding me to it when it plays. There are a lot of things in my collection that come up on random play that I just can’t identify. Who am I listening to? Where did I get this music? I used to be able to answer that question for everything on my CD shelf. I could tell you the artist, the album, usually the year and track number, and most of the time I could even tell you where and when I bought it. Not now. Too much stuff, too easily acquired, and therefore too easily glossed over and forgotten. I’ve become the Veruca Salt of mp3s.
I think there are a lot of Verucas out there. iPods and file sharing and online music distribution have made playlists the paradigm for listening, not albums. When I was growing up, there was even more effort involved in obtaining and playing music, and you felt like it was special because of it. To get a new album required effort - a trip to the store, browsing big racks full of 12″ albums - then carefully setting it on the turntable, cleaning it, putting the needle down, flipping the record over. If you wanted to listen to just one song, you had to have a steady hand and a good eye for the band between the tracks. That’s all gone. Music flows like free restaurant coffee now, and people value it just about as much, which I think is one reason the record companies are dying. They can’t convince people that sharing something as ubiquitous as music should be thought of as theft. (Other reasons include that they have no reason to live any more now that the internet exists, and that they are vicious evil bastards who are trying to legislate their own continued profit by buying congressmen. But I digress; these are things for another post.)
The point is that by making it effortless, we reduce how much we value it. This may be why the aforementioned bastards can get away with selling so much obviously valueless crap. And I’m not about to reverse all the technological changes I’ve made for my own use. I don’t even know if I’m right about the cause of all of this. Maybe I’ve just outgrown my earlier love of music.
But maybe not.
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