Let the Music Play

The New York Times, MSN, and a million music-obsessed blogs have commented on this phenomenon, and perhaps that merely underscores its pervasiveness rather than the irrelevancy of this post. Or, most likely, it’s both.

The album does not exist anymore. I have over 250 GB of music. I have no idea how many artists or albums went into creating that number. I listen to a small percentage of that music to be fair, but I keep it because of that niggling need within me that has me thinking of a song and running home just to find it and appease the craving. I have about fifteen versions of some songs and no appreciation for their individual significance; live performances, demos, single and album versions, and covers, and I keep them partially from a digital packrat disorder, and also because I want the choice of listening per album or per group—as a way of organization rather than a sense of something finite. But the album still doesn’t exist.

My sister shaped my musical taste, partially. She’s ten years older than I am, and as such she was more interested in watching MTV than Sesame Street. However, I took in far more than the glossy, Top 40 sound she was obsessed with. Somehow, perhaps reverse osmosis, I grew to like Lloyd Cole and the Commotions, the Stranglers, Depeche Mode, and Joy Division. I guarantee you that my sister is only familiar with DM.

Yet, my musical tastes were patchy, and it has only been through the past ten years that I’ve become familiar and grew passionate for other types of music that were the inspiration for the music I enjoyed, or which sprung from it. I’ve stolen music from friends, copying CDs and files of bands that I’d never heard of, or were only vaguely aware, to see if I liked them too, just because I wanted an opinion rather than to remain ignorant.

As such, my understanding of these bands is quite different from those who came to them at the time they produced their music. I don’t have memories of individual albums, anticipating the natural song progression as it plays through the speakers. While there are bands that I know this intimately, my knowledge has been bastardized by large blocks of songs in alphabetical order by artist. I listen to random play and therefore don’t know the exact titles of the songs, complete with random parenthetical comments, a natural extension of sweatily reading the liner notes immediately upon purchasing an album. I can’t tell you each individual album a song was included, nor which were singles albums. Sometimes my downloading habits are such that I don’t even know the title of a song, the artist, or the album it sprung from while I’m listening to it. Doesn’t help matters much when it’s included in a mix, which further complicates the issue.

The thing is...I’m not sure it really matters. I like what I listen to, but I’m not a slavish devotee, and if I was that obsessed with it, I’d be involved in the creation of music, or I’d be a far more annoying individual than I already am. The last thing I need is for people to think of me as a music snob, on top of everything else.