Here's a dilemma that has lain dormant for a decade or two: Where do I drop the needle?
Unless you're a heroin aficionado, this phrase probably doesn't make much sense. However, for vinyl enthusiasts, it is a question encompassing one's personal aesthetic, present mood, and thorough grasp of an album.
Take a Talking Heads LP, such as "Fear of Music." While a casual listener might opt for the first side, with more accessible and familiar songs like "Life During Wartime" and "Cities," a Heads fan has probably played these tunes out and will skip ahead to the stranger and more mysterious B-side, with experimental jams like "Air" and "Electric Guitar."
Here, the question "where do I drop the needle" is tantamount to asking, "are you sick of their hits yet?"
Changes in technology over the last fifteen years have brought about changes in the ways audiences perceive music. Records were put aside for tapes, which were replaced by compact discs, which were replaced by mp3s and 4s. On top of all of this, most Americans under the age of 30 stopped buying albums and started downloading songs.
Everyone came down with severe ADD and could no longer deal with more than three minutes of music at once.
With vinyl, there were basically only two tracks on either side, clustering half of the record's content. If the hit single was at the end of a side, you were going to have to put up with a bunch of other junk to get to it. This helped filter out the filler, and "staying power" meant more than "two good songs."
The very notion of an album-as-a-whole has lost its value.
Who cares about "Fear of Music" anyway? You can just get "Life During Wartime" and "Cities" on iTunes. The rest of the album was just plain weird. Make a fun mix instead: throw in some Jack Johnson, that Jamiroquai song from "Napoleon Dynamite," and, oh yeah, that one Outkast song from last week was pretty catchy.
Moreover, musicians have responded to the change. Legitimately downloaded, individual tracks and ring tones count towards a "recording artist's" score on the charts. Straight-to-ring tone is the new straight-to-video, a slightly less respectable route to putting digits in the account.
For folks who can stand a musician for more than 20 minutes at a time, vinyl is the way to go. I personally have an attention span for music, so I started collecting.
There are the clich?(c) reasons, which I'll go over by rote: One, vinyl is warmer and more personal than the crisp coldness of CDs. Two, vinyl demands respect, which ensures longevity. You can't just toss it in your backseat like a CD-R. And three, it's cheaper.
For most hardworking, day-job independent acts, vinyl is just cheaper to produce. And when you walk into a show and the LPs are five bucks less than the CDs, the choice is easy.
Some records make more sense on vinyl. While the hit-filled first side of "Abbey Road" could provide easy fodder for a mixed CD, the entire B-side, with its lengthy medleys, is easily taken out of context if not played for its duration.
Why should I even pay for music, though? Why not just look for it on LimeWire or something?
I recently brought this topic up to one of my fellow editors, who seemed startled that I actually buy music. "Why don't you just download it?" she asked. I was momentarily taken aback.
Then I remembered the Warner Bros. sting that brought the Digital Millennium Copyright Act down on me hard back in 2002. I had downloaded one of their films, which I never even got around to watching, and they caught me.
I had to write a letter of apology to the corporation (which seemed strangely senseless to me, in a kind of Kafkaesque way), and sign something acknowledging that if I was ever caught again, I would end up in the slammer with a $10,000 fine.
That's right. I'm the one guy who got caught for downloading. They warned you it could happen, right?
So I honestly have not downloaded any media since then. I try to stick with the wax. I feel more connected to and appreciative of the artists' endeavors, and more aware of the pacing and overall structure of an album.
If someone were to ask me if I remember that one Pet Shop Boys song from the 80s, I'd respond, "That whole side was good."
This is not intended to be a call for everyone to start buying vinyl again, or a condescending pontification on "today's culture" meant to reap hipster brownie points. I am merely trying to complicate the notion of music as an art form versus music as a product.
It's like I always say (starting now): Artists record albums. Businessmen record ring tones. After all, some people need new music like they need new jeans.
