Long ago, the thing I most liked to do was while away time in a record store.
Now, in our instant gratification era, we download digital music, often the day, hour or even seconds after it is released. Who has time to drive to a store anyway and stand in line?
Now, for those who are brave enough to venture somewhere to buy music, you have to go a big-box store or one of many beyond-soulless chains who all carry the same CDs.
Or, you go online and order from Amazon.
How depressing.
Record stores used to be places of wonder where you never knew what was hiding around the next corner, in the back of the next bin. That great lost Swamp Dogg album or limited-edition Wreckless Eric picture disc could be misfiled, you know? Album jackets were pondered over – the artwork, the credits. How could you pull the zipper up and down on “Sticky Fingers” if it was a CD?
Stores, many of them independently-owned, had their own personalities, where the staff put albums on display that they themselves liked. I found many treasured records because someone had the good taste to put a new or unknown artist front and center in the store. How else would I have heard of the debut albums by Guy Clark and Lloyd Cole?
It also helped that record albums were big, substantive and actually felt like something in our hands, unlike the plastic disposable feel of CDs. And who hasn’t struggled with opening a CD or having the plastic case crack on the day you buy it?
Of course, the music was better back then too, but that’s another story.
Some sound purists scoff at the crackle and pop of vinyl, preferring the compressed unscratched sound of CDs. To me, those imperfections only added character and forced me to take better care of my albums, many of which were among my most prized possessions. For example, my promo copy of Southside Johnny and Asbury Jukes Live at the Bottom Line.
Buying music back in the day was dark, romantic and mysterious, just like your first crush (or at least that's how my first crush was).
It really didn’t matter if the clerk looked like Jack Black in "High Fidelity." And probably smelled bad too.
I miss those times. A lot.
I need to dig out my turntable.
Now, in our instant gratification era, we download digital music, often the day, hour or even seconds after it is released. Who has time to drive to a store anyway and stand in line?
Now, for those who are brave enough to venture somewhere to buy music, you have to go a big-box store or one of many beyond-soulless chains who all carry the same CDs.
Or, you go online and order from Amazon.
How depressing.
Record stores used to be places of wonder where you never knew what was hiding around the next corner, in the back of the next bin. That great lost Swamp Dogg album or limited-edition Wreckless Eric picture disc could be misfiled, you know? Album jackets were pondered over – the artwork, the credits. How could you pull the zipper up and down on “Sticky Fingers” if it was a CD?
Stores, many of them independently-owned, had their own personalities, where the staff put albums on display that they themselves liked. I found many treasured records because someone had the good taste to put a new or unknown artist front and center in the store. How else would I have heard of the debut albums by Guy Clark and Lloyd Cole?
It also helped that record albums were big, substantive and actually felt like something in our hands, unlike the plastic disposable feel of CDs. And who hasn’t struggled with opening a CD or having the plastic case crack on the day you buy it?
Of course, the music was better back then too, but that’s another story.
Some sound purists scoff at the crackle and pop of vinyl, preferring the compressed unscratched sound of CDs. To me, those imperfections only added character and forced me to take better care of my albums, many of which were among my most prized possessions. For example, my promo copy of Southside Johnny and Asbury Jukes Live at the Bottom Line.
Buying music back in the day was dark, romantic and mysterious, just like your first crush (or at least that's how my first crush was).
It really didn’t matter if the clerk looked like Jack Black in "High Fidelity." And probably smelled bad too.
I miss those times. A lot.
I need to dig out my turntable.
No comments:
Post a Comment