I grew up listening to music on vinyl records, 33 1/3s, 45s were largely before my time. Saved my money when I wanted something, snagged a ride to the mall, spent hours wandering around Sam Goody or some other brick and mortar store and then came home to listen to my prized possessions. Possessions.
Later on, I moved with everyone else into Walkman and car stereo-friendly (most of the time) cassette tapes and, ultimately, the Holy Grail - the Compact Disc (CD). Bought hundreds and hundreds of CDs - the future! Promising a perfect, scratch-proof, “last time you’ll ever have to buy these notes again” sound experience.
Got my first iPod in 2003 (Windows-compatible, we still had a ways to go in our Mac enlightenment) and the introduction to iTunes that came with it. Started buying both songs and albums. I think U2’s “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb” was the first (what would you call it, an album, record, CD, full download?) I purchased in the early morning hours on the day it was released. Got my coffee, clicked a button on our computer around 6 a.m. and there it was, right there on the desktop and, moments later, on my iPod. Fired it up on the drive to work that morning. Mind. Blown.
But even with the transition to digital files, I always owned everything I listened to. Couldn’t imagine it any other way. When we migrated to iTunes, I spent a few weeks “importing” all our discs into our library - thousands and thousands of songs. Kept all the CDs, “just in case,” in a couple of big plastic tubs. Pretty sure they’re in our basement, somewhere. Even in those early days, “buying” music on iTunes seems slightly risky, ethereal, like it might just disappear at some point. How could you really tell it was even yours? The lifelong dedication to music as a physical possession was not easy to break. I would still buy CDs, mainly from Amazon (stores by then were basically gone) and when they arrived importing the contents into iTunes effectively became the last step in opening the packaging, right after dealing with that infuriating plastic wrap and scrutinizing the latest set of odd drawings Thom Yorke wanted me to see.
Over time, more and more of our music was purchased online, and at some point we hit 100 percent. I literally can’t remember the last physical CD that came into the house.
The transition from material things to accessible content was complete, and yesterday we made another one, maybe our last. Driving in the car, listening to music through the audio system on a Bluetooth-linked iPhone, Madison calls out a request for a Demi Lovato song.
I respond that I don’t think we have that song, and a quick scroll through “our” music confirms it. But then, at a stoplight, I call up Spotify and do a quick search. There it is. Hit the title and within a second or two it’s playing. Quickly starred, added to a playlist, and now we have it. Key words. We have it.
As we pull away from the light, I have a little mini epiphany, one that would have been unimaginable to me in childhood, or even just a few years ago. I don’t care about “owning” the music I listen to anymore. I just want to be able to hear what I want, when I want it. I want to be introduced to new artists and songs and then have the ability to quickly and easily find that material - bookmark it, playlist it, access it wherever I am, on any device.
We’re big fans of Pandora, for discovery and a lean-back listening experience, based on “stations” created off specific songs and artists. Spotify is like the universe, 15 million songs in your pocket, far beyond anything you could ever afford to buy. These services are sometimes billed as competitors, but they are truly complementary, and there’s enough power in the combination to change the way you think about music.
We pay Pandora $36 a year in exchange for skipping the commercials and some other vague enhancements, and $9.99 per month for a “premium” Spotify subscription that enables mobile and offline playlist listening. A fraction of what I used to pay for physical CDs, for a vastly superior and more flexible experience.
All the steps that came before were important and necessary to getting to where we are today. Vinyl, to tape, to discs - great music, platform agnostic. iTunes making digital files accessible and real, not transient apparitions that could vanish at any moment. And then the cloud… the promise of any song, any time, on any piece of hardware. Narrowly defined, not yours, but still yours.
We don’t have to own the songs we listen to anymore. We just listen.
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