Lost worlds and ports of call

Category: Music (Page 1 of 4)

Record Store Day, take 2

Just over a month until Record Store Day, or as I call it, Zero Luck Day. Last time I participated in RSD, I came away with nothing. Either the record store where I shop didn’t buy the records I wanted, or I lost out in their lottery format. This store isn’t a first-come-first-serve opportunity, despite me being third in line that morning. No, you need to email your requests, and if they get the record, they’ll draw names from those who submitted requests.

So, maybe my tastes in music don’t match up with popular tastes. It seems everyone wanted some single by an artist called Swift, one whose music I’ve never heard. My three requests came to naught. Not a peep via phone or email from the store, and not a copy in their racks.

This time, I widened my net, sending a list of nearly 10 records, from 12″ to LP to double LP. My research found some titles with close to 10,000 copies pressed, and others with closer to 1,000 copies. It likely means that this store won’t buy (or be assigned) the titles with smaller pressings. Still, I’m hoping there will be few requests for the ones with large pressings. Maybe I’ll end up with one of the records I requested. None by Swift, so maybe there’s a chance.

Compared to the last time, just one record would be a success. But, I wouldn’t bank on it.

Anticipating new music

It looks like 2023 might be an exciting year for me in terms of new music. Already there’s been a new Belle & Sebastian LP. In April there’s a new album from Daughter and Everything but the Girl. Later there’s new music from Depeche Mode, M83, Peter Gabriel, The National, Frankie Rose, and Slowdive.

A couple of these albums are unannounced, but I’m really hoping for new music from The National and Slowdive.

Maybe there’ll be some other discoveries along the way, but perhaps the logjam of the COVID years is over and new music will emerge.

Stranger Things and Kate Bush

The first part of Season 4 of Stranger Things came out May 27th. Set in the 1980s, this show has previously featured a mix of known and lesser-known songs from that era. I remember watching the first season, hearing Joy Division’s “Atmosphere,” and nearly falling out of my seat. I guess my expectation with music in TV shows and movies is that they feature top 10 songs, or at least top 40 songs.

As someone whose formative years were based listening to British radio in the early to mid-1980s, then moved to the US, I know well that not all bands popular on one side of the Atlantic were equally big across the pond. In the US, New Order were bigger than Joy Division. In the UK and Europe, Kate Bush was a major artist, whereas not so much in the USA.

A song by Kate Bush features prominently in multiple episodes of Stranger Things (I am slowly watching the episodes over the course of two weeks, rather than binging them all at once). The song, “Running Up That Hill” is one I vividly remember watching as a video and listening to on my Sony Walkman (much like one of the characters in the show), and I thought it amusing to see Kate Bush’s song play such a major part.

What I didn’t expect was to read that all of a sudden the song is number one on iTunes, a major streamer on Spotify, and back in the spotlight after over 35 years. It seems this show has led many people in the US to suddenly “discover” Kate Bush. About time, I say.

I’ve been a Kate Bush for years, have all her albums, listen to her music regularly. It’s great to see this artist gain more recognition in the US. Hopefully it leads people to discover more of her music. Bush has always operated by her own rules and standards. No doubt she finds this strange attention from this side of the Atlantic amusing. It won’t change when she does, how she makes music. Apparently Bush had to be persuaded to license her song for the show, something that rarely happens. It’s great that a show built around 80s nostalgia brings out some great stuff from the past, and hopefully people intrigued by this song will discover some of her other great tunes from across the decades.

Additional thoughts on Vinyl

Many years ago, sometime in the distant past known as the 1980s, I used to buy music in the format of vinyl records. At that time I owned a record player, as well as a radio player that also played cassette tapes. I also had a cassette player in my car (until my brother wrecked it), a battered white Renault 4 that struggled up the many hills and mountains in western Norway, but I think I owned less than five cassette tapes. Even then, I didn’t own a vast amount of records, as I was a teenager and had no means to earn money except when relatives gave me money as gifts. I don’t recall exactly how much they cost, but also my tastes back then (as now), were narrow, so it wasn’t a case of running out a buying tons of records. Of the few records I bought back then, I still have them all except for two. One disappeared somewhere, and I have no idea where. The other, warped and bent I sadly discarded. Still, back then records were the main staple for music fans, even though CDs were starting to emerge on the market. They were also reasonably priced. It was an nice experience to stand in front of a record bin and flip through the records, although 99 out of a 100 were ones I’d never consider buying.

Between 1988 and 2016 I don’t think I bought a single vinyl record. By then I’d moved to the US, switched to CDs as I didn’t own a record player; my first CD was U2’s Unforgettable Fire, a gift from my wife. Around 2000, with computers now the mainstay of my life, I started to amass a digital library of music. I thought, at the time, that this was the perfect format: portable, hard to lose or break, and tough to steal.

Vinyl, though, has a strange and enduring appeal.

I’ve bought a few albums in vinyl since 2016. Not that many, as I find it hard to justify some of the costs of records these days. If you buy them new (as long as they’re not imports), the price averages $25 or higher. Wait a few months or years, and the price increases by 50 to 100% or more (unless they are rare Record Store Day editions, bought by entrepreneurs and resold at three or four times the original value; I recently saw Longwave’s first album listed for $250, an insane price. Records have become as collectable as first edition books, despite their fragility.

Meanwhile, the loss of CD space in whatever remains of stores that sell physical copies of music has diminished to the point where buying a CD of the kind of music I like (at least where I live), is next to impossible. I remember the rows upon rows of CDs in the Borders bookstore in the Arboretum in Austin, TX, now long gone. I remember Tower Records on the drag in Austin, as well as a smaller record store along the drag by UT also long gone—vast CD collections, and few actual vinyl records. In San Antonio, there briefly was a small store that sold CDs, but it folded, and if you check out the big box stores you’d be hard pressed these days to find actual CDs in the quantity offered only a few years ago. I don’t know if digital music drove people away from CDs, or the closure of decent music stores drove people over to digital and away from physical CDs. Since most CDs in stores these days are ones I’d never buy as they’re not to my taste, if I want to buy any CDs now, I buy it online either direct from the record company, or from a major online retailer (you know the one).

However, in the 2020s, for some strange reason (nostalgia, eh?), vinyl records are back in a big way. Once in a while, to sustain this strange habit, I head over to a local record store in San Antonio—Hogwild Records—a store that somehow still survives in today’s market. There I sometimes find records I like, but I have to admit that it’s tough to buy records for $25 to $45 and not find a digital download as part of the bargain, given that I could pay $9.99 or $11.99 to download the music and have available on phone, iPod, car, and not need to worry about physical space.

Then again, I do like the physical aspects of things—books, CDs, records. I do listen to music on my computer while working or (yes, I still have one) iPod while flying, and via phone in my car when driving. Transferring music from vinyl to digital isn’t always the same (or as convenient) as using a one-time code to download the music. Having the record and playing it on a record player is fine (though sometime tedious and an exercise in caution to avoid scratches.

Having a digital copy as part of the deal was something I’d come to expect when buying vinyl a few years ago, and now it’s rare to see this option included with records. Recently I bought three records, and just one had the code. Another time I bought three records, and none had the code. Just today I bought two albums and only one had a code to download the music. It annoyed me greatly, I have to admit, and almost made me want to go back to spending $9.99 or $11.99 for the digital copy through such mega-companies as Apple and Amazon.

Records take up space. CDs take up some space, but less space compared to the massive squares of vinyl packages (given that these days many albums are thicker than in the past, having extra packaging and heavier material). A few days ago I repurposed a deep bookshelf to hold only records, and it made me realize—having seen pictures of other peoples’ collections—that while I own hundreds of CDs, I only own a handful of records. If I count them all it takes me less than one minute to count a total of 45 albums and one box set. That’s a humbling number. It almost makes me want to bo out and buy a ton more records…except, the price for modern records is such that buy four albums and you’re out over $100. Imagine the amount of money required to build a decent collection these days. Staggering.

Record Store Day Bust

April 23rd 2022 is Record Store Day (RSD), the 15th one, I believe. It’s the first time I tried to participate in this “event,” and it turned out a bust.

The local record store where I shop handles RSD via a lottery. You submit your requests, and if you win they give you a call. I submitted requests for four albums, and received not a single call. They’d delayed opening the store until 3pm, and at 2:50pm I was in a crowded strip mall parking lot. At 2:58pm I was fourth in line, and within one minute of entering the tiny environs of the store there were 20 people or more inside.

I checked the crowded bins for my wants—albums by The Album Leaf, Camera Obscura, The Cranberries, Weyes Blood. Zip. Nada. Bupkis. Camera Obscura’s album is probably local, available only in the UK, not in central Texas. The Cranberries? Well, the store had received some copies, but I was not among the fortunate winners. As for The Album Leaf and Weyes Blood, the had not received any copies. The latter was intended for my daughter, and the others for myself. As far as RSD, no luck for me.

I did pick up albums by Portishead and Wild Beasts; one of which I had in digital format, and the other I had in no format. As luck would have it, the one I had in no format offered digital downloads, while the one I already had, did not.

I’m not sure I’ll participate in another RSD. The idea of limited editions that may of may not be available, combined with my abysmal luck in terms of any lottery system, means it’s probably not worth my time. Am I bothered? Not too much. At least I’m not among the 93 individuals who failed to get a copy of a Taylor Swift 7″—poor souls, they must be heartbroken, their lives ruined.

New Robin Guthrie music

It’s always a treat (to me at, at least) when Robin Guthrie releases new music. In a short span he’s released one album and three EPs.

The album, Pearldiving, and the EPs, Mockingbird Lane, Riviera, and Springtime, are a swirl of sounds. From Springtime the standout track is “All For Nothing,” a quiet, slowly building tune, reminiscent of his collaborations with Harold Budd. In contrast, on Riviera my favorite track is “Starfish Prime,” a heavier, more bass-laden sound. Meanwhile, on Mockingbird Lane, “My Courtesan,” is my pick. This is not to say the other songs aren’t great, but on each EP, if I were to pick my favorites, those would be the ones. But, as they say, de gustibus non disputandum set; individual tests vary.

Each EP comes with four songs, and though I cannot detect any themes therein, the album seems definitely melancholy. “The Amber Room,” closes the album, and I have played it numerous times. “Les Amourettes” is another standout track on the album. One can almost visualize slow waves wrapped around an anchored boat when listening to “Oustern,” or maybe that’s a strange image that came to my mind. All the tunes are atmospheric, quiet, a variety of instruments blended skillfully together. It’s been a long wait for new music from Guthrie, but well worth the wait.

Peter Hook’s Substance

Recently I read Peter Hook’s book about his time in New Order, Substance. This is his third book, after the ones he wrote on the Hacienda club and his life in Joy Division, but the first one I’ve read.

I’ve been a fan of the band New Order ever since I heard a clip of Blue Monday on the radio in Zambia in 1982 and recorded that snippet on tape. As soon as I was in a place where you could actually buy records I bought the 12″ Blue Monday on vinyl. It might even have been the first vinyl record that I ever bought. I played their second album, Power, Corruption & Lies endlessly on my Sony Walkman, and later on CD. I think their third album, Low-Life, is the best they ever made, but aside from maybe two songs (Regret and Touched by the Hand of God), I’ve not cared enough about their subsequent albums to buy them, and I can’t remember any other of the songs (well, maybe a small part of Crystal). Although I didn’t care as much about Joy Division as New Order, they still had great songs such as Atmosphere, Decades, Transmission, Isolation, and even the overplayed Love Will Tear Us Apart. No doubt many people wonder what would have happened if Ian Curtis hadn’t killed himself, though personally I think he would have gone solo at some point.

Until a few years ago I’d almost stopped listening to either New Order or Joy Division. Then maybe in somewhere between 2015 and 2018 I started listening to Peter Hook’s band, The Light, on streaming services as they played every song in the catalog of Joy Division and New Order, and breathed new life into the catalogs of both bands (at least through the Low-Life album). At that point in time I didn’t know that Hook had left the band (not once but twice). In terms of music, they seemed to have over time become more electronic focused, and I always though the bass was an integral part of the band; not just the bass, but how Hook played the bass. Electronics in the terms of synths has always been a part of New Order, but instead of remaining revolutionary, the edges were all smoothened out over time. It was at that point that I read about the acrimonious departure of Hook from the band, the lawsuits, and read more about the musical direction of the band. Maybe because I read Hook’s words before anyone else’s, or just because I favored the bass, I fell on the side of Hook.

In reading Substance, and even some interviews, Hook is far from perfect. He comes across as a royal jerk at times, his pranks bordering on hurtful. He almost delights in his tales of sexual encounters despite being married, and the booze flowed freely and drugs of all sorts abused. He had no sense when it came to money, failed to protect the band’s brand (though trumpeted his own brand and name). But then, few musicians are perfect. Artists tend to be more screwed up than most people. The story of New Order, born as it was from Ian Curtis’ death, seems the typical cliched tale of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. There was plenty of all those elements in many bands back then (and even before and probably since). Hook doesn’t shy away from covering all those aspects, from the multitude of drugs, the booze, the partying, but also the music. He’s been part of two major bands in his lifetime, as Joy Division and New Order remain influential even to this day. When he left the band, though, it should have reformed under a different name. The band “New Order” doesn’t exist without such a key member gone.

Although Hook is far from the greatest prose stylist, and sometimes his cataloging of dates and events seems dry and irrelevant, his descriptions of the recording process, the tedium of road trips and concerts were perhaps the best parts of his book. From 1980 when the three surviving members of Joy Division formed the band, until his final departure in 2007, those decades leave behind a huge body of work. Unfortunately, those decades of work also led to a great deal of friction between Hook and the others in the band, especially guitarist and singer, Bernard Sumner. This is evident on almost every page in the book, and the rift between the two appears irreparable. If you take only Hook’s point of view, Sumner does come across as a major prick, in the English manner of speaking. The lead singer is the front person of the band, the ego grows, and if someone else in the band also has an ego (as does Hook), and they have diverging ideas, then inevitably a conflict results. In recordings, if we are to believe Hook, Sumner gradually edged out everyone. The fact that drummer Stephen Morris remains with the band is perplexing. His wife, keyboardist Gillian Gilbert, does not get any credit from Hook, which is one of the strangest parts of the book, as Sumner gets a lots of credit, and Morris as well, despite the rift between them all.

There have been many other famous splits in music history—band breakups and departures, firings, simple dissolutions (The Beatles and The Smiths to name a couple from different lifetimes). If the Joy Division members decided that they wouldn’t continue under the same name if someone left, that’s not the case with New Order, as after Hook left in 2007 they still soldiered on, though any releases since that date has continued the life-less and bass-less trend from all post-Low-Life albums. Hook’s book intimates that Sumner was heavily to blame for this direction. (Interestingly, one concert video from near the time of Hook’s departure capture’s Sumner’s petulance, where he tells the audience that wouldn’t it be great to turn down Hook’s bass. It makes you wonder if he forgot what made New Order interesting and unique in the first place.)

In the end, I read Substance over the course of a few days, captivated by the tale. I’m planning on reading the book on Joy Division next, but may skip the one on the Hacienda. That one sounds like a true downer.

(Asides: The title of the book applies both to the collection of songs that New Order released, and the drugs often imbibed by the entourage and band. Also, I found it interesting that all his children’s names begin with “J” which is a very “hooky” letter, indeed.)

Power Corruption and Lies

Some time in 1982 or 1983 I heard New Order’s Blue Monday for the first time. I can’t exactly remember where, but I remember taping the first few minutes of that song somehow, either from a friend or the radio. I doubt it was the radio, though who knows; that’s back in the mists of time. I was living in Lusaka, Zambia at the time. They did have radio then, which sometimes played current music, but would they have played New Order? Possibly, maybe not. At any rate, I only had the first few minutes on a cassette tape that recorded along with other songs. A short time thereafter I convinced someone to play that snippet at a party. I’m not sure it was well received. Maybe that type of music hadn’t really reached Zambia yet. Still, that song stuck with me for years to come.

In September of 1983 I left Zambia, heading back to my native Norway. I’m not sure where or when I secured a cassette of New Order’s album, Power, Corruption & Lies. This was either while in Norway, or after I moved to the US; I know I bought the LP of Low-Life in 1985 in Bergen, and I’m sure I played PCL many times on my Sony Walkman prior to getting the follow-up album. Even though the world has moved to CDs and digital music and streaming, I still have this cassette, 30+ years later (the Factus 12C edition, total running time 57 minutes and 16 seconds, including Blue Monday, a song apparently not included on the original vinyl). Regardless, New Order’s music became one of the mainstays in my late teenage years, so I’m sure I had a copy while in Norway. I did buy Blue Monday on 12inch vinyl at some point, a copy that I still own, and I played this multiple times as well, so maybe I’m confusing the album and the single.

In terms of albums, I preferred Low-Life to the PCL album, though I somehow lost my vinyl record along the way and years, but there are songs on PCL that I come back to again and again. I can’t say the same for Republic and later albums; I stopped buying or listening to anything from New Order once they went into their Ibiza mode. I preferred classic New Order, especially Peter Hook’s distinctive bass sound, which in my opinion defined New Order. Hooky, as he was known, played his bass as if it was an crucial part of the sound, not just a filler. Although I’d listened to both Joy Division albums in the early 80s, I wasn’t as keen on their sound compared to New Order, even though the bass was strongly present even then. Since then I’ve come to appreciate a few of their songs that I dismissed back then.

I read at some point in the 2000s that Peter Hook left New Order, and that the split was acrimonious. At first I thought that he was a bit of a loser, a prima donna, as the band continued on without him. Their singer and guitarist, Bernard Sumner, had teamed with other musicians for successful outings, such as Electronic, so maybe Sumner was the talent behind the band. However, to me, New Order had lost its distinctive sound long before Hook left, so it didn’t seem like an important split, anyway. Other bands had gone through the same thing. Or, worse, had stopped completely, such as the Smiths, the Cocteau Twins, and more. Depeche Mode had continued after Alan Wilder left, which seemed maybe a bit like the Peter Hook split, as Wilder was a major participant in the group. Hook, I’d come to learn later, had seen his part in the band fade over time, and didn’t care for the direction of the music, or the long delays between albums, or the lack of touring.

What spurred my re-interest in New Order was a strange event. Some time during the show Stranger Things in 2016, I heard a certain song played, and I almost leapt up from the couch. “That’s Joy Division!” I said to the family in the room, drawing blank stares. One of the characters listened to Atmosphere on his Sony Walkman (or similar device), and even though it had been years since I’d heard it, I recognized it at once. Later that evening I went to my music library, and started to revisit the songs that had meant so much to me back then. I read about the “new” New Order, and Hook’s departure. I listened to interviews, read some of the articles, and also discovered the acrimonious lawsuit between Hook and his former bandmates. I learned that Hook had been playing New Order and Joy Division songs and albums with his new band. Hook, in effect, kept the history of those two seminal bands alive. The current incarnation of New Order, or the new New Order, as I saw them, played mainly newer stuff, with one or two exceptions. And, their newer stuff, well it just wasn’t as interesting. In fact, Peter Hook’s live versions, despite his rough voice early in his career, seemed more alive than any new New Order songs. His band’s versions of classic New Order songs like Ceremony and The Perfect Kiss recorded during the recent lockdown are instant classics.

In 2020, new editions of Joy Division albums, 12″ singles, and some New Order albums were released, including the “definite” edition of their album, Power Corruption and Lies. This set includes vinyl, CDs, and DVDs and comes in a handsome box. It’s an expensive set, an indulgence, but what an experience. Along with the music is an oversize book with stories and ,lots of photos. Many of these are of the band in happier times, before the success, the drugs, the split.

I wonder these days how that quartet, some of then who used to be best friends, no longer get along. Then again, there are many such scenarios. That’s life. Morrissey and Marr will never re-unite. Liz Fraser and Robin Guthrie forever will remain apart socially and musically. Some bands are forever, some flame out quickly, and others turn inward into civil wars. Still, for one brief moment, New Order meant something, revolutionized music.

Power Corruption and Lies, as I listen to it again, contains a few slight clunkers, but several classics: “Age of Consent,” with it vibrant bass, jangling guitar, and persistent drumming opens the album. “We All Stand” brings it to a halt. “The Village” jump-starts it once more, an almost upbeat sound. Starting slow, to the point where I almost want to edit out the first few minutes, “5 8 6” pulses out powerful sounds around the two-minute mark. “Your Silent Face” and the closing track were my favorites; the former is hypnotic and synth-heavy, and as to the latter, I tended to skip “Ultraviolence” and “Ecstasy” so I could be enveloped in the the depressing but memorable “Leave Me Alone.”

The music of our teenage years remain a part of one’s soul. Not everything we heard and cared for back then retains the same meaning and importance later in life. Sometimes we get stuck in nostalgia, I guess. Sometimes we set aside those sounds and try to forget them. Listening to PCL again after all those years in this remastered version brings back all those memories. New Order may never be the same, may never re-capture their influence as back then, but like flies trapped in amber, their sound from 1983 will be re-discovered again and again.

Authorized songs

Over the years I’ve built up a large iTunes library. I was there at the start. I converted songs from CDs, bought digital music from multiple sources, and still try to “rip” all my CDs the moment I buy them, or download digital versions. I’ve also gone through multiple computers since the debut of iTunes. Every now and then I run into the problem that plagued early iTunes adopters: the dreaded proprietary format Apple created to stave off piracy so that records companies would embrace digital tunes.

I ran across this tonight, when trying to listen to a song that I’d played countless times. All of a sudden I needed to “authorize” the song. This is an artifact of bygone times, but as the format cannot be converted, even though I now only have one computer where I play my music, I had to re-authorize this computer. I know that I have several hundred songs in this same format, and at some point, that format no longer will be recognized by the device that I choose to play my music. At that point I’ll need to selectively re-purchase the same songs that I supposedly “own” but don’t really own. A computer company owns that digital file, and I’m merely allowed to use it.

Approaches to music albums

Recently I read an interview with musician Paul Weller (The Jam, The Style Council, 16 solo albums), who said he’s not sure he’ll write another album after his last one. The way people listen to albums has changed, he said, all due to streaming. This made me reflect upon my approaches to albums.

I’ve bought music since the early 1980s. Back then you bought cassette tapes or vinyl. I didn’t have a record player, so I listened to tapes on either my Sony Walkman or a portable stereo. I still own many of those cassettes. I did buy a record player in 1986, and a few vinyl records, right before the Compact Disc (CD) wave took over and made both cassettes and vinyl virtually obsolete. People still bought those formats, but the world shifted to CD at some point around the 1980/1990 s crossover. With cassettes and vinyl you couldn’t really skip tracks. Sure, you could lift the needle and try to aim for a track, but more often that not you sat through one side, flipped the record, and sat through another, just to find the one or two songs on the album you liked. Cassette players let you “fast-forward” through songs, and some newer ones would even advance to the next track. But otherwise, you were stuck. Usually, you’d get a couple of great tracks on an album, maybe a few more, but the rest were fillers, crappy songs that felt slapped together because the band had to have 10 tracks for an album, and albums were usually produced quickly.

If that was a great way to listen to albums, Mr. Weller, then that’s not how I remember it.

Unlike with CDs and vinyl, I bought a ton of CDs. I grimaced each time, as they cost a lot more. Still, I didn’t have to mess with tape, nor (for the most past) scratched up records. I could play them in a car, at first with a portable player, and then built-in (no longer, it seems). CDs were the future.

Then came the computer and mp3, Napster and sharing, piracy, the Apple store and other online ventures, from unsavory to professional, from ephemeral (Tidal) to lasting. You could rip CDs onto your computer, free tracks from albums and create long play lists. Sure, mix tapes existed before the computer; I made a few myself. It was a way to extract exceptional songs from albums onto your own “best of” album at first. On a 90-minute tape with two side you’d get almost two full albums worth of songs. Creativity was up to you, and in my case I included a host of songs from the 1980s onto my mix tapes. And played them to death. But I also listened to albums. I lived with the bad tracks, just to hear music from my favorite artists.

The digitization of music spelled doom for many bands, it was said. People could (and did) share music freely, without compensation to the artist, and on a grand scale. I moved lots of my music to my computer. I listen to music while I work, and with iTunes was able to create playlists, or listen to songs or artists, or albums. I had thousands of tracks to choose from, as if I ran my own radio station.

Then came streaming. A cheap, new way to consume music – you no longer had to own it. You were chained to the tastes of a music station. You could discover music close to what you already liked, or play the same song over and over and over.

Streaming doesn’t compensate artists well. The owners of the service become billionaires, but the artists? Not so much. Then again, you buy and album once, and listen to it many times. I don’t know the economics of streaming, but an issue that seems to get raised a lot is that with streaming, few people buy (or download) their music. People cluster around famous artists, and maybe they make money (maybe not), but the lesser artists make pennies, even from thousands of streams. Where does the music go, one wonders, when the founder of services like Spotify make millions or billions.

Perhaps I stream music differently, and I do admit that I use a streaming service during most of the day, but not always. I also still buy music, in the form of CDs, vinyl, and downloadable product. I mainly buy albums though – probably 99.99% of the time. When it comes to streaming, my listening approaches are in three ways:

First, I’ll find an album and listen to that, often saving it as a playlist, and playing it multiple times, all the way through.

Second, if there’s a song I play again and again, it goes into a playlist, and this get modified over time.

Third, I let the algorithm discover new tracks, new artists. From this, I sometimes check out albums and move to the first option.

All in all, I don’t know if streaming has changed me that much. Maybe other people have ruined Mr. Weller’s day. I do own several Style Council and Weller albums, whether on cassette, vinyl, CD, or as purely downloaded tracks. But, I haven’t bought all his stuff, especially of late. Part of that’s due to the death of record stores, even record stores within book stores (I’m looking at you, Borders, and partly Barnes & Noble). When the world went digital, discovering albums by musicians you knew wasn’t always as easy, or fun. It got cheaper, sure, as albums tend to cost around $10-12, vs. $18-20. With streaming, it’s even cheaper. You pay $x a month, and listen to as much as you want. Still, I guess I should check out more of Mr. Weller’s works. Maybe that makes no difference to him, but maybe it will let me find albums I like, much like those earlier works that I own.

I actually did buy some new music this week, albums by Beachy Head, Muzz, and Lisa Gerrard & Jules Maxwell. I have others on my list to buy. I also bought one individual song, a cover of New Order‘s “Leave Me Alone” by Thurston Moore. I’m a huge fan of early New Order, though the band’s never been the same since Peter Hook left. Streaming makes me a little lazy sometimes. I don’t alway buy stuff I hear online, although I’ll admit I also stream stuff that I already own. I guess, even though the artists make next to nothing, it’s a way to support them, in my own way, rather than buying their CD once and playing it dozens of times. Still, some of that streaming consumption is albums, from the first track to the last; I just no longer need to pause to flip the record, or eject the tape and put it back the right way to listen to the next side.

The funny thing, without streaming services, I never would have stumbled across Muzz, despite being a huge Interpol fan. As for Beachy Head, I read about them on Twitter, and Lisa Gerrard, from some music web site. Great music is still out there, discoverable. In my case, streaming hasn’t altered my perception of albums — most of them have a few great tracks, some good ones, and the rest can be ignored. At least with digital music you can skip the crappy ones. Still, there’s no accounting for taste, and what I see as crappy others might have as their favorite.

So, Mr. Weller, make some more music, or not. I’ll give your newer stuff a listen. Maybe it will be to my taste, maybe it won’t. You’re still a great artist.

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