I should probably begin by stating that, due to my lack of technical knowledge, this isn’t really an audiophile’s rant concerning the CD vs vinyl debate, more a lament for the devalued sonic medium of Generation Y. I reserve the right to make a multitude of tenuous points in inconsistent levels of detail, all in the name of conveying my bias to the compact disc.
Indeed, each generation will contend that their own form of listening to music was best – ours was notable in that we retained elements of the previous generation’s musical experience i.e. actually having a physical product with printed artwork, but with our shiny discs we were forerunners of the nascent digital age.
Personally, I discovered music in the late 80’s/early 90’s when vinyl was still present but decreasing in popularity. I remember being taught at school that records played back recorded sound via a needle that ran through their grooves, so one day I took my Dad’s copy of Phil Collins’ ‘No Jacket Required’ album and carefully scratched a sewing needle through it, expecting to hear the faint but unmistakeable strains of Sussudio.
Unfortunately however I heard nothing, apart from my Dad’s startled discovery of my adventures in sound and his subsequent recommendation that I be shot with red-hot excrement.
However, despite my pioneering sonic experiments and a few initial vinyl purchases, cassettes were actually the medium via which I got into music. This was largely due to the Christmas gift of a twin-deck Saisho radio/cassette player, plus our record players seeming almost out of bounds, located downstairs in the parts of the house where grown-ups lurked.
On occasions when I could grab a stolen hour with the Grundig behemoth in the living room, I was unimpressed with the scratchy sound, the ease with which I could break the stylus and the treacherous crackles and pops that broadcasted evidence of my shoddy technique.
Of course, I’m aware that it isn’t meant to be this way. Enthusiasts bleat about the tactile pleasures of records, the delicate act of removing an album from its inner sleeve, the feel and indeed the smell of the vinyl, the gentle placing of the record onto the player and strategic deployment of the needle before it caresses its way along the grooves. Or alternatively, faff, hassle, fuss and the faint whiff of fetishism.
Consequently, I spent many happy hours making tape-to-tape recordings of appalling sound quality, blissfully losing dynamics and high-end frequencies to analogue hiss in my quest for the ultimate compilation.
However, just seeing a CD for the first time, years later, was revelatory. If records were the dusty, archival tomes of yesteryear and cassettes were hissy, unreliable and prone to tape spaghetti, then CDs were avatars of a gleaming digital future – they used lasers, not scratchy needles and were sleek, shining and robust, a permanent repository of your favourite record that would not wear out or snap without a stupid amount of abuse.
Often I’d tape albums from friends, then eventually buy my own ‘master copy’ on CD - when listening to the digital version for the first time, it was as if some benevolent audio angel had removed an invisible blanket from the speakers.
Just like records before them, CDs used to be something one collected, being quite expensive (around £15 in the early 90’s). To buy a new CD was an event, a purchase to be decided carefully to avoid regret during the indeterminable period of time before your next purchase.
It’s a shame that younger people with instant access to music everywhere will not know this particular pain and pleasure, as it forced you to listen carefully and evaluate your new album. Instant gratification was not expected and rash dismissal not an option.
Despite this, I’m not going to decry the mp3 – who doesn’t enjoy being able to carry their record collection around with them? It does feel rather soulless to merely download an album however, legally or otherwise – I still enjoy purchasing CDs, even though I may just rip them once before they gather dust. This is because there’s something wonderfully tangible about that physical representation of an album, a credence indeed that music existing solely as files on your hard drive just doesn’t have.
Anyway, I must leave you now – I’ve promised to download ‘No Jacket Required’ for my Dad.
