Skip to main content

The Townshend Files

A while back, Pete Townshend was interviewed (wish I could find the transcript, but Google has finally failed me. Google insists that this has never happened to it before, but I have my doubts. This isn't my first encounter with search engine flaccidity.) about the current state of the music industry.

The point that resonated was a comment about ownership of digital music. Not in a "Hands off, Napster! I'm still bitter!" Lars Ulrich-sort of rant. Townshend was mourning the loss of tangibility when purchasing an album. Back in the day, you bought a record. In addition to the music, you had a physical representation of the purchase. You had liner notes. You had cover art. You had the actual vinyl record. More importantly, they were your copy. A version of the record that was capable of being personalized (read: damaged).

Townshend mentioned that his childhood record collection had plenty of scratches, but they were his scratches. He knew that his copy of an album had that one blip that no one else's did. He owned that scratch, turning those imperfect moments into his personal rendition of that song.

MP3s, however, are perfect 1s and 0s that will never decay or scratch. It's a Walter Benjamin discussion of the impersonal nature of digital content. As my only encounters with vinyl are of the Comic Con exclusive variety, I can't acquiesce with Townshend's connection to his music.

So the other night I was out at a bar. The house band was playing a set from the Stones' Exile on Main Street. Sadly, no Tumblin' Dice. Strange how the actual band's favorite track is the one that cover bands avoid. Either way, they started up "Happy." I'm singing along, as I am wan to do. They get to about two minutes into the song, and I am absolutely stunned that the song goes on without a hitch. The band played the song perfectly and moved on to the next track.

Why is this shocking? Why did this catch me by surprise? Why did I nearly spit out my PBR (which I would never do because a) beer is sacred and b) I'm cheap)?

My MP3 file is corrupted at that particular moment in the song. Not sure why, but the track skips whenever I play it on iTunes. Maybe I dropped my iPod into the pool, maybe the CD from which I imported the album was defective. As soon as Jagger gets to the word "happy" the song goes: "I need a love that keeps me hap-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-y" as though Simple Jack is singing.

The moral of the story: Through your iPod against a wall so that you feel a deeper connection with your music.

While we're on the subject of digital music compression/world flattening of Thomas Friedmanic proportions, I'm watching Hannah and Her Sisters on Netflix Streaming the other day. There's a scene in which Woody Allen and Dianne Wiest go out to an underground club where a band that resembles the Clash starts up their set. Sticking to their Allen archetypes, Woody can't stand this youthful soundtrack and would prefer to go to a jazz club to listen to an oboe rendition of Cole Porter while Dianne Wiest, having yet to be redeemed, is intent on doing blow and rocking out to the energy.

Again, getting away from the point. For the 30 seconds they were on screen, the band made an impact. Along with Mariel Hemingway, they're a hidden gem of Woody's mid-80's neurosis (sidebar: Woody Allen - genius or merely incredibly observant?).

I rewatch the clip a few times to grab as many lyrics as I can. "Gonna be just like you" "Buy records on the radio" "Dance at clubs" et al. A quick Google search alerts me that they are the Canadian alt/punk band, 39 Steps (good band, better movie. Much like Black Sabbath). I swing over to iTunes, and $.99 later I've got the track, Slip Into the Crowd. Just the one song, not the entire album. Apple allows me to pick and choose, and chose and pick I did.

Doing more research on the band that seemingly the entire Internet wanted me to discover, a Wikipedia entry tells me that their appearance in that film led to their eventual demise. "Slip Into the Crowd" is the title track off their album. Having been played in Hannah and Her Sisters, it garnered them more attention than the b-sides and other songs. The rest of the album was overshadowed by the single, changing the band's M.O. from indy rock to a more mainstream persona.

*******

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

It was labor day weekend, I was 17. I bought a coke and some gasoline.

It's currently day three of my blogging adventure, and David Delgado has still not accepted my challenge to get off of his lazy ass and start writing. This is why a hunger strike may be necessary. If Mr. Delgado does not cave in and post a new entry by the end of this week, then on November 14th, I, Max Davison, will officially pull a Ghandi and abstain from eating for as long as it takes. Homer Simpson also utilized this tactic when the Springfield Isotopes were planning on moving to Albuquerque. It worked then, and it will work now if necessary. Onto the blogging... I had a rather pleasant dinner at the Ath tonight. It was a class dinner for Prof. Busch's GOVT20 class. The highlights included conversations about the Ivory Coast, strange roommates, and (most importantly) they had some great cheesecake. So great, in fact, that we raided the empty tables to ensure ourselves some extra slices. Cheesecake. I love it. Occasionally, I'm not sure if I want cake or a dairy

25 October 2007 - I'm not sure what his appeal is, but he deserves better

Superman has kryptonite. Mike Tyson has Buster Douglas. Vince Young has grammar. We all have our weaknesses. But mine is a little bit more embarassing than any of the aforementioned (apart from VY's hatred of the present tense): dumb romantic comedies. Yes, it's not something that I like to admit and it's a vice probably better suited for the Probie or Sean Garrity , but I just like to sit down for an hour and a half, turn my brain off and watch two people fall in love. And apart from the Hanks/Ryan classics (which were ruined for me after Meg ditched Dennis Quaid for Cinderella Man ), there is one thread that links all of my favorites: Hugh Grant. I mean, just look at the guy. When he's not getting arrested for picking up hookers on Sunset (here's a better shot of the man), he's the epitome of the 90 minute romance. He's got "endearingly befuddled" down to an art form, he's also got perfect comedic timing and if you've ever seen hi

To forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race

So, I've decided to take a break from my James Joyce paper to talk about my candidate for President in 2008. He is a man of convictions. A man with a stellar record of military service. A man who knows how to get things done. A man who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty in order to set the world straight. A man who also has a talk show on FoxNews and frequents the Sean Hannity radio program. Col. Oliver North Argue with me if you dare. You'll lose. Do you want a strong leader like Colonel North or Hillary? That's right. I'm glad you see it my way. With that being said, I'll go back to my boy Stephen Dedalus. SERENITY NOW!!!!!