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.
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