That might explain why I remember the Christmas of 1995 more vividly than any other Christmas of my childhood. The Maguire family has always been particularly fussy and slow to accept technological advances (My parents bought their first DVD player in 2002), but after months of third-grader pleading I received an incredible gift: a Compact Disc Stereo. Accompanying the large box was my first official CD: Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks's legendary "2000 Year Old Man" sketch, which I memorized every word of. Not only could I finally purchase music played by lasers (the future!), but I could finally begin building what I thought would be a legitimate collection of music on a format that was new (only not at all, since the CD has been commercially available since 1982, but I didn't know that) and would last forever.
My collection began modestly, as I slowly switched out all my Beatles cassettes with digital upgrades. My interests rolled through humorous phases over the years; I jumped from The Beach Boys to "Weird Al" Yankovic to Fleetwood Mac to Aerosmith to Barenaked Ladies to R.E.M. Before high school, I would focus absolutely on one artist for months on end, and love them until there was nothing left to do but move on. Then came high school.
Understand that I've been working since I was in the fourth grade. With my father owning a tavern, money was never hard to come by as a child. I worked every weekend cleaning bathrooms and sweeping entrances, and was paid modestly for my time. This money always disappeared as soon as I could get to a record store. Once I was in high school, I began working more hours and taking on more responsibilities, which conveniently meant more funds to feed my rapidly expanding taste in music. Suddenly I wanted everything: jazz, soul, indie rock, British Invasion pop, classic hip-hop, folk, etc. I couldn't wait to spend paychecks at Newbury Comics, especially when the Wicked Cheap section always offered interesting finds at a reasonable price. As you can probably guess, I built a sizeable collection over the years, which continued well into college where I'd get free records from working at the radio station.
Somewhere along the line, a new musical revolution took place that I stubbornly refused to show up for. Once Napster opened the floodgates for free file sharing, downloads were the new way to absorb music. While I downloaded the occasional single for my own amusement, I vehemently opposed to downloading albums for the following reasons:
1) MP3s are magic little ghosts that float around in your computer (I think). Music is supposed to come from tangible devices that feature artwork and liner notes and can be easily transported.
2) Downloading is too easy. If you can have whatever you want whenever you want it, then the music no longer demands your full attention.
I was already poised to oppose the next inevitable step, MP3 portability. Almost overnight the iPod was all the rage, and the must-have gift of the year. I wanted nothing to do with it, and even looked down on my friends for buying them. I feared then (and still believe now) that convenience and instant gratification would forever compromise the way an album is meant to be absorbed. More than ever I was determined to stay the course and keep buying CDs. Christ, I must've spent thousands.
Here's about half of what all that money amounted to:
This once-majestic assortment of music is being sorted and sold today, while there are still stores left in existence who do that sort of thing. After three years of pleading from my mother to get these CDs out of her house (and why not, I haven't lived there for well over two years at this point) I buckled. In an age where any CD can be copied to a hard drive, buying CDs doesn't make sense. They just end up sitting there, gathering dust.As I placed each disc into a sad plastic box, I felt waves of memories hit. I remembered where I purchased every single album, and specific memories, feelings, people, and conversations (good and bad) came back to me that I hadn't thought about in years. It was akin to looking through an old yearbook, right before throwing it in a fire.
As sad as I am to sell off my digital necropolis, I'm excited for the (disappointing) amount of store credit I'll receive, which will certainly go towards some terrific new blu-rays or something. And I've already begun collecting many of these same albums on vinyl, a format of which I'm convinced will remain a thriving subculture for years to come. Let's face it, a collector is always willing to keep chasing artifacts.
Okay, I can hear the eyes rolling. And, okay, maybe I'm dangerously close to maudlin sentimentality here. CDs have been my primary source of ingesting music for half of my life. Part of writing this is accepting that my persistance in buying discs over downloading is completely foolish with hindsight. But the other part is an attempt to eulogize a medium that is dying a slow, slow death in our culture. The compact disc may not have the large artwork and dynamic sound quality of vinyl records, nor do they have the immediate convenience of stealing/paying for downloads. But hey, it was a pioneer into a brave new digital age.
R.I.P. CD Collection (1995-2011)
Thanks for the good tunes.
