As the choice of music has become overwhelming and the access to everything counterproductive to deep discovery, I have come up with a new priority listening system. For the past few years, I’ve found that certain albums will take after two or three plays. This has nothing to do with whether or not I know and love the artist. It is partly due to when & how I listen i.e. when I’m ready to pay attention, and the information I have gathered prior to hearing the record - a recommendation, a good review. But usually, it is something more striking: a piece of information that connects me to the ‘why’ - the reason the record was made. Something that attracts me to the message. But before we get to it, read on and bare with…

In his very thoughtful recent essay on digital ownership Kyle Chayka employed a quote from the German cultural critic Walter Benjamin (from a 1931 essay called “Unpacking My Library”). 

“Ownership is the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects”

Music is not an object (well, a vinyl record is, yes, read on) and as consumers most of us are well past the attachment to ownership - even if we resisted streaming for a time. But somehow the quote’s power stands, in that relating to music in a more physical, collectable sense can increase intimacy with it. 

The most prominent trend in the music industry today is not in how we consume music at all, but how that music is made. An army of new music makers (not thousands but millions) are able to get their songs written, recorded and released at low cost without gatekeepers or anyone’s permission. Some of it is good enough to get listened to. The volume of music being released is so great that even the most casual music listener is spoiled for choice - or most likely, overwhelmed. 

As a creator that does mean some massive challenges, and there’s no wonder that artists are concerned about their prospects of nurturing a fan base (and hence a career). Once the social buzz or streaming peaks have passed, do people care enough to keep listening? Even world famous musicians like Madonna or Bruce Springsteen may see their latest album quickly evaporate in terms of streaming numbers. They are both beyond caring you might think, but I’m sure they are shocked nonetheless by the disposability of their new stuff compared with the cultural staying power of their earlier volumes of work. Both might ask why their messages are no longer getting through?

This exponential increase in the quantity of music means that artists/creators of all ages and stages need to earn their right to be listened to more than ever before. They need a story, a point to make, a concept to wrap their music around. They need to become more effective messengers. This is something most artists understand acutely. Their pitch to those in their entourage, employed to help them market their recordings, is all about why - why they made this particular record at this particular time. 

In a second quote from Chayka’s essay, again by Benjamin:

“A collector’s attitude toward his possessions stems from an owner’s feeling of responsibility toward his property”

In a recent conversation with the artist Fin Greenhall (otherwise known as Fink) I was struck by his enthusiasm for buying his favourite music (on vinyl of course) as both a show of support and point of pride (or perhaps responsibility) towards the artists he enjoys and respects. But, the other motivation is that of feeling like the connection will be lost otherwise. If we don’t buy the record, how will we ever remember to listen to it (repeatedly)? 

This is so eloquently expressed by Chayka, who was completely thrown by Spotify’s revamped desktop layout. He can no longer find his favourite stuff as it has been swept beneath Spotify’s recommendations. I told Fin that I’m terrified to delete some albums from my (overcrowded) Spotify library - because I don’t want to forget about them before I get the chance to become familiar with them. That’s where the joy of listening comes from - the growing familiarity, the deepening connection and the new surprises from repeated listens. 

Fin is right, one way to deal with this is to actually buy the records. But I am not a collector. a) I don’t have the space, b) I have better things to do with my money and c) isn’t there a serious issue with vinyl, environmentally speaking? 

However, it’s become apparent to me that if I want to really enhance my relationship with music - if I want to receive the message wholly and deeply - I have no other choice but to ‘own’ it. At a recent gathering at a friend’s house, whose daughter had just discovered vinyl, we flicked through his 30 year old collection - containing titles I realised I connected with on another level entirely (notably Deacon Blue “Raintown”, The Police “Ghost In The Machine”, The Cure “Head On The Door”).

Can I form a similar relationship with new records today I wonder?

A case in point is the Manic Street Preachers latest album, which is called “The Ultra Vivid Lament”. I like that title. I also like the cover photograph. The message is already partly coming through there. I have never really been a fan of the Manics, but I liked the first couple of songs I’d heard from this new record. To my ears they seemed to be a throwback to 1980, ABBA or Blondie - a time so drilled into me musically that I could never resist but be a moth to a flame.

I then came to learn about the writing of the record. Nicky Wire wrote the words after the passing of both his parents during the pandemic, and the songs are underpinned by a reflective sense of loss, melancholy and reevaluation/questioning. Indeed, the underlying inspiration is a quote by the American writer Joan Didion (buy the album and look at the inner sleeve). However, I was also interested in how James Dean Bradfield had composed the music - on the piano for the first time, rather than the guitar (not the first time I have been drawn to a record I’ve loved for that same scenario - example being Alele Diane’s “Cusp”). 

After a few listens on Spotify I’ve taken Fin’s advice and bought a vinyl copy of the album. This has been transformational in my enjoyment of the record. The songwriting and production are beautifully realised and the playing is wonderful throughout. Most of all, Bradfield’s singing is something special - a marked change in his previously angry style to something more fitting to the album’s lyrical themes. He sounds philosophical (that will be the piano, probably). Finally, the songs are scheduled perfectly for that ‘Side A and B’ listening experience. I doubt I would have fallen for the album so much without buying the vinyl copy, and somehow both of Walter Benjamin's quotes have a relevance to my experience. 

From now on, this is my new discovery mode. I’m out to look for things that make sense to me at the time - music I think I might connect with through theme, style and purpose. I’m looking for messages. If it converts me to a new artist all the better. After all, the greatest songwriters and performers are really messengers. And we should receive the message in the best way we possibly can. It’s our responsibility as good listeners!