The most recent of these are the hype-backlash-reverse backlash-reverse reverse backlash phenomenon that happened with HBO’s “Girls” (as covered in this previous blog post) and Bayo’s “What’s Your Mix?” campaign (as covered in this separate piece). But one recent viral phenomenon has made me feel profoundly old, and for the first time in a really long while, proudly and blessedly so.
I am talking about NPR blogger Emily White’s “I Never Owned Any Music To Begin With” post, where she matter-of-factly described the advantages of the current digital music age; and the resultant blog post by David Lowery of Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker fame, where he responded to White’s piece by making the most compelling, eloquent, passionate, objective, and intelligent argument against the “Free Culture Movement" I've ever come across with.
Here's the thing: I was a huge proponent of the "Free Culture Movement", both in practice and in theory. In practice, I downloaded music with zero hesitation and conscience. In theory, I subscribed to the thesis that ideas are, and are supposed to be, free, as presented convincingly by author David Shields in his book "Reality Hunger". From an evolutionary standpoint, it was an appealing thought; utopian even - the idea that art and philosophy would no longer be bound by commerce.
David Lowery's open letter, however, showed just how utopian his namesake's proposition was. Curiously, Shields' subtitle to "Reality Hunger" was "A Manifesto", unintentionally (perhaps) referencing history's most famous manifesto of all, which also happens to be the most utopian economic theory of all. Lowery's heartfelt letter is the ultimate proof that Shields' artistic Marxism just won't cut it in the real world, where artists live, breathe, and shit within the confines of their work. Their art is their world, which is still a place where money is the accepted currency and everyone gets paid except for them.
Lowery's letter was such an eye-opener intellectually, but more so emotionally. It was as much a great case for monetizing music consumption as it was for "The Way Things Were": an abstract concept whose intense romanticism can only be understood by people outside of This Generation. And it is this aspect of Lowery's letter that I find infinitely more fascinating.
The moment I found out about this issue, I went and read Emily White's post first because I wanted to maintain whatever semblance of logical discourse was still possible in this day and age. Her stance, far from being consciously cynical and iconoclastic, actually comes from a pure and honest place. She wrote:
"I never went through the transition from physical to digital. I'm almost 21, and since I first began to love music I've been spoiled by the Internet. I am an avid music listener, concertgoer, and college radio DJ. My world is music-centric. I've only bought 15 CDs in my lifetime. Yet, my entire iTunes library exceeds 11,000 songs."
White is currently getting killed in the internet, especially after Lowery’s letter. But all she basically said was all that her generation sees. Much of Lowery's disapproval of her stance is directed toward its questionable ethics. However, a lot of the backlash now is directed toward its sheer lack of romance.
At the height of this issue, Elizabeth Morris, frontwoman of the indie pop band Allo Darlin', posted the following message on her band's Facebook page:
A few comments from fans followed, prompting this response from her:
Old school snobs (not to be mistaken with "hipsters") decry the loss of the physical musical product, but that's actually the shallowest of their concerns. What they're really mourning is the loss of "love" associated with collecting vinyl and CDs.
Being a music fan used to be a personal, intimate love affair. Yes, it was always about being “cool” in the eyes of your friends; but at the end of the day, you went to your room and played your LP, cassette tape, or CD and listened alone. “Listening to music” was an actual activity then, not something you just happened to do while fiddling with your iPad or drinking coffee at Starbucks. And because you bought 2 or 3 CDs for the summer, as opposed to downloading six albums in a week, you listened to them over and over again, until their songs infected your entire system. It was like dating the same woman week after week – sure it’s probably more fun to play around with a limitless supply of easy girls, but that’s not love. I remember ordering Tori Amos’ “Under The Pink” at a local CD import store on February of 1994. I spent the next five unbearable weeks dying to hear Tori Amos’ new songs. By the time it arrived, it was already the start of summer vacation, and I proceeded to listen to it for every single day of that summer. Every single day. Call me old-fashioned, but I think that’s love.
As soon as I read Elizabeth Morris’ post, I couldn’t help but comment (I almost fainted when I saw that she “liked” it):
I’m still waiting for my new Allo Darlin’ CD to arrive. I’ve already listened to the entire album, but I’m still giddy with anticipation. I take it back: this doesn’t make me feel old at all. Quite the opposite.
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