For whatever praises I can sing about my iPod - believe me, they are endless - and the revolution(s) in digital music production and consumption in the last decade or so, there are some issues created by these innovations which in a few fundamental ways alter how we listen to, purchase, enjoy, and interact with music. And I’m not sure that all of these changes are for the best.
One phenomenon I’ve observed is that music is increasingly commodified. By that I mean that music is consumed and enjoyed less as an art-form into itself than as a means to some other means. Again, as much as I embrace my iPod (and enjoy the familiar silhouetted iPod ads), it is a little disconcerting for me to acknowledge that I might not have heard The Caesars or eagerly embraced Wolfmother were it not for their prominent placements in iPod ads. On some level this is not at all objectionable; I always welcome recommendations of new music. But when the sole intent is to get me to buy something, even something I unabashedly adore, my skin begins to crawl.
But beyond that, the increasing availability of music online (and yes, I know that this is old news, so bear with me) has, I’m afraid, contributed to the demise of one particular form of recorded music to which I am particularly endeared, the album. Again, this is old news, and I am neither going to amass any sort of literature review of what has been said about this in the past, nor am I going to attempt any great and meaningful contribution to the existing body of commentary. We’ve all heard the story, so let’s move on.
(OK, fine. Here’s one article I found interesting. My apologies for the source.)
Rather, my point today is to begin a list/discussion of those apocryphal albums that are best enjoyed from first song to last, start to finish, soup to nuts, or from eggs to apples. (That’s the ancient Roman equivalent of “soup to nuts.”) My first nomination is the last album of original studio material The Beatles ever recorded, Abbey Road.
I’m perhaps a little biased here; Abbey Road has long been my favorite Beatles record. When I first purchased the record, however many years ago that was, I bought it on vinyl, still my preferred format for listening to pre-digital era albums. And it’s not to say that I haven’t dropped the needle down (or skipped ahead on my iPod) to “I Want You She’s So Heavy” (my favorite song on the record, and one of my favorite Beatles’ songs ever) or passed over “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” (granny music indeed). But by and large, I begin with “Come Together” and end with “Her Majesty.” (For the record - pun intended - I am not listening to Abbey Road as I write this. Currently on my iPod is Parklife by Blur, another fine record and candidate for the Eggs to Apples Club.)
All of this begs a question: what is it about some records that compels the listener to abandon any instincts to skip past the least-enjoyed songs or repeat favorite ones? To listen to the record as it was designed, constructed, recorded, and sequenced, by the band and its studio lieutenants?
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