Almost a year ago, I decided to begin physically collecting CDs. This might, in some ways, seem to be a strange decision. CD’s have none of the convenience of Spotify or digital music, and none of the trendiness of collecting records on vinyl. Still, I was determined to do it, because I really wanted to shift the way that I consumed music, and media in general.
The arguments for why physical media ownership is important are a well worn path. Paying artists properly for their labour, as well as preventing corporations from deleting media, are among these ideas which are quickly gaining traction in the public consciousness. However, my CD collection was not built on fear of my favourite artist’s music disappearing.
In becoming a CD listener, I noticed three key differences in the ways I engaged with music.
Firstly, I noticed that the process of acquiring media changed. Buying a CD held significantly more meaning than just downloading an album on my phone. It took time to get to a record store; it took money to buy a CD. In doing this, I saw how the CD sections of stores were shrinking as vinyl record sections were expanding. I also realised that because of the $30 investment I was going to make in each CD, I bought albums I already liked, from artists I already loved. The process of purchasing a CD was almost an act of devotion, taking time and money to get music in a form that was slowly becoming outmoded, because I loved the music so much.
Secondly, I felt a change in my relationship with the artists I love. When you download an album digitally, you miss so much of the story the artist is trying to tell with that album. Every time I would get home with a new CD, I found myself hungrily opening it, looking for my favourite part: the lyric booklet. Inside, I found information I devoured. Prologues musing on the meaning of the album in Taylor Swift’s ‘Red (Taylor’s Version)’. Detailed lists of credits with instruments I didn’t even notice in Clairo’s ‘Sling’. Delicate illustrations that pulled at my heartstrings in Phoebe Bridger’s ‘Punisher’. Hilarious 50s’ and 60s’ inspired graphics in Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Short and Sweet’. These notes and accompanying visuals changed the way I viewed the albums, because I was able to see how the artist intended for me to experience them.
Additionally, unlike the way I listen to music on my phone (the sacrilegious massive playlist of 10 albums at a time put on shuffle, then skipped through), I had no choice but to put albums on and listen to them all the way through. Giving control of the listening experience to the artist — how they designed the tracklist, how long they wanted the album to be — helped me to further appreciate the stories they were trying to tell. Furthermore, as my collection grew, I noticed the way the albums took up space. In acquiring an out-of-use CD stand from my parents, I realised I was building an altar to the music I loved.
The final and most notable thing about listening to CDs was I was suddenly off my damn phone. I primarily became a CD listener because I wanted to be off my phone while I wrote. I envisioned being able to put a CD in a stereo, write until it was finished, and have no inclination to change songs or skip tracks like I did with digital music. I found that when I put on a playlist to ‘get things done’, I always found myself checking my emails, or scrolling on social media, almost without noticing what I was doing. In becoming physically involved with consuming music, I found myself less willing to fall into a digital black hole. I had little desire to be listening to a real CD and also scroll on my phone. The tangible nature of the object made my existence in the world feel more real, and increased my desire to actually connect with the present moment.
For all these reasons, my CD collection is here to stay, and I desperately hope that CDs don’t go the way of cassette tapes, which have become a hard to find relic of the past. I hope to collect many more of my favourite albums in a real form, and to listen to them, dance in my room, and stay offline.
