Embracing the “Warmth” in the Digital Cold

Most are loath to admit that they don’t pay for the music that they listen to. But music industry sales from 2010, which includes CDs, cassettes, vinyl, digital albums, singles, and music videos, demonstrate that most people are indeed not paying for music. With the ease of accessing and downloading torrents, the ability to jettison any moral qualms one may have with more or less stealing music becomes astronomically easier. The CD is nearly defunct, perhaps, because of it. By many people’s logic, there is no reason to pay fifteen dollars for an album when it’s free via Bittorrent or Vuze. And you have to admit, it is truly difficult to justify paying for something as intangible as an iTunes album. As a culture that embraces the material, not being able to possess a piece of plastic suggests to us a vast injustice.

Our desire for the possession of a musical thing becomes clearer in light of one of the less disheartening figures regarding the music industry. In 2010, vinyl sales actually increased by 14% from the previous year with 2.8 million records being sold, the most sold since 1991. While I value the accessibility of mp3s, their frigidity is undeniable. There is a reason that 1969’s Abbey Road was the best-selling LP last year rather than the best-selling mp3 album. The so-called “warmth” of vinyl helps us connect with the music in an idiosyncratic way, a way that not only induces nostalgia but also unites us with our own cultural milieu (the best-selling vinyl are classic rock and indie groups). But why now, in 2011, are we suddenly craving a return to this warmth? In an age of increased digitization on all fronts, as we lose the paper book and the paper newspaper to the universe of pixels, is vinyl the final stronghold of tactile media? As we sit at home with our kindles in our laps and our external hard drives stockpiling our 10,000 mp3 files for years to come, putting on a record becomes a wholly physicalized experienced. Hearing music coming from that substantial record player, sitting only a few feet away from you, right in your own home forces you into the visceral present, taking you out of cyberspace for a few precious moments. Spending $25 on a new record is more about the sensory experience than just the ten or twelve tracks in and of themselves. As great as Pink Floyd or Bob Dylan or Radiohead are on a CD or in mp3 format, there’s something ineffable about that oh-so-tangible LP. As I’m losing my papery books and newspapers, I will cling to my collection of vinyl. Hands off.