Tag: CDs

1694: Spinning Some Tunes

When I was growing up, I wasn’t massively into popular music — my peers found it hilarious that I bought my first ever album, Oasis’ Definitely Maybe, literally a single day before (What’s the Story?) Morning Glory came out — though I did, on occasion, purchase an album containing a song I particularly liked. (Sometimes I inexplicably also purchased albums containing songs I didn’t like, though this sometimes led to surprising discoveries.) I would listen to music while I was doing things like homework or reading, and later, when I could drive, I’d record albums onto tape so I could listen to them in the car.

At the time, I didn’t feel like a lot of the music I was listening to was particularly “iconic” or defining of the era. I certainly didn’t feel like I was living in a particularly noteworthy era of music in the same way that those who grew up listening to, say, The Beatles or The Rolling Stones would have been able to. While my tastes were initially defined by what everyone else liked, I gradually started the pattern that I continue to this day of exploring a wide variety of different creative works, and sod what anyone else thinks. Consequently, my CD shelf contained everything from The Spice Girls to Bernard Butler and all manner of things in between. I enjoyed it, indulged in it and, like most people these days, gradually migrated my music library from a collection of CDs to a vast iTunes folder, 95% of which I never listen to.

Just recently, I’ve been starting to feel nostalgic for some of this old music. This can be attributed at least in part to the fact that both Andie and I have taken to listening to a lot of Jack FM, which tends to play a lot of the songs we grew up with, plus some earlier stuff from the ’70s and ’80s, too. While Jack FM has its annoyances — most notably its repetitive adverts and truly dreadful attempts at humour — it’s led me to rediscover a lot of the songs of my youth, songs that, in some cases, I haven’t listened to for literally years now.

I’ve long since parted with a lot of the original CDs — Music Magpie took a whole load off my hands a couple of house moves ago — but thanks to services like Google Play Music, I’m able to call up old favourite albums with the click of a mouse and enjoy them on my phone, in the car, on my computer. It’s pretty great.

And I’ve been discovering that many of these tracks were a lot more “defining” than I thought. Or perhaps it’s just that I have good memories associated with them. Either way, spinning up a copy of something like Prodigy’s Fat of the Land or Mansun’s Attack of the Grey Lantern is like slipping on a comfortable pair of earmuffs and losing myself in times past. If I listen on headphones, it’s exactly like that, in fact.

I’ve never really been one for just sitting and listening to music as my sole activity — I prefer it to be an accompaniment to something like driving or working — but it’s been kind of pleasant to rediscover a lot of these old favourites recently. I anticipate that my drive to work each morning will be accompanied by a lot more singalongs in the near future.

1589: The Digital Future

I was a bit surprised to read this piece from GamesRadar today. For those of you who can’t be bothered to click the link, it’s a piece decrying the fact that 73% of UK-based console gamers still exclusively buy boxed copies of games on disc, without ever purchasing any digital download titles. The article then goes on to pontificate as to how this can be “fixed”.

My immediate response was “why does this need to be fixed”?

The piece does make some good points. Digital distribution cuts down on a considerable number of overheads and organisational considerations when compared with physical distribution — particularly on console platforms, where the platform holders still have very tight control over what can and cannot be released and sold in a box. Digital distribution allows smaller developers to release games to the public without having to worry about these overheads and organisational consideration — or even working with a publisher in some cases. It is ideally suited to the indie movement, in other words, though the article appears to espouse a philosophy of “all digital, all the time” being the way forward for interactive entertainment.

I’m not resistant to the idea of digitally distributed titles being available. The vast majority of my PC game collection is digital, and in fact I threw out a whole bunch of physical PC games when we moved this time — largely because they were old copies of games that no longer run on modern systems, and in most cases there are downloadable modernised versions that will happily run on newer hardware and operating systems. Similarly, if the only way to acquire a particular game on console or handheld is to download it, I will happily hand over my money and download it.

Here’s the thing the article is missing, though: some people are collectors. I consider myself a collector of games, and I display my shelf of PC, PS1, PS2, PS3, Xbox 360, GameCube, Wii, Wii U, PSP, Vita, DS and 3DS games with a great deal of pride. I like being able to look at that shelf, think “oh, I used to enjoy that game”, pull it down, pop it into a console and be playing it again a moment later. With the increasing speed of broadband these days — particularly if you’re lucky enough to have fibre-optic like us — it doesn’t take very long to download an older game, but there’s still something very pleasant about seeing that box art, holding the box in your hands and putting the disc into the device. And for newer games — particularly with the excruciatingly slow speeds the PS3 downloads from PSN — I’d much rather just put in a disc and play than wait for 10GB or more to download.

The other consideration, of course, is that console online stores are closed ecosystems that theoretically could close down at any time, denying you access to content you’ve purchased a license to. Note: purchased a license to, not purchased. That license can be revoked at any time, meaning that there’s always the risk that, having deleted a game to make space on your hard drive at some point in the past, you might not be able to get it back ever again at some point in the future. This issue is hopefully a way off for now, but it will become a problem in a few years, I imagine.

The newer consoles, the Xbox One and the PlayStation 4, have another problem, and that is the size of the downloads for newer games. Many new “next-gen” games are weighing in at 40 or 50 GB each, and with both consoles only coming with a 500GB hard drive as standard, that’s only ten games you can have installed before you have to start deleting things. Granted, most gamers will probably only have one or two games on the go at once, but then there’s that old concern again: what if, for some reason, you’re suddenly no longer able to download something you paid £40 for? That sucks, and it does happen, even well before the whole store closes — recently, Europe saw the removal of Persona 4 Arena from the PlayStation 3’s PSN without explanation.

Ultimately what is needed in this regard is not someone slamming down a gavel and saying “The Digital Future begins now!” — what is needed is the acknowledgement that consumers like choice. Collectors like myself who value games as cultural artifacts to be displayed with as much pride as books should continue to have the opportunity to add to their collection, while those who prefer to declutter and have their digital entertainment on tap — or who perhaps see games as a more “disposable” form of entertainment — should also have the opportunity to enjoy their games without acquiring things to find a home for in their house. Small developers should continue to have the opportunity to release their games as digital-only releases, with the most successful ones — see titles like Journey and its ilk — eventually making it to a physical release if the demand is there.

In other words, so far as I can see, pretty much the ideal situation is what we’ve got now. So why is that a problem that needs “fixing”?

#oneaday Day 607: Musical Memories

In the last couple of places I lived, I didn’t have my CDs out, largely due to space issues. They sat quietly in boxes in cupboards waiting to be set free once again. Occasionally I had a sudden urge to rip some to my computer, then once I started the process I realised it took quite a long time, so often gave up rather quickly.

In my new place, though, I’ve got all my CDs out again. There’s some among the collection that I’m not sure I’ll ever listen to again, but it’s nice to revisit some albums that I’ve had for many, many years now — particularly those which I got back when I was at school, as these are often the ones that have the strongest memories attached to them.

They’re not even specific memories as such — simply memories of a time and a place, not any particularly special events. But I can remember when I got many of these albums and why — in some cases it was a simple matter of buying something that was popular at the time (and in some cases struggling to understand why it was so popular — see: The Verve, Urban Hymns, one of the most tedious albums I’ve ever listened to), others it was a case of thinking the lead singer was hot, others still it was songs I’d listened to on the radio so many times I was curious to hear what other stuff the artist had come out with and others still beyond that simply just because I was curious.

I wouldn’t say that as far as popular music goes I’m particularly “well-read” or whatever the popular music equivalent is. But my CD collection demonstrates an interesting cross-section of mid to late 90s music coupled with a few bits and pieces from the early 21st century — though around this point is when iTunes started to take over, leading to a decline in the number of physical products on the shelf.

In some ways, I can see the point that those people who prefer to still buy CDs have. The digitalisation of music has given it a more “disposable” quality, leading to people putting it on just so they have some noise in the background, not necessarily to appreciate what it is. Putting on a CD, though, kind of implies that you’re going to invest some time into listening to the whole thing — even if you’re doing something else at the time. This is because, as everyone knows, changing CDs is a massive faff to the lazy person of the 21st century, who wants everything at their fingertips and, preferably, controlled by their mobile phone.

If you’ve still got a CD collection, though, it’s worth taking a moment to dig it out and investigate the treasures it holds within. Sure, there may be some embarrassing things in there, but even those had a part to play in your past. Take a moment, dig out a random pick from your collection, sit down and listen to it. All of it. You might just be surprised at the complexity and thinking that goes into a complete album — or, then again, you might just find yourself wondering why on Earth you own two Spice Girls albums.

#oneaday, Day 36: School Bands

The delectable and sexy Mr Alex Cronk-Young came out with this little nugget on Twitter earlier:

(in other news, great job on that Twitter integration, WordPress. Love it. But I digress.)

Ahem. Anyway. Following that statement, I decided it would be a good idea to go back and investigate if the music I listened to back at school actually was shit. Well, actually, I know for a fact that some of it was shit, even back then, but I’m interested to see how it compares to the shit we have today, if you see what I mean.

I’ve carefully selected ten tracks for your delectation. Those of you who have Spotify can clicky-click the titles to hear them if you’ve never heard them or can’t remember what they sound like.

So here goes! Let’s jump in.

Oasis: Rocking Chair

Oasis were huge while I was at school. It was the height of the “Oasis vs Blur” nonsense, which I never quite understood because they were two completely different bands with very different sounds from one another.

Within the Oasis fans, though, there were a few subsets; the people who just bought the albums and listened to their stuff on the radio, and those who thought they were “hardcore” because they’d bought all the singles and thus had access to all the B-sides.

The thing is, though, most of Oasis’ B-sides and album tracks were considerably better than the singles they put out. For starters, they didn’t always stick to the standard “guitar, bass, drums, vocals” combo that most of their singles did. This track, for instance, includes a bit of subtle organ work (easy there) in the background and as such has a very different sound from a lot of their other work.

Most of the B-sides were just plain better tunes, too. Rocking Chair perhaps wasn’t the best of them, but it’s certainly one that I’m fond of, and less well-known than the now overly-played The Masterplan.

Alanis Morissette: You Oughta Know

Jagged Little Pill was the second ever album I bought. I’m not entirely sure why I bought it, because Alanis Morissette was on local radio on the school bus pretty much every single day and I wasn’t entirely sure that I liked her voice.

I was pleasantly surprised by the album, though. There was a lot of very obvious angst throughout, particularly in this track. She swore, too, which made it A Bit Rebellious.

Now obviously I wasn’t an angry young Canadian woman in my teens, so I perhaps couldn’t relate to this album on a particularly personal level. But she wrote some decent tunes and had a distinctive sound of her own. More to the point, these songs still hold up pretty well today.

The Verve: Lucky Man

The Verve were one of those groups that I picked up the album for after much deliberation. I wasn’t entirely convinced that the singles I’d heard on the radio were quite what I was looking for, and once I’d picked up the album I still wasn’t convinced that they were actually any good.

This track stuck out, though. It may have been due to my friend Craig’s incessant insistence that we try and learn how to play it in the school’s music practice rooms every lunchtime—that and most of Oasis’ B-sides, some of which we actually did a respectable job of—but, besides the over-over-overplayed Bitter Sweet Symphony (which still gets rolled out on TV promos today) this was one that seemed to be tuneful and memorable.

Listening to it now, it’s a bit dull and morose, but it is better than the rest of the album.

Spice Girls: 2 Become 1

Too many guitars! Need more crap and cheese! (That sounds like the worst party ever.)

The Spice Girls were overproduced rubbish who couldn’t sing live. They were supposedly “hot”, but I found their aesthetic appeal somewhat questionable. Victoria Adams (now Beckham, of course) was too skinny and moody-looking. Emma Bunton looked a bit… I don’t know, odd. It was unfashionable to find Mel C attractive and she had pikey trousers (but would go on to be by far the best solo artist) and Mel B was just too frightening and weird to find in any way hot.

That left Geri, of course, who was ginger at the time, and thus made anyone judging her to be the “hottest” feel a little conflicted thanks to the age-old ginger stigma—something else I never quite understood.

Also, this song made us giggle at the time when we all determined that it was about fucking. It’s really not subtle. At all.

The Cardigans: Sick & Tired

I actually didn’t own a Cardigans album until much, much later, but this track was on a dodgy compilation CD called “Essential Indie” (the rest of which was utter shit, as I recall) which I got free with my Discman. I remember thinking that I liked the combination of Nina Persson’s sweet, girly voice and the unusual inclusion of flute and bassoon in the backing instruments.

Turns out I still do like all those things. What do you know.

Bernard Butler: Not Alone

Bernard Butler’s People Move On is another album that I don’t remember why I bought. I also remember thinking that the vast majority of it was dirge-like, boring crap. This track, though, had energy and “power” behind it, and I enjoyed listening to it, even if the rest of the album was dirge-like boring crap.

Still sounds all right today. I like the strings. I’m a big fan of string parts in guitar bands generally.

James: Laid

Ah, actually, I think this one was also on “Essential Indie”. It’s also another song about fucking.

I was a bit torn on whether I liked James or not; “Sit Down” was one of those tracks that was played so often on the radio and TV that you felt a bit dirty liking anything that was associated with it. But this was a decent enough song, even though it doesn’t really go anywhere and has way too much falsetto.

No, actually, it’s not that great at all. Fuck James.

Britney Spears: I Will Be There

Time for more cheesy crap! Britney hit the bigtime while we were still at school and I found myself liking her cheesy bullshit despite myself—even without taking that video (which, for the record, no-one was quite sure if they were supposed to find sexy or pervy) into account.

I’ve chosen this track to prove that I have indeed listened to her whole album. I also quite liked the fact that Metropolis Street Racer spoofed this particular song quite nicely on its excellent, completely original soundtrack.

Mansun: Stripper Vicar

Mansun were weird. Their album Attack of the Grey Lantern appeared to contain some sort of rudimentary conceptual storyline, until the bonus track told everyone otherwise.

This track pretty much summed it up. A song about a vicar who wears plastic trousers and gets away with stripping, who then dies.

It’s still pretty bewildering to listen to today, to be honest. Decent album, though—worth a listen.

Radiohead: Exit Music (For A Film)

This is the most depressing piece of music of all time, without question. It’s not as if OK Computer was a particularly uplifting album at the best of times, but for this track to show its miserable, suicidal face just four songs into the disc pretty much made it clear that if you were going to listen to this album all the way through, you were in for a Rough Ride.

It’s still a profoundly affecting track today, full of whiny miserable emotion and dodgy vocal synthesis in the backing. It’s difficult to know what is the “right mood” to listen to this track, because if you listen to it while feeling miserable, it sure isn’t going to help. But this song could bring a candy convention in Happyland to its knees, too.

Basically, it’s a great song but no-one should listen to it if they want to smile ever again.

There you go. A super-uplifting playlist for your Saturday night, circa 1999. Enjoy.