December 28th, 2024 @ 9:59 am
Why collecting CDs, books, and DVDs matters.
I'm currently reading Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture by Kyle Chayka. This book describes the increasing phenomenon of culture and cultural media (i.e. music, film, even coffee shops) becoming more "flat" over time by force of digital algorithms.
Chayka's theory sets out to explain the degradation of art and popular culture that has occurred as social networks like TikTok have come to dictate our tastes. It's an enlightening read and I suggest all artists/art enjoyers read up on these concepts --- see where you fall into Filterworld!
A certain concept from chapter 1 has really stuck with me. In the section "Collecting Culture," Chayka talks about how collecting physical pieces of culture, whether it be vinyl records, books, or DVDs, has turned from "being a necessity to appearing as an indulgent luxury." Given the affordability and instantaneousness of streaming, buying physical media has been made out to seem frivolous.
Streaming services have only benefitted from this cultural shift; they are the new norm of art consumption. However, nothing about streaming is promised; movies are taken off Netflix, WiFi networks go down, interfaces are bricked entirely. What streaming services actually offer is the facade of unlimited access to pieces of culture.
This reminds me of a remark my film teacher made over the summer --- how one's art isn't fully their own until they've physically held it. Electronics aren't reliable and digital media isn't tangible, thus your digital work cannot "belong" to you.
I think he has a point; given the gigantic chunk of our lives we spend online, it's easy to neglect the importance of physical output. And for consumers, "when everything seems to be a single click away, it's easy to forget that we can have physical, non-algorithmic relationships with the pieces of culture we consume in our personal time," says Chayka.
I've been thinking a lot about the importance of physical media since reading this chapter. Revolution iPod may not just entail a return to non-streaming digital music technologies, but a total devolution of personal taste and conscious culture collecting, rather than passive consumption of what the algorithm shuffles to the front of public awareness. Revolution iPod is an intentional act of consumerist will, a rejection of the passivity big tech has exploited from our becoming.
So, with these thoughts in mind, I purchased a random used CD at Fingerprints Records --- an act to uncover a piece of culture lost to an algorithmic art economy --- one it wouldn't have dared push to my awareness.
The record I purchased was the self-titled album by Throttle. It was $3.99. I was intrigued by the cover and the anti-establishment sayings peppered throughout the artwork. Throttle was the creation of the East coast experimental noise-rock two piece of the same name. Daniel Coughlin's on drums, John Overstreet on guitar. The album consists of ten songs, all "tracked live at The Old Firestone Factory one long night in November 1994."
Throttle journeys from jabby, atonal guitar melodies and screamed lyrics, to folky guitar ballads, to distorted bluegrass tunes with pitched up vocals, all utilizing samples from old films and Scooby Doo episodes. It's weird, it's risky, and it's the exact type of music I want to be writing about!
In a used music shop, every record before you is on even footing, with the exceptions of installations like a "Staff Picks" wall. Each piece of art has an equal chance of fitting/forming your tastes. It's a Schroedinger's Cat equation of sorts --- with all records being both equally your new favorite and completely forgettable.
This past year, I've had some of my most memorable music-enjoying experiences using this trust-fall method --- both good and bad. Picking random, physical pieces of culture to peruse comes with the greater risk of "missing the mark" in terms of your taste, especially when compared to what the algorithm may suggest. After all, the algorithm has mathematical data proving what you'll likely like, given what everyone else (who also has a unique taste in music [like you,]) likes. Tastemaking has been made too easy and become less meaningful. Allow yourself to be enriched by your local music scene, broaden your horizons, and shout a big "F you" at the industries adulterating our music!
In 2025, I challenge everyone to take a leap of faith with non-algorithmically suggested pieces of media. Watch a movie because it's your friend's favorite, not because of its 4-star average on Letterboxd; listen to a used CD you find at your local record shop, not on Discover Weekly; read a book you find at the library that you think has an interesting back cover, not just the Amazon bestsellers.
Open your mind, meet new people, support local arts, engage in subculture, and mean what you say.
Have a happy new year, y'all!