Digital May Be Sex, But Analog Is Romance

I am an odd kind of techy. I revel in Sci-Fi, delight in gadgets, curiously pick over wiring and deeply inhale that warm, metallic, airy fuzz that hangs in server rooms. This is energizing! This is awakening! This is change in the making! Give me more, give me new, give me different. Hook me up, plus me in, log me on. But keep me away from those damn MP3s.

"Saay, whaa-?"

You heard me. I suppose now is a good time to confess I've never owned an iPod.

"But, those are so convenient, so sleek, so... techy!" Meh.

I love technology for the quality. Electricity is brighter than candles. Internal combustion is faster than steam. But don't anyone try tell me that MP3s are better than- well, anything.

I am in love with Bob Dylan. Most of my music preferences are from the '60s - '80s, when the hair was long, the sound was deep and the instruments were played. Why, then, would I smash Bob's sound, hollow out his voice and thin his notes through an MP3? Why indeed.

Thus, I've recently entered a new relationship with vinyl. "Hullo, luv, did you miss me?" (I mentioned this to my coworker. He looked at me blankly and asked if I'd heard of iTunes.)

Yes, analog is bulky. Yes, analog takes time. Yes, analog is now hard to find and difficult to maintain. But those are labors of love that deal out so much reward.

I decided to rebuild my Bob Dylan collection completely on vinyl. From the ground up, I will acquire each album in the order that they were released. I am determined to experience his music in the manner that he intended: with each song in the order it was recorded and as a collective. I want to hear these songs in their fullness, literally.

Vinyl is a tangible material (well, so are CDs, but that's another blog) and it is resonant. When a blank record is cut, the tiny knife bumps around in minuscule zig-zag motions, building frequency into the vinyl. These details, this richness, this fullness is missing from our digital world. MP3s screech and wail in their one-dimensional recording. Vinyl bellows and swoons. No, pardon, I swoon.

You see, analog may not be able to keep pace with the fashionista digital music world, but with what digital has gained in portability and in diminished price and shelf-space, it has lost in character and quality. You may argue about the infamous "noise" in the vinyl- the scratches that interfere with the sound. I will not deny these are enemies of vinyl. But they are symptoms of poorly cared for vinyl, not the medium itself.

It is more than a desire to hear good sound, it is a hobby. Well, one might say obsession. Vinyl takes dedication, patience, trial and error, education. You cannot set up a turntable system without some education. The nature of the analog world requires one to slow down and think about what's what. The same cannot be said for the digital music world. The world of iTunes has soiled the nature of the album. The songs were chosen in the order they were for a reason. Most of the time these albums are meant to be listened to collectively. With a record, you cannot just jump to track 5. You can if you're skilled, but even then you land somewhere in the previous song. Vinyl requires you to start at the beginning and patiently listen. No more though, with the advent of CDs and MP3s: "I don't want to pay for that whole album, I just want the song I heard on the radio. I'll just rip it!"

There is a disconnect from our music collections. People take pride in the number of songs they have. 1,000. 5,000. 10,000. Let me ask you super-collectors: do you even know what you have anymore? Do you know your music? I dare say you don't. Because you don't need to. The MP3s take up no physical space, they cost nearly nothing and they are bought on impulse and in mass quantity. The desire for the collection of MP3s is in the acquisition, and rarely for the collection itself. Just line them up on the computer and download ad nasium.

Let's get back to the root, back to the source, back to the analog. Lets rediscover our music, but more importantly, our musicians. Listen to them. Hear them. Connect with them. Build the rapport that is inevitable when we go back to the record store and talk with fellow music lovers. Build the relationship that is cherished when you know when, where and why you bought an album. If you're willing to let the music take up your time and money, let is be a physical presence in your home. Slow down, take notice and realize that the quality of a music collection comes in the time and dedication one has taken to groom it, not the sheer quantity.

Quality over quantity.

I remember the first time I sat devoted to a record. It was my father's pristine copy of Dark Side of the Moon. I'm not kidding. What a baptism! I sat rooted to the floor (no, I was not high), with these large, over-the-ear headphones on. The vinyl was clean, the needle worth flaunting, the preamp covetous. And, I was stunned. The music resonated through my skull and filled my head with a new kind of musical education. "Forget CDs!" I thought, "What dumbass ever threw out their turntable?" I was smitten.

So here, I am, lusting after the brave, new, technological world, but swooning to the tried and true.

Digital may be sex, but analog is romance.