When I was eleven years old, I waited seven to ten days for a brown package with my name on it to arrive in the mail. Every day after school I ran to the mailbox in giddy anticipation. On the day it finally arrived, I couldn’t tear it open fast enough. I pulled out the packaging material, the plastic case, the multi-folded artwork and, finally, the prize: a white cassette tape. I quickly forced Jody Watley’s Larger Than Life into my gray boom box, stood on my twin mattress in my basement bedroom and sang my heart out.
I brought her here, I remember thinking. I saved my allowance. I filled out the form. I dropped it in a mailbox. And I waited. I worked for this. And her great big voice in my bedroom was the reward. I spent the entire fifth grade immersed in Larger Than Life, memorizing ever aspect of the album. When I wasn’t listening, I carefully stacked the cassette against the dozen or so others I owned and gazed proudly upon my modest but much-loved collection.
Today, when I want a new recording—when the idea suddenly pops in my head while checking email, skimming a blog or sending a text—I type in the first two letters of a website address, enter the artist name into a search engine and click “download.” The entire process requires less than a minute. Sometimes I listen to the album right away. And sometimes I don’t, only to find my new purchase much later while scrolling hastily through the thousands of artist titles in my iTunes library: Oh yeah, I’ll think, I forgot I downloaded that one. Sometimes I’ll click and listen. Sometimes I’ll keep scrolling.
Nowadays, it often feels as if I spend more time scrolling than listening—something that has both frustrated and inspired me. So much so, I’m writing a thesis on it (I’m in a master’s writing program at PSU). For the next year, I’ll be exploring how technology is redefining our experience with music, influencing the way we hear it, value it and interact around it. I’ll be knee-deep in research, interviews and contemplation, posting snapshots of my findings here. I hope they’ll inspire some new ways of thinking about technology, art and, well, us.
Meanwhile, I’ll be slowing from a hasty scroll to a true listen. It will take patience but the reward--the experience that lasts--will make it all worthwhile.
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November 21, 2008 at 7:13pm by Jeremy Petersen
I can completely relate to the mail order days-- I even kind of miss the CD clubs at this point, let alone the "record and tape club," as I remember it being known. You're absolutely right: it was a major happening to get that package in the mail-- I mean that was an event, and life was literally wrapped up in anticipation in the space between mailing off the order and finally receiving the "prize" in the pre-internet days.
Even better was the intro package, five or six shiny new cassettes all in the same box arriving in the mail. I remember mine consisted of A-Ha, Mr. Mister, Falco, Tears for Fears and Stevie Wonder's In Square Circle (for my mom). I lined them all up on my bed and just looked at them all night.
November 22, 2008 at 10:19am by Jenny Tatone
Yes--I eventually progressed to the serendipitous fun of ordering six or ten at a time. The not knowing what to expect was so exciting. My boom box was in a head board and I would just lay on my bed and stare at it as the tape turned.
And I think it's totally possible to get back to that. I went record shopping the other day and bought six albums and I have been listening to them over and over (Willie Nelson's Always on my Mind right now actually). It's kind of like the slow food movement, a conscious return I guess to slowing down and really appreciating music again but more on this in the posts to come...
Glad you wrote, happy weekend.
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