When most people were comparing how many times they had listened to Sabrina Carpenter, Charli xcx and Fontaines DC on Spotify Wrapped last December, I had to make do with Burger King Unwrapped, delivered to me via their app, which told me how many Burger Kings I’d eaten that year (a solitary Whopper meal in July). You see, I’ve stopped streaming music, which, in this modern day and age, seems frankly weird. But hear me out. I’ve gone back to buying CDs, and it’s made me fall in love with music all over again.
I listen to music all day, every day. I can’t work without music in the background, or consider doing the washing up without some tunes to groove to. Traditionally, I’d buy albums on CDs or vinyl, and listen to them over and over until I was bored to death with them, by which time I’d hopefully have bought another album. It’s apparently a very annoying habit: as a student (way before the days of Spotify), one housemate was so utterly exasperated with me blasting Urban Hymns by the Verve around the house that they barged into my room, ejected the CD and flung it out the window.
When Napster, and filesharing, and eventually Spotify emerged, I couldn’t believe my luck. I instantly abandoned my archaic – and expensive – CD habit in favour of a digital jukebox that could play every song in the world. I’d cue up new albums by artists I liked or people I’d heard of and embraced a world of infinite listening. But then, predictably, I got lazy. As Spotify started getting to know me, its recommendations became more and more obscure. Before I knew it, Spotify would have moved from the new Gorillaz album that I’d asked it to play to some weird jazz folk nonsense that I hadn’t, and, crucially, didn’t like. Invariably, I’d be too lazy to turn it off. Listening to Spotify was like talking to a music snob who thinks they know more about music than you, and not in a good way.
The cost of my Spotify subscription recently went up, so I cancelled it and went back to my old CD-buying ways. I now read reviews in NME and the Guardian, and use Shazam to identify things I like the sound of on telly, as I did with Silk by Wolf Alice after hearing it on the T2 Trainspotting soundtrack. Instead of listening to random Spotify suggestions, I’m back to my own musical free will. Sure, it involves lining Jeff Bezos’s pockets and playing: “what time will the Amazon delivery man turn up?” But you can’t beat the feeling of holding something physical in your hand. It’s worth every penny to marvel over the album artwork and scrutinise the inner sleeve.
Plus, I can listen to the same album over and over as I no longer live with my picky university flatmates. I’ve certainly listened to my current favourite, Drive to Goldenhammer by Divorce, a window-flinging number of times. And, in preparation for their live shows, I’m having a highly enjoyable resurgence of Oasis. I couldn’t be happier, although my shelves, which are desperately reaching their CD weight limit, may disagree.
