October: Island Records

What do you want to listen to? I don't know!

I’m writing this on an island in Spain. Some of you might remember I sent you a field recording from here last year, the sound of waves in the background. I’d love to write more about the waves and the sea and the fish — the fish in the sea and the fish on my plate — but I have a disturbing realisation to share with you:

My music listening habits are in a sorry state of affairs.

I don’t remember what I want to listen to anymore. I’m blank. Befuddled.

What do you want to listen to? I don’t know.

This sad epiphany began back home, a few days before setting off. I was clearing space on my laptop in order to import some heavy footage I had to edit. And what did I choose to delete? Music! That’s right, I found myself deleting entire albums from iTunes (if that’s what it’s even called anymore). Because I don’t really need them anymore, do I? Because they’re all on Spotify, for which I pay good money each month. (Because no, Spotify does not gift premium accounts to artists whose music is on Spotify, but that’s another story.)

As I scrolled through my library, forcing myself to delete ruthlessly, clear those gigabytes, not get nostalgic about files I haven’t listened to in years, I became very nostalgic. The Cranberries! Macy Gray! Gomez! Albums I once patiently imported from my now obsolete CD collection. Albums I knew by heart and then somehow forgot existed. Rufus Wainwright! Pavement! Cesaria Evora! Artists I loved enough to purchase conscientiously from the iTunes Store and then slowly (or suddenly?) dropped off heavy rotation. What do you want to listen to? I don’t know.

Then we got to the island — away from daily life, away from instant internet — and I reunited with... my CD collection. Not all of it of course, but the favourites. The ones I had once deemed important enough to arrange in plastic folders and weigh down my hang luggage with. Because here on the island there is a car, you see, and in that car is a CD player. And it is joyous! Remember Manu Chao’s Clandestino? Remember David Byrne’s Uh-Oh? Remember the mix CD I burnt for my father’s 60th birthday? Remember when our friend Mariscal, who first brought us to the island, drove over from Barcelona with a VW Beetle full of CDs for the summer?

Albums used to be in front of us, literally, physically. We could run our finger along a shelf and our mind would be triggered by names, titles, artwork. Oh perfect, I really feel like listening to Bill Withers this morning. Oh yes, Eurythmics are exactly who I need to shake me out of this mood. Now they are lost, like all the phone numbers we used to know by heart. It’s true I still listen to vinyl, and greatly enjoy the ritual, the flipping over, the scratches, but mine is largely an inherited collection — my parents’ hippie tastes — the music I was brought up on and is dearest to me. There are some newer additions — friends’ merch from various tours, a few gifts and second hand shop finds — but it lacks the vast majority of music I bought and devoured as a teenager — the CD years — and during my 20s — the iTunes era.

I can only hope that people who grew up with Spotify or equivalent in their formative years use it better than me. Download albums for offline listening. Save new discoveries in a way that’s easy to come back to. Make playlists that give them as much pleasure to share with friends as a mixtape. For me it’s paralysingly overwhelming. I listen to the one or two new artists who have somehow penetrated my psyche that season — hello Jockstrap — and to the handful of artists I have always listened to — the very same ones I have in that exquisite yet limited vinyl collection — except instead of Blood On The Tracks or Desire it will be ‘This Is Bob Dylan’ — and somehow an hour later Spotify is playing Daydream Believer, which, for reasons I cannot explain, it thinks I want to listen to every single day.

I’m not even talking about attention span and multi-tasking and ads and screens and shuffle and algorithms and everything that is mostly terrible, save for a few lazy advantages and yeah ok maybe some clever music discovery tools that I admit I benefit from as an artist thought I still think word of mouth wins. I’m simply talking about all the carefully curated music that used to surround me in my bedroom, on which I now draw a total blank when under pressure to type something into a search bar. Especially with the last four things I listened to and a million other suggestions of music I probably won’t hate tempting me to click on them instead. What do you want to listen to? I don’t know.

Toddler island installation…

Talking of music discovery, my dad once stopped the car outside a record store (remember those?) on a family road trip in the US. I think it was NYC and I think it was Sam Goody. He told us we each had 10 mins to pick a CD for the car. He chose Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers and we all fell in love instantly. (I chose Damon Albarn’s Mali Music… I should seek it out on Spotify sometime…) Regular readers of Foggy Notions will know that Jonathan Richman is not someone of who’s existence I need reminding, but it’s still an annual delight to reunite with Action Packed: The Best of Jonathan Richman, which does not exist on Spotify and makes for the best golden-hour dirt-road island drive.

So ok, what do I want to listen to?? Recommendations needed!!

Sunday Sunrise