I'm a Millennial, and I Listen to Vinyl Records

In the spirit of this past Record Store Day, I thought it might be fun to write about records and the people who listen to them, and share some of my thoughts about the culture of vinyl and its rapid national and international growth within the last decade or so. Record sales have grown 37% within the last year, translating to somewhere around 12 million records sold between 2014 and 2015 (see The Tennessean, 2015). Why do people continue to buy records? What makes them so unique and desirable?

As a fellow millennial and participant of this growing phenomenon, I feel that I can highlight, with some confidence, aspects of the community often overlooked by the general public. You might be surprised that there are lots of reasons why people (young and old) purchase and listen to vinyl records today — and my take is it actually has very little to do with the sound.

The Collection

I collect records, as do a lot of people. It’s a collecting culture, just like any other. Stamps, figurines, sports memorabilia, etc. But there’s a big difference. Most collections exist purely for the activity and experience of seeking out and collecting the objects. I’d say the collecting dimension of collecting records is secondary, namely because people actually want to listen to them after the find.

The History

The vinyl record format represents a long-ago stage in the modern music industry’s relatively short development. A record is a glimpse of the way music once was manufactured and distributed on a large scale. And, setting aside for a moment its sudden explosive comeback, there was a time when people really didn’t have a choice. This was the most accessible form of a personal listening experience. If you were raised in the CD-ROM and digital age like me, you might deeply appreciate the fact that they’re still around, and currently flourishing as a niche market. Our generation also has the advantage of choosing between digital and analog samples of the same recording with the same ease of accessibility, which creates a more dynamic and enriching listening environment overall.

The Aesthetic

There’s no getting around that digital files offer the listener a convenience vinyl records simply cannot. But, what vinyl lacks in portability and storage, it makes up for in appearance and presentation. Records are big, and as such, they’re each treated as a giant canvas. A large part of the user experience is taking the time to actually look at the thing, and artists and labels know that. So naturally, a big part of record culture is the album art — the cover, the sleeves, the folio, every square inch. It’s a stunning and effective complement to the media stored on the disc itself, and offers a much more personal interface than plugging in a pair of earbuds. Digital files give you nothing — no pictures, no art, no story. Convenience means disconnection, and that’s exactly what you get with digital media. A very quick, detached listening experience.  

The Experience

This brings me to one of the most important features of vinyl culture: the experience. Something we lost with the onset of digital media is the physicality of listening. This makes a tremendous comeback along with the record itself. Playing a record means placing it on the turntable (after selecting a side), picking up the needle, setting it on the disc, and watching it play. You’re also more familiar with the content. You’re almost required to be — the ability to skip a track isn’t at the push of a button, which means if you want to be selective, you’ll have to know track order, length, and context (in terms of the entire album). These points are no doubt extremely significant to the artist(s) who ordered them.

The Sound

If somebody tells you they listen to vinyl because it sounds better, they're either confused or lying. It just doesn’t. Different, certainly, and in a good way. But not better. And better than what, exactly? On the whole, manufacturing equipment hasn’t changed since the early ‘80s, and analog pressings are taking a backseat to digital masters (meaning, virtually identical to a digital file). We have far better technology today, so claiming the sound is somehow “better” using outdated techniques and equipment is foolish. In the face of projects like hdtracks and Neil Young’s Pono, it simply cannot be argued. You might enjoy the different texture vinyl offers (as I do), but don't mistake this for technological superiority. It's just another dimension of the aesthetic, plain and simple.

This, however, doesn’t devalue the quality and feel of the sound you get from a record’s output, old or new. It’s fuzzy, dirty, and raw. It feels more intimate. It sounds old, even on modern cuts. Some people claim this is the better way to listen, and I agree. I think of it as an added bonus to an activity I already enjoy for many other reasons.

The Find

Every vinylyte has that one record they've been looking for, patiently browsing through dust-riddled milk crates, periodically checking in with the store clerk, until the day comes when they finally get their hands on the record — of which several hundred thousand copies surely exist — that seemed only to be there, on that day, in that shop, for them. As records are growing in popularity, it’s becoming easier to find the ones you want via Amazon, artists’ websites, or directly from the label. But if you know the feeling of the find, you’ll knowingly ignore these sources. It’s part of the experience, and it’s a large reason why I continue to collect.

These are just a handful of reasons why I think many people choose to listen to records today, even with widespread access to cheaper, more convenient, and more technologically advanced forms of audio content. I’m proud of my record collection, and I’m glad that vinyl is coming back in a big way. I feel that many people misunderstand why we opt for a dated media format, especially those who grew up with records as the norm, and not as some exotic relic of bygone days. It isn’t about owning vintage, one-of-a-kind objects, or being up on the latest trend. It’s about appreciating the privilege to enjoy a superior way of discovering and listening to music. And that’s something the digital age, thus far, really can’t offer.                    

Plants and Animals -- genus/species; kingdom/phylum, etc. etc.

If you’re a rock/indie group, and you want to get it across that your goal is a sound that’s organic, fleshed out, temperamental, unpredictable, even primordial -- a spontaneous dichotomy of mellow grandeur and raw ferocity -- I can think of no better descriptive than Plants and Animals. The static and the fleeting; the majestic and the brutally wild.

via magnetmagazine.com

They’re warbly. They’re gritty. They’re French Canadian -- and they’re an impressive example of what we don’t expect from the all too often (painfully) redundant indie rock genre. Truly, this is a group you’ll know you’re listening to when you hear them, and they’ve been laying the groundwork for all the charlatans since 2007.

The music is easy to follow -- it’s elegantly simplistic. It’s really feel-good and energetic, but poignant when it needs to be. Their 2008 album, Parc Avenue, conveys a collective, natural, zen-like experience -- it’s very inward and outward-turning at the same time. Meanwhile, the follow-up, La La Land, is mostly sultry and tropical (yes), with some kind of Honolulu-at-sunset vibe to it. Strange, yes, but quite fantastic. The band’s wiki page lists the members’ self-characterization as “post-classic rock,” but I think that’s too straightforward for what’s happening with Plants and Animals. It’s too neat and tidy, and they’re not.

via albumoftheyear.org

I highly recommend their latest, The End of That. Check out the track of the same name -- it’s a great example of where they’re coming from and where they’re headed. What do you think? Are they deserving of all this praise?

TCV -- I still haven't forgotten about them

I don’t think I’ve ever been as elated and heartbroken with the debut and subsequent reclusion of a musical group as that which I’ve experienced with Them Crooked Vultures.

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If you’re like me, you are very wary of anything that looks, acts, or remotely makes mention of a “supergroup.” But when you have the likes of Josh Homme, Dave Grohl, and John Paul Jones working together, what else can you call it? And, perhaps as a positive consequence of this mega supergroup (QOTSA, Foo Fighters, Led Zeppelin, respectively), such a formation brings together a rather interesting audience that otherwise might not have reason to interact. If you’re a fan of any of the above, you must check out TCV.  Really though, I wouldn’t approach this as a short-term supergroup, because they didn’t. This is a meaningful project -- for all members -- and one sample off their album will surely convince you how true that is.  

So, with Josh Homme having a large hand in this project, you’re gonna get the lovely, absurd, off-beat textures that you would from Queens -- and behind it all, you have a rhythm section that is simply unmatchable in terms of synergetic power, proficiency, and stylistic versatility. In other words, you have a songwriter capable of creating and working around crazy, outlandish patterns and themes in uncomfortable (but appropriate and wonderful) ways, and bass and drums capable of playing them. Add the auxiliary that they incorporate (keytar, lap-steel, to name a couple), and these songs represent very well what they aim to be: totally dynamic, at times unsettling, and all of them masterfully crafted.    

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And let’s not forget the most overlooked part of this group: Alain Johannes -- the fourth vulture. A critical if not necessary part of their studio and stage presence, Alain truly is a musician of the highest caliber. A big part of his exclusion from the trio in almost all other circumstances is probably due to the group’s marketing strategy, which underscores three, and not four, vultures.

Anything new that TCV potentially has on the table or ready to go at the moment has been suspended -- and understandably so; at least two of the members have other time-consuming projects that take precedent over any Vultures release. But I am patiently waiting for a second album, and I can’t possibly be alone.   

The album’s single, New Fang, is a great plug for the rest of the album, and exemplifies just about everything I’ve discussed. Give it a listen and tell me what you think!

via flickr.com

EE

keyword: earth engine; ee; alien rock; squirrel pit; squirrel pit studios; sts; broken robots; neoprog rock; progressive bots; prog pop; tectonic rocks; space volcanoes

Take a minute to think about what progressive rock means as a rock subgenre. Sidestep all of its over-usages, generalizations, and cliche taglines, and get right down to exactly what you like about it. Now, add to your refined and *highly* selective characterization of prog rock the qualities sharp, tight, amorphous, complex, sideways, ground-rattling, unified, popy, experimental, fuzzy, energetic, ambient, heavy, thick. This comes pretty close to Earth Engine’s sound, but it still fails as a completely satisfactory description.

Here’s the thing: “progressive rock” is such a boring, outdated term with lots of potentially inaccurate (and diminishing) connotations that, if not for its cachet in the music world, I would avoid using the term entirely to characterize Earth Engine. And what’s more, they’ve earned more than that. They’re genre-spanning eclectic Detroit musicians, all of them -- and that fact is wholly reflected in their music. There’s no doubt that what they are is progressive, and it is rock, but it is much, much more. There are elements of pop, rockabilly, and something beautifully sinister -- maybe something itself Detroit. Prog pop maybe? Neoprogressive? Who cares, just listen.  

The rhythm section is heavy, hard-hitting, and just downright dirty and obnoxious -- but it’s also finely tuned, elegant, and methodical, overlayed with brassy trombone flares, organ, and piano. The arrangements are astonishing -- and there’s really no mistaking this; the music is as precisely written and rehearsed as it is performed. Guitar is technically proficient (a must for “prog rock”), but direct and punctuated when it needs to be, supplementing -- and not overshadowing -- the rest of the ensemble. The vocals are an absolute perfect complement to the heavy, gritty, smooth syncopation of EE’s sound, and they just work so well with the lyrics. When it’s all happening, it has the feel of a progressive epic, but with the fine touch of brevity, deliberation, and expertise. Look, I think really highly of this group, but not without reason.       

via bensencore.com

I never miss an opportunity to see these guys play -- they perform all over Detroit and the metro area, and they’re adding more shows all the time. Most recently, they played the second annual Hamtramck Music Festival and utterly rocked the Polish Sea League (many thanks). Each performance also has a super special secret treat inside -- this past show’s set included a very Detroit cover of Kenny Rogers & the First Edition’s “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)” (see Gutterball), with a twist only Earth Engine could manage to crank. EP coming out soon! I have so much love for EE.

21st century psychedelia

What does it mean to be psychedelic in the 21st century?  Or maybe a better question is, what does it mean to be 21st century psychedelic?

via disenfranchisedfm.com

It's hard to say exactly what’s happening with Tame Impala -- something like really smooth, introspective melodies that I’m willing to bet closely mimic brain-wave activity. I’m actually hesitant to classify them under psychedelic rock, what with all the baggage (historical and otherwise) that term carries. I think a more appropriate term is cerebral. They produce cerebral music, both in lyrical content and instrumental effect.

However you’d like to think about their sound, you’ll certainly feel tripped out, even if you’re not sure how or why. It’s great lazy/chill music, but you’ll also find in it a type of vibrancy that is so outrageously beautiful, you’ll want to listen to them over and over again. Tune in on a summer evening, drink beer, let it play, fall asleep. Tame Impala.

via genius.com

So they only have two full studio albums out -- which is both kinda bad and also not such a big deal. Bad because they’re original and great and we all want more; not such a big deal because their music really doesn't ever get boring -- go through an album once and just replay it. That’s the beauty about music that has the potential to inspire other-worldly experiences. It just does not get old.

Why I really like one of Iron and Wine's songs

Because it’s so illuminating when I generalize over whole artists and/or albums, I thought I might treat everybody and use this post to focus on a specific track off a specific 2007 album that I think is particularly noteworthy. The track is “Carousel,” off of Iron and Wine’s The Shepherd’s Dog, and it is both just enough Iron and Wine to tolerate (while still maintaining that neo-folk rusticity that all the folkheads love)  and almost entirely unlike other tracks so as to be surprisingly refreshing.

Right about now, you might be objecting, “Hey! Iron and Wine is great!” And to that objection I say I will respectfully bite my tongue. Don’t mistake my ambivalence for ignorance -- I do recognize that there’s top-tier musicianship at work here. And while I can be swooned into heavenly twilight by some of these melodies as easily as the next, I feel that Beam recycles imagery so much (innocence, naked people, pastoral settings, rusticy things, etc.) that it just simply isn't effective anymore.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, we can get right down to it. Carousel is just an all-around fantastic song, start to finish. Here’s why: it’s nearly the perfect distribution of light and shade, both in terms of lyrical content and progression (and that always adds a level of texture to the song otherwise missing); back to its lyrical content -- the profundity of the themes explored in the song is understated enough to be both relatable and abstract (recipe for cerebral elation); and finally, it’s just one of those songs that has the potential to give you the “aha moment,” as only music, literature, and (perhaps) religion can do -- a moment of total euphoria and clarity, which is simultaneously transcendent and grounded in reality. Probably a feeling you’ll never forget if you’re lucky enough to experience it. And the beauty about music is that it’s the perfect trigger for nostalgia. Now, this may be good or bad, depending on your perspective, but my personal opinion is that it’s one of the most mysterious and powerfully overwhelming experiences an individual can have; a brief glimpse at the heart of life through the superficiality of the mundane.

So here’s to your “aha moment,” whenever and whyever that may be.

via albumoftheyear.org

Listen to White Denim. Now.

keyword: Austin, TX; 4-piece; denim, dungarees, sans color (i.e white)

It was only less than a year ago that I read White Denim’s name on a silly nonsensical list of bands that “probably wouldn't exist if not for Led Zeppelin" floating around the Internet (see link at bottom of page). No doubt Zeppelin influenced them all in one way or another, but why not “bands that independently are worthy of your investigation?” But hey, it got my attention. So maybe not such a bad editorial technique after all.

Ah, the staggeringly sweet, sweet sounds of White Denim. It isn’t very often one encounters a group of musicians who can trade off between each other rapid, seamless changes inflected at moments with furious intensity, and keep it lighthearted, graceful, and seemingly “easy.” But these guys do it so well. God damn, are they good. There’s so much happening in one song, it has the potential to come off as an absolute frenzy. Yet somehow it feels like one, unified statement; each part has its place. And when it’s finished, your instinct is to release a long, satisfied sigh.

 (via www.austinchronicle.com)

And if part of you wants to attribute this to “studio syndrome” (only good by virtue of studio clean-up and decoration -- I made up the term, bear with me), I can tell you that their live shows are bone-rattling. They are shockingly exhilarating, and be forewarned that you may at some point weep. I had the opportunity to see them in Ann Arbor, MI during one of their tours, and the hours spent listening to their discography paid off. Tremendously. Adding to my glowing review of the evening, James Petralli (lead singer/guitar) was an absolute delight, humoring me by answering my probing questions about mysterious song titles, lyrics etc., which, by the way, is probably never a good idea to ask about. But I had three beers in me and I was feeling cocky and confident.

Their latest, Corsicana Lemonade, is just as good an introduction as any. And by the end of the track of the same name, if you don’t already know the local geography and nomenclature of Texas, that giant fucking state, you will -- and what’s more, you’ll feel homesick for it. Sadly, I’m not sure what else to expect from White Denim at the moment -- James was *strategically* terse when I questioned about a follow-up album.

www.buzzfeed.com/spotify/bands-that-wouldnt-exist-without-led-zeppelin