Lockdown Music

Hey - thanks for coming back. That's the sort of bravery that gets rewarded around here. 

The good news today is that in yesterday's post, I didn't decide today's would be about politics. If it was I'd be furiously tapping away, railing against Mr Trump and his hoodlums. But no - today is a Music Tuesday. As promised, this is an off-the-cuff, unresearched, ad-libbed treatise on music generally. It's a bit harder than I expected, because the live music scene is effectively shutdown globally at present, thanks to our friend Covid19, so I thought I'd start elsewhere.

Spotify's a divisive, possibly malign presence in modern life, dressed up as an all-you-can-stream buffet of musical choice. A freewheeling, listen-to-anything consumer-led utopia, where everything feels free and instantaneous. When Arcade Fire released Everything Now, they were basically lampooning the cultural shift towards streams, the absence of ownership on the part of consumers, and the masterstroke, pulled off by record labels and the service itself, to convince their former customers to effectively rent things they already own. Simultaneously, Spotify presumably donned the floor-length black cloak beloved of pantomime villains and swept evilly away, cackling at the Moon as it went. 

I knew this day would come the moment the Green Demon launched. I resisted it for a couple of years, bought more vinyl than ever, had long, circular conversations about audio quality with friends, and even started making my own music sound as analogue as possible. But I knew the writing was on the wall. Streaming stuff just feels easier to do, once you get your head around it, and if you don't mind cheating artists out of a few quid now and again. It had been there in plain sight for years. 

The digital takeover of previously analogue media (not to mention the misty-eyed reverie for the crackle and pop of the past) gathered pace alongside faster, more stable internet connections, smaller, more capacious forms of digital storage, and what we used to call 'convergence technology' back when I worked at MacUser. Again, the fact that I'm tapping this out on a Chromebook - essentially a browser with a keyboard attached, with almost no storage to speak of, and no need for anything as crass as an external hard drive or as slow as physical media - should tell its own story. Everything is digital now. Everything. 

Music itself, as far as I'm aware, has to be digitised in order to be distributed these days, too. I think I'm right in saying that unless the vinyl you're listening too was recorded straight from the original analogue master, there's bound to be some ones and zeroes in there somewhere. The record labels (all four of them - ha!) knew this, and realised that all they had to do was keep signing up the cultural touchstones that the Boomers needed to see on there, and play the long game. Eventually, whole generations of kids wouldn't understand 'the  album' in the same way that their parents did, and it wouldn't matter at all. Songs are just songs. Artists are just brands. Listening is still an emotional connection, and that connection is controlled entirely by users now. Things done changed, for real. 

An example of what I mean: In 1974, Stevie Wonder released Talking Book. I think it's a pretty good record, and I bought it when I was at university. I listened to it mainly because I knew and liked his voice, his lyrics and because I admired the fact that he is a black man whose God-given talent enabled him to overcome racism, prejudice and segregation through the sheer power and emotional pulse of his songs. With all that, I only really knew Superstition well, and loved it. Did I listen to the rest of Talking Book as closely as I did that particular song? No, I didn't. Why not? Because I really only wanted to listen to Superstition to confirm what I already knew about it. It's funky as fuck, his voice is amazing on it, and my confirmation bias, effectively, stopped me from learning more about him. Nowadays, I don't think I could name two other songs off that album. 

Spotify knew this all already, of course. They could see that people would just go for what they knew, and wouldn't mind being 'nudged' into the quasi-unknown by a service that had historically served them dutifully and well. The service started suggesting songs users might enjoy after a couple of years, and consumers never really looked back. Increasingly, rivals like Deezer, Tidal and even Apple Music have started to look irrelevant, as the might of Spotify's millions of users started to dictate terms over the rest of the market. Artists started issuing singles exclusively through Spotify - creating a cheap, instantaneous ROI for the labels, and making it easier for Spotify to control who listens to what, when and where. Slowly but surely, Spotify has become the music business, and has taken the payment model away from the labels, replacing it with an arbitrary £-per-stream model. God help struggling artists in currently-unfashionable genres now. 

About a decade ago, I remember reading somewhere - it may even have been out of the mouth of Simon Cowell - that you needed at least a million quid spare to launch a new pop artist to the level where they're on, say, Later With Jools Holland. Once they're there, you need to record an album, tour for two years, get a US and ROW deal and just keep going until you're in the black. That model wouldn't work at all now, would it?

And there's more, too. Former UFC chatterbox and occasional transphobe Joe Rogan's podcast is pretty damn interesting and funny, and he is, to coin a phrase, already absolutely fucking minted. His Youtube channel has 8m-plus subscribers, and he's just been paid about $100m to switch to Spotify from December 1st. Whatever you think of Rogan - I happen to find him amusing, and his guests frequently interesting, funny and left-field - that means he is the biggest 'artist' on Spotify. If that move away from YouTube succeeds and grows the platform, more popular podcasts will join Rogan's. Spotify will eventually become not just 'a distributor' or 'a platform' but 'the only platform that matters' in the longer term. Spotify could become what we used to think of as 'the record industry' itself. 

But is that bad? It seems inevitable that something will come for YouTube in the middle of the night at some point - that's capitalism, folks! - but record labels are already faceless conglomerates owned by shareholders. Does any of it matter to consumers? It doesn't seem to. Also - I used to buy albums by established artists on physical media, for example, 'so that Weller got some of my money, because I want to support him and help him pay his bills.' How twee. As if me buying 22 Dreams on CD the day it was released would help the Modfather out with the next month's Council Tax.    

What matters to me is that there are brilliant, angry, left-field artists out there, doing it their own way. Taylor Swift is all well and good, but Billie Eilish is far, far more interesting. They are both on major labels, but Eilish has a new, bold aesthetic that I've not really seen before. Musicians who shake things up have done just that ever since Little Richard. That's what's important, really. Music shouldn't all be safe, homogenised pap for the masses, and really, as long as there are innovators around, who gives a shit how you got their music into your life? 

To me, Spotify just gives me an easy way to do what I love doing: exploring music, finding new sounds, reliving older stuff and uncovering proper gems amid all the twaddle. Without Spotify, I wouldn't be able to listen to a crazy Purple Disco Machine remix of an old Chaka Kahn record that came out yesterday. That element of discovery is what I've always loved about it. I don't want everything now. But I might want a dazzling breadth of choice, and the opportunity to uncover songs that can brighten my day, change my life, make me cry, give me hope and everything else in between. Spotify can do that, sure, but the medium is not the message in this case. I just love music, and all things considered, Spotify presents an easy way to continue doing that.

I didn't soundtrack this piece of writing, but maybe I will do so in future. I didn't really need to, since my wife was streaming Alanis Morisette pretty much for the duration. I think that's an effective measure of how we work now. 1463 words, off the top of my head, in just under 90 minutes.

The End of Lockdown

Since mid-March, we've been in lockdown, which has basically meant that most shops, offices and pubs have been shut. It's been a difficult time, but you've not really noticed. You're back at nursery, Mummy is back at work, and I am back doing whatever it is I do. We'll call it 'existing' until a better definition surfaces.

I feel hollow, really. Frustrated by my own inadequacies as a father, the overwhelming sense that I'm useless and the notion, even harder to shift, that you don't need me, and I don't really provide anything useful to you. I never thought I'd feel this way when you were a rumour, but there you go. That's what I feel. I don't know where this has come from, but it's made life pretty difficult of late.

Poem: Berenice

I love the Veils, especially their first few albums. This is an Edgar Allen Poe-inspired lyric I like so much I made a screenprint of it once.

Berenice, my hands my feet are worn
As much as yours are
And though my head, my hands, my heart are forming
They still feel worlds apart

Berenice
Beneath it all You're golden
And that's all I'm feeding off

And though my head, my hands, are growing colder
We move circles now

Berenice, there's no release at all
That's not worth dying for

Berenice, my hands, my feet Are worn
As much as yours are

Berenice, there's no release at all
That's not worth dying for
And it's not for our desires but our design that we all fall apart

Berenice, there's no release at all
That's worth crying for
And though I'm on my knees, I still don't don't believe it

But, we all fall down

Mummy goes back to the coal-face

For the last few months, we've been living through what can only be described as a once-in-a-century, global pandemic. You've probably heard about it by now. It's called Covid19, and has fundamentally changed how we live, work, meet up and suchlike for the foreseeable future. As a result, Mum and I have been stuck indoors for three months, while thousands of people all over the world have had to self-isolate - not see anyone etc - until the infection either goes away or a cure is found.

It's been a shitty nettle to have to grasp, but grasp it we have. We are fine - although your uncle Neil's had it and mercifully made a full recovery - but it's meant you've not been able to go to nursery or play with other kiddoes, and everyone's had to keep their distance from everyone else, which, as you can imagine, has been basically farcical since it was introduced three months ago. Essentially, though, we're fine. Grandad Nigel - or GranGran as you call him - has an underlying health condition which means he has to be 'sheltered' at home, so you've not, technically speaking, been able to see him.

That said, restrictions are loosening and you've bumped into Nanna and GranGran a couple of times. It's been a toughie, so it has. I've felt rough as a result of stress caused by it, and in turn been pretty useless here and there. You've been a little geezer throughout, though, and haven't really complained about the lack of playdates or social interaction that's been enforced by the Government. You little soldier, you.

Anyway, restrictions have now been lifted a bit, so Mum has gone back to work today, and has been beavering away pretty diligently today. You're off to nursery tomorrow, for the first time in three months, which we're nervous about, but it's required, and the chances of anything bad happening are pretty low for you and us. Your Mum and I both reckon we've had Coronavirus already - never in my life have I had a virus as horrid as the one that struck just after lunchtime on Boxing Day.

All of which means I am in charge of you today. Luckily, I'm feeling pretty well, all things considered, and you've been a sun-dappled little joy all day. Less fortunately, it's hotter than the seventh circle of Hell here today. Honestly, you could smelt copper on the patio. That said, please don't try that when you're older. My plan for this afternoon's fascinating, educational and inspirational session is to.. stick your dirty little body in the bath, as that's always been a sure-fire way to calm you down. Waking you up from your afternoon nap is always a struggle, but it's one that Radox has always alleviated.

I've also decided to set myself a proper creative challenge using my new and still-excellent Chromebook - I'm going to write 1,000 words per day, every day, for a year, and possibly seek to publish the results. You and doubtless thousands of others can head over to 1keveryday.blogspot.com to check out my latest repetitive bletherings if you'd like.

Right - time to run Stig of the Dump a bath. Love you grubface x