Monday Moanin’
By David Smith
June 26, 2006
Greetings from a music major,
I have to decide what to do about Sly Stone.
In my basement there is an old milk crate filled with LP’s. I’ll wait while the older people explain milk crates and LP’s to the younger people.
This crate and its contents are the kind of thing that accumulates around people of my age. For reasons part sentimental, part practical, we set things aside to wait to see if a reason to really keep them develops. Depending on our resolve, and that of our spouses, these kinds of things can follow us from house to house for all of our lives. And so it is with my albums.
I keep thinking I will listen to them again someday, in spite of contrary historical indicators. In truth, vinyl records really stopped being an option 10 years ago. I might have used them longer but my boys reduced my turntable to a Hot Wheels racetrack.
Among the relics from the 70’s and 80’s I came across Sly and the Family Stone Greatest Hits. Stand! I want to take you higher. Everybody is a star. Life. Dance to the music. Fun. Thank you Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again. Hot fun in the Summertime. Everyday people.
In the summer of 1969 I heard this music on the radio and it was so fresh and funky, just different enough from the other top 40 playing at the time, that I couldn’t resist it. The next year, the Greatest Hits album was released. There are other LP’s in the crate, but Sly and his family are symbolic of the group. If you weren’t listening to the new music in the summer of 1970, then you won’t care as much.
I miss this music, but I have never gone out and replaced it in the more modern media. I feel like I would be somehow unfaithful to my albums. I feel like they are representatives of an interesting and colorful time, and their value goes beyond their original purchase price.
Albums did not appear by magic. You had to work to earn the money, which meant delivering papers or shoveling snow, or raking leaves. Then you had to get to the record store, which meant walking or riding your bike to Dort Highway or all the way out to the Eastland Mall. And listening to the album meant using my Dad’s hi-fi. It was a giant console with the radio and the record player built right in. I think it has since been converted to condominiums. Using the hi-fi meant either waiting for my Dad to be out of town or negotiating with him, which meant I would have to hear about how my music wasn’t really music if you compared it to Dean Martin or the Highland Pipes and Drums bagpipe band.
When this was over, if I had any spirit left, I would unsheathe the album, remove its paper liner, and place it on the spindle of the turntable. You had to handle the record with some reverence, balance it between your fingers, so you wouldn’t smudge the tracks. Line up the heavy tone arm, and gently guide the needle to the first groove in the record. A little static, maybe a light ‘pop’ and then magic.
I had to earn every note, but it was worth it. While the music played, you could read the liner notes, or look at the album cover art, or read what the artist said about the song he wrote. Some people found other uses for the album cover as well.
The experience of music has changed. In some ways it is vastly better, and in the nature of progress, that comes at the expense of what was valued before. Today you can have any music you want any time you want. My kids can listen to music on the CD players in their rooms, in the family room, in the basement or in van or on the portable CD players in their backpacks. They don’t have to wait for me to leave town. Or they can listen to music on their MP3 players.
The days of buying an album for the two songs you really wanted are also history. If you hear a song you like, you can download it in seconds and listen to it anytime. You point, click, and own it. You can put that song, and thousands more, in your shirt pocket. No need for milk crates.
So times have changed for the better. We have greater access to everything, including good music. Everything is ok; there is no reason to look back. Except when I look at the albums in that crate, I care about the music. Maybe it was my impressionable age when I bought the music, but I think it has as much to do with the worth I placed on the records. That came from the whole experience of acquiring the music and listening to it.
Now there is no experience, no exchange of time or money for the lyrics and sound. Point. Click. Rock. There is that one less connection between the listener and the artist.
I am a hypocrite, as most of you would guess, because my objection to the new formats is hollow and silly. My collection of music includes bootleg CD’s and an MP3 filled with my favorite songs, most of which are by “Unknown Artist”. All of this angst about albums is forgotten the first time I want to hear some music. Well, not entirely forgotten.
So what to do with Sly? I guess he will stay in limbo with Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. I know that is unlikely that the vinyl will never feel another stylus, but in honor of the artists’ efforts, and mine, I think I’ll hang on to the albums a little longer.
Hope this finds you playing both sides,
David
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