rockissue

The History of Music according to the Compact Disc

where a solitary listener reaches uncharted depths of his collection

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1. One's Own Library – The New Year's Sound
2. More Jazz Masterpieces, More Discography Confusion
3. Organizing Your Jazz Listening with Cook and Morton's Penguin Guide to Jazz
4. Keep It All Unsunken – Summer Stasis
5. Numbered Ratings, Horrorshow
6. Prioritizing Obsessive Listmaking

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Keep It All Unsunken – Summer Stasis

By the end of May, another online listening binge overtakes me: Todd Rundgren coming soon after Yellow Magic Orchestra and related. Combined with some C. D. purchases, I am left thinking that I have neglected my personal collection, that I must re-commit, re-engage, as if I am failing to maintain an exercise regimen. And yet I am also reading Ted Gioia's History of Jazz, making playlists of important releases of the pre-album era; I am browsing through old reference books to look for songs and artists missing from the Rock Annual lists; I am constantly reading, because that is just what I do, and in doing so the non-fiction broaches artists that I then seek out or reminds me of neglected topics. And all this inevitably leads me back to listening online, both at one of the generic streaming sites that have tragically become our common way to access past music, poorly managed by persons who care hardly at all about seemingly anything, and at Bandcamp. Yet I am supposed to be delving into my C. D.s, picking out those that strike my fancy as well as those that are selected due to a passing thought or even at random. It is indeed like exercise. You have to compel yourself to do it, but you feel better after you do. Listening to music online, on the other hand, is like junk food; maybe you pick relatively healthy junk food, but it is still food you should not eat. I know that for many that sounds crazy; people do all their listening—all their viewing, all their reading—on screens. I have days when I do that too. But we see the effects of that. Not good.

What I am trying to do is to think of all the C. D.s in my collection as unshelved, uncatalogued, right in front of me, ready to command my attention. Extensive work on my C. D. catalog helps, because the spreadsheet puts all three-thousand-some items right in front of me, in the form of the scintillating tidbits of infotainment that we know well from our interactive online media. I can grow more familiar with the items, commit more titles to memory, arrange albums by a certain artist in a certain way, make note of titles that are in the same reissue series or issued by the same record label and in turn add more information for each entry; moreover, make that information more uniform, matching other entries in style and content.

These items I have documenting, Compact Discs, fall into the category of collectables (eventually antiques). They are not high on the food chain of this world. They are not rare and dear like vinyl records or baseball cards or autographed first editions of novels. But they do have re-sale value, if you treat them right. That is, the cost to you of purchasing them is not entirely sunk. Digital, internet technology has encouraged consumers to emphasize experiences instead of things. This also leads consumers toward sunk costs: you take the risk, spend the big bucks for a rich experience; if the experience sucks... too bad. Those who buy things are more cautious. They are investing, whether they know it or not. Of course, one buys C. D.s and vinyl and books and Blu-Rays for the possibility of experiences... if you take the time to pick up the items off the shelf and engage with them, and especially if other people are involved. That last point is perhaps the crux: many seek experiences precisely because our contemporary life creates such extreme personal alienation. Whether we like it or not, most people access recorded music via screens—and, again, screens are everywhere, you cannot escape from them: gas pumps, doctor's office waiting rooms, even the events that are supposed alternatives to home entertainment (concerts and sports matches)... screens, screens, screens. So, unless you have a great stereo system and a nice place, and you have friends who share a specific interest in listening closely to a certain thing, the experience of engaging with your C. D. or vinyl collection is often going to be a lonely one.

On top of that, the atrocious heat, humidity, and ultraviolet radiation of Southeastern American summers, combined with a brief illness and a short trip make July especially hazy, mentally speaking. As tends to happen this time of year (to me), I look back upon the clarity that I felt in January with unmitigated envy for my former self. I re-listen to albums that I had picked out during the months of January-April, but I do not have anything of relevance to say about them even as I become more familiar with their musical forms. I have listened to enough albums at this point that they seem like an amorphous mass.

Thankfully, another trip, in August—a road trip, no less—alleviates the summer doldrums. I pick 12 C. D.s to take with me. I listen to some of them multiple times on my generic car stereo. My attention can still wander while driving, but not so much. I go to record stores and book stores scattered across the middle portion of the country, in Louisville, Champaign, Madison, and Rockford, so a few new C. D.s are added to my stash. Reading John Szwed's biography of Miles Davis, So What, spurs me on to a Miles Davis binge, but as with the Blue Öyster Cult binge earlier this year, this leads me to many records with which I am already familiar. Briefer binges on Frank Zappa (specifically the mid-Seventies band heard on the latest batch of reissues), the Grateful Dead (again, due to reissues), and Judas Priest also brings forth familiar albums. Once I get some of my new purchases listened-to and filed away, I can take a look at my updated collection, immerse myself anew.

Online, Muhal Richard Abrams - Spihumonesty; Acid Mothers Temple - Mantra of Love; the Art Ensemble of Chicago - Nice Guys; M. X.-80 Sound - Out of the Tunnel; Ryuichi Sakamoto - Esperanto, Neo Geo, and Ongaku Zukan (known as Illustrated Musical Encyclopedia for its international release); Evan Parker/ George Lewis - From Saxophone and Trombone; Evan Parker Trio/ Peter Brötzmann Trio - The Bishop's Move; the ROVA Saxophone Quartet - Favorite Street; Yukihiro Takahashi's solo albums, 1980-1983; Art Tatum - The Art Tatum Solo Masterpieces, Vol. 1 and The Art Tatum Solo Masterpieces, Vol. 3; Con Funk Shun's albums, 1976-1980; Bobby Caldwell's self-titled 1978 album; and many a Todd Rundgren.

Online: Flash and the Pan; the Flirts; Ida; Jane's Addiction; the Litter; Ernest Ranglin; Leon Redbone; the Remains; Third World; Triumph; Don Williams; Zapp; more Beach Boys; more Rundgren; and scattered other songs.

Online: Black Flag, Harmonia, the Ozark Mountain Daredevils, Pink Floyd, Redbone (the band, not Leon), the Shadows of Knight, Joe Simon, early Cecil Taylor, Tony Joe White, Al Wilson, Betty Wright, even more scattered songs by artists of the distant past, lots of Neil Young at his archives streaming site, and the new Pulp and Tropical Fuck Storm albums.

Online: mostly Neil Young at his official archives site; plus Animal Collective, Lana Del Rey, Merle Haggard, Herbie Hancock, Billy Joel, John Zorn, and more Miles Davis and Devo.

–Justin J. Kaw, August 2025