ipoddery barn
Set to shuffle, select playlist, press play.
Track one: iPod Shame
If you're of a certain demographic, your iPod came with a free sense of shame for you. After all, you're supposed to know better. You bought the most popular MP3 player on the market--and when was the last time you bought into anything that was popular? Besides, you know full well that there's probably a better, cheaper player out there that everyone else is ignoring because they're all blinded by the pretty pretty Pod. So when you talk about your iPod, you hang your head and talk about your guilt, like you'd cheated on a lover instead of plunking down hundreds of dollars on something that plays music. I've know--I've been there.
Do you know how crazy we sound? Think back to your childhood and adolescence. Remember how happy you were to get that Walkman? Finally, you could listen to music on the go, and shelter your parents from naughty lyrics and other questionable content while doing so. Remember lugging all those tapes around? And then you upgraded to a Discman. No more making mixes for yourself, no more taping favourite albums--just lugging around a lot of compact discs just in case you got tired of the one you were listening to. Your younger self would kill to be able to port around many albums' worth of material in their pocket. They wouldn't care about the brand name--remember how Sony's registered trademarks became generic terms for personal stereos?--they'd just think the technology was awesome. I know I would.
Besides, it shouldn't be about the player--it should be about the music. What's on your playlist? Whatever's there, chances are that the playlist of your neighbour on the bus is different than yours. So long as you enjoy what you're listening to, what's the deal?
Track two: C-o-n-spiracy
After a while, I began to fall in love with my iPod. I enjoyed filling its' memory with both favourite songs and as-yet-unheard tracks. I likened it to having my own personal radio station, only without crappy contests, advertising, and excruciatingly bad music played over and over until infinity came, left, and came back again. I took it everywhere: work, grocery shopping, library runs. I kept it in an aluminum case to keep it from getting scratched up to hell, and I kept it close to me to keep it out of someone else's hands. If you're going to keep something, you might as well protect it and keep it nice. The best way to do this? Prevention.
But then, the Pod began to fill up. I reasoned that I could jettison some tracks, but what if I decided I wanted to listen to them? I guess I could listen to something else, but why couldn't I keep it all with me? I knew that 2gb wasn't much space, and it would get claimed faster than new condos--but I didn't expect to fill the thing this quickly.
That's when it dawned on me: maybe the Nano was a free sample. Telus might have got a discount for buying the things in bulk, which Apple would have been more than happy to give, considering the possibilities of having new users. The uninitiated (read: me) gets a 2GB iPod Nano, and takes to it like Parker to catnip. Eventually, they're going to be in the market for another MP3 Player. They'll have so much invested in iTunes and a (hopefully) problem-free relationship with the iPod, they'll likely buy another iPod. And another. And another. Plus accessories. Sure, they'd take a loss on the discount--but better that than to lose a potential customer.
Whatever. I got me a free iPod Nano without having to be part of some lame pyramid scheme. I win.
(Note to self: either replace earphones that came with iPod or find tinfoil hat. Maybe both.)
Track three: Suddenly Retro
It was six on a Sunday morning. I'd been up since 2:30 am or so, and save for fifteen minutes someplace, was obviously having trouble getting back to sleep. I suppose I could have tried an hour ago, but an episode of the Gilmore Girls came on W, and I figured that since I was up, I might as well watch it. But now it was six, and I needed to get some sleep soon. After all, Sundays were invented for sleeping in.
I did the only thing I could: I grabbed a favourite CD and my old discman, the one that suddenly found itself relegated to a dusty spot behind my alarm clock. I'd said that I'd still use it to listen to new cds, take it with me to get a feel for a new record and whatnot. Instead, I abandoned it for the much more convenient Nano, the thing that didn't skip like a schoolgirl when I dared move around with it. I still listened to records--just not as soon as I got them. But now, I needed some sleep music--and the only way I could hear Loveless was via the old school. I hooked the headphones on, loaded the cd in, pressed play, and closed my eyes. But the thing that lulled me to sleep was the slight rattle of the moving parts that I felt when I placed my hand on top of the Discman. It felt so organic, so real and warm--the way that people said records feel.
That's when it hit me: Sometimes it is the method that matters. Vinyl records had sides and a ritual to get them to play and therefore involved the person a lot more in the playing of music. Tapes, same deal--only now they sometimes had the squealing beep noise at the front of the first side. CDs had moving parts and the changing out of discs. MP3s, not so much. just downloading and loading and setting playlists. Of course, that's a ritual in and of itself. So I remixed the hit: The method of listening to music only matters as far as nostalgia is concerned. As far as you let nostalgia be concerned, anyway.
So what am I saying here? All new technology eventually becomes old school. About a decade from now, music fans will be listening to music in some new format, while the audiophiles will lament the loss of MP3s, CDs, and soforth. And everything will be how it always has been.
Track one: iPod Shame
If you're of a certain demographic, your iPod came with a free sense of shame for you. After all, you're supposed to know better. You bought the most popular MP3 player on the market--and when was the last time you bought into anything that was popular? Besides, you know full well that there's probably a better, cheaper player out there that everyone else is ignoring because they're all blinded by the pretty pretty Pod. So when you talk about your iPod, you hang your head and talk about your guilt, like you'd cheated on a lover instead of plunking down hundreds of dollars on something that plays music. I've know--I've been there.
Do you know how crazy we sound? Think back to your childhood and adolescence. Remember how happy you were to get that Walkman? Finally, you could listen to music on the go, and shelter your parents from naughty lyrics and other questionable content while doing so. Remember lugging all those tapes around? And then you upgraded to a Discman. No more making mixes for yourself, no more taping favourite albums--just lugging around a lot of compact discs just in case you got tired of the one you were listening to. Your younger self would kill to be able to port around many albums' worth of material in their pocket. They wouldn't care about the brand name--remember how Sony's registered trademarks became generic terms for personal stereos?--they'd just think the technology was awesome. I know I would.
Besides, it shouldn't be about the player--it should be about the music. What's on your playlist? Whatever's there, chances are that the playlist of your neighbour on the bus is different than yours. So long as you enjoy what you're listening to, what's the deal?
Track two: C-o-n-spiracy
After a while, I began to fall in love with my iPod. I enjoyed filling its' memory with both favourite songs and as-yet-unheard tracks. I likened it to having my own personal radio station, only without crappy contests, advertising, and excruciatingly bad music played over and over until infinity came, left, and came back again. I took it everywhere: work, grocery shopping, library runs. I kept it in an aluminum case to keep it from getting scratched up to hell, and I kept it close to me to keep it out of someone else's hands. If you're going to keep something, you might as well protect it and keep it nice. The best way to do this? Prevention.
But then, the Pod began to fill up. I reasoned that I could jettison some tracks, but what if I decided I wanted to listen to them? I guess I could listen to something else, but why couldn't I keep it all with me? I knew that 2gb wasn't much space, and it would get claimed faster than new condos--but I didn't expect to fill the thing this quickly.
That's when it dawned on me: maybe the Nano was a free sample. Telus might have got a discount for buying the things in bulk, which Apple would have been more than happy to give, considering the possibilities of having new users. The uninitiated (read: me) gets a 2GB iPod Nano, and takes to it like Parker to catnip. Eventually, they're going to be in the market for another MP3 Player. They'll have so much invested in iTunes and a (hopefully) problem-free relationship with the iPod, they'll likely buy another iPod. And another. And another. Plus accessories. Sure, they'd take a loss on the discount--but better that than to lose a potential customer.
Whatever. I got me a free iPod Nano without having to be part of some lame pyramid scheme. I win.
(Note to self: either replace earphones that came with iPod or find tinfoil hat. Maybe both.)
Track three: Suddenly Retro
It was six on a Sunday morning. I'd been up since 2:30 am or so, and save for fifteen minutes someplace, was obviously having trouble getting back to sleep. I suppose I could have tried an hour ago, but an episode of the Gilmore Girls came on W, and I figured that since I was up, I might as well watch it. But now it was six, and I needed to get some sleep soon. After all, Sundays were invented for sleeping in.
I did the only thing I could: I grabbed a favourite CD and my old discman, the one that suddenly found itself relegated to a dusty spot behind my alarm clock. I'd said that I'd still use it to listen to new cds, take it with me to get a feel for a new record and whatnot. Instead, I abandoned it for the much more convenient Nano, the thing that didn't skip like a schoolgirl when I dared move around with it. I still listened to records--just not as soon as I got them. But now, I needed some sleep music--and the only way I could hear Loveless was via the old school. I hooked the headphones on, loaded the cd in, pressed play, and closed my eyes. But the thing that lulled me to sleep was the slight rattle of the moving parts that I felt when I placed my hand on top of the Discman. It felt so organic, so real and warm--the way that people said records feel.
That's when it hit me: Sometimes it is the method that matters. Vinyl records had sides and a ritual to get them to play and therefore involved the person a lot more in the playing of music. Tapes, same deal--only now they sometimes had the squealing beep noise at the front of the first side. CDs had moving parts and the changing out of discs. MP3s, not so much. just downloading and loading and setting playlists. Of course, that's a ritual in and of itself. So I remixed the hit: The method of listening to music only matters as far as nostalgia is concerned. As far as you let nostalgia be concerned, anyway.
So what am I saying here? All new technology eventually becomes old school. About a decade from now, music fans will be listening to music in some new format, while the audiophiles will lament the loss of MP3s, CDs, and soforth. And everything will be how it always has been.