Fire??
Language??
Medicine??
Education??
Art??
The wheel??
Vaccination??
Music??
Soap??
The combustion engine??
Dance??
The microscope??
Harnessing electricity??
Writing/reading??
Ice-cream??
Cement??
The telescope??
Comedy??
Vinyl, CD or MP3? Digital or book?
Vinyl, CD or MP3? Digital or book?
I have every format of music with thousands of vinyl albums, CDs and gigabytes of electronic music. I have a whole library of books and a stuffed kindle.
So what do I prefer?
I prefer books and vinyl.
As a reading experience the kindle is fine. As a playing experience I am quite happy with CDs and even MP3s.
But there is nothing that can compare with holding a tangible work of art in your hand. A vinyl album is a work of art. The cover is designed to be that size. The writing on the sleeve notes is easily legible. I relish coming home with a new possession. Taking the album out and carefully putting it on the turntable, then reading the liner notes and studying the cover while it plays. It is substantial. It has weight. There is a reverence to the ritual of playing it. It adds gravity to the experience.
An MP3 has no substance. It is disposable. It devalues the art.
A CD is soulless. I want something that has an intrinsic worth.
It is the same with a book. A shelf of books is satisfying in a way that a full kindle is not. The covers are interesting. The feel, smell and weight is substantial.
Books and vinyl are forever in a way that digital cannot possibly be.
The Pleasure of an Album
The Pleasure of an Album
The excitement of anticipation as the heart rate speeds,
The eyes narrow at the eagerness of anticipation.
Sifting through the racks with narrowed eyes;
Lifting a discovery for closer inspection of the cover,
Flipping to check the track listing;
Gathering a selection with contained fervor;
An assortment of possibility from which to choose.
Then the angst of decision – Followed by the despondency of loss
As the discarded are replaced with many a reflective vacillation.
Clutching the winner there is now impatience pervading the purchase,
As the money is paid and the album professionally wrapped within its paper wrapper and sealed with sellotape.
The return home is hurried and filled with nervous indecision.
Was the choice correct? What about the other fish?
Within the sanctum the treasure is unwrapped and the prize clutched and reexamined.
It is time to perform the ritual and extract the paper sleeve from within its cardboard resting place.
The black vinyl disc is extracted from the inner sleeve,
Held reverently, by its rim with two hands, up to the light to inspect the sanctity of the grooves, and approved.
When satisfied the disc is lowered so that peg and hole are aligned in erotic summary preparing for consummation.
The arm is raised with delicate concentration and deferentially lowered to apply needle to the outer blank vinyl, so carefully.
Breath is released as the success – a click followed by a satisfying hiss.
Then to sit back as the faint noise wends into the sound
And as it fills the room to immerse oneself in its thrall;
To study the artwork,
To flip the cover and read the track listing, then the liner notes.
To lose oneself, to submerge, to examine, to breathe in, to absorb the full package of art, information and sound as it embraces you in its multisensory, concentrated reverie.
For this is the pleasure of an album.
Opher 8.3.2018
Nick Harper – The Wilderness Years – Hardback, Paperback and Kindle
Section A – The Wilderness from My Hilltop.
Over the years I have had numerous conversations with Nick regarding aspects of his ‘career’. As a friend looking in from the outside it always appeared to me that Nick did not so much have a career as such, more a hap-hazard series of loosely connected events in which he wrote incredible music, played that music to people who paid to see him, recorded it when he had accumulated sufficient numbers and only barely made a living out of it.
It seemed unjust.
Nick tells me that he is still amazed and honoured that he has been able to spend the bulk of his adult life doing exactly what he enjoys doing.
I know his claims of indolence are far from the case. Just last week he came to stay for a few days to start work on this book. I had told him that we were going to get down to business and work hard. He agreed. We would make early starts and press on. I suggested we started work promptly at eight thirty.
Of course we stayed up into the early hours gabbing and sharing a glass of wine or two. Nick went to bed and at nine thirty next morning I took him a cup of tea to find a bleary-eyed semi-comatose Harper peering at me with vague disbelief.
It transpired that Nick had hit the sack at 1am. – like me, but had a head that was buzzing. We had been talking about lyrics and words and he had shown me a few things he was working on. He could not sleep. Ideas were popping into his head. The upshot was that he had spent the night working those words.
Morosely, over a third cup of strong coffee, he read me the words, full of alliteration, character and style, carefully honed and sweated over. ‘Not much to show for five hours,’ he remarked morbidly.
Roy Harper – One Of Those Days In England Pts 2-10
The Bands of my youth!
When I were a lad, eee by gum, I were right into music.
By the time I was fifteen I’d already absorbed rock ‘n’ roll, blues, folk and was really into the beat bands of the day. These were heady days. Every week seemed to bring forth another brilliant group. My whole world was music. I’d save all my money for singles and LPs. My dansette (record player) was on the go continuously.
Apart from my obsession with Elmore James, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Little Richard there were the first singles of the Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Smallfaces, Who, Prettythings, Yardbirds, Animals, Manfred Mann, Spencer Davies, Them and Nashville Teens to purchase.
The weekend always started with Ready Steady Go and there always seemed to be a new fabulous band bringing out a new sound. Fabulous and exciting.
But I wasn’t content with all of those. I was constantly searching for the more obscure bands who were equally as good – The Downliners Sect, The Others, the Undertakers, the Measles, Bo Street Runners, Cryin’ Shames, Birds.
Then there were the fabulous black R&B artists who were doing the originals. The Chicago blues from the likes of Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Buddy Guy, Sonny Boy Williamson, Elmore James and Jimmy Reed.
The folk of Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Dylan and Donovan.
The R&B of Arthur Alexander, the Contours, Isleys, Rufus Thomas, Big Mama Thornton, Irma Thomas, Ray Charles, James Brown, Crystals, Ronettes, Inez and Charlie Foxx, Rosco Gordon, Miracles, Four Tops, Drifters, Cookies, Hank Ballad and Willie John
There wasn’t enough time in the day or enough money to buy iy all. I scrounged, did odd jobs, sold things, swapped, hunted and gathered quite a collection!
Money Money Money
Who cares? As long as there’s money to be made!!
You thought it was all about sport, skill, ability, pride and endeavour! Rubbish!! It’s all about money!!
,Music, art, sport, fashion, – it’s all about the cash.
Nothing is pure. Nothing has any meaning. ,Commerciality, corruption and exploitation. ,The whole world is about money!!
We sell whatever we’ve got!!, Everything has a price!! We’re all for sale!!
In Search of Happiness!
Isn’t that something we’re all doing in one way or another?
Is happiness the same as fulfillment or are they just related?
I find my happiness in love, my partner, family, creativity (writing, photographing), nature, travel, music, reading, good food and wine, and sharing with friends.
I found this blog post worth reading:
In search of happiness – One Positive Blog (monepositiveblog.com)