These past days have made me reflect on what the release of a new album by one of my favourite bands actually means to me. Around me, and this is mostly on an internet basis, people are freaking out because of BRMC’s release of their new album Beat the Devil’s Tattoo. Or should I say the leak of said album? Whatever, due to the fact that the band has been streaming the album on their Myspace since yesterday, what’s the difference? What actually matters to me is the following: Where have the days gone when the release (and I actually mean a physical release) of a highly-anticipated album almost made you burst of excitement and made you do things that resulted in other, not so obsessed people, giving you an almost pitying smile?
There used to be days when the release of a new album would make you feel like a child waiting for Christmas once more. When people would stand in queues in front of record shops to be one of the first to actually buy that new album. When you thought about skipping school in order to be able to run to that trusted record store and then run back home again and spend hours listening to the new music, taking in all stimuli that new piece of art would provide your senses with. When you would be sitting in your bedroom, listening to songs over and over again, admiring the artwork, reading lyrics simultaneously, or, if they weren’t given in the booklet, which would make you get really annoyed, taking the trouble of trying to write them down.
Honestly, these days have gone, haven’t they? I mean, when does a grown-up actually get that excited anymore? Nowadays most of us can’t get into this feeling of excitement and anticipation anymore. With everything we do, we mostly end up consuming things in a “to-go” manner, whether it’s the coffee you drink on your way to work instead of sitting down and enjoying it, or new music you just rip from a CD and put on your MP3-player or iPod or the newest high-tech-device you may have put your trust in, in order to consume it on your way to work, school, university, whatever. I don’t want to exclude myself from this or point a patronising finger at anyone. With most records this is the same with me. It’s music playing in my car when I go to work or in the background when I work at home or working on the computer or checking my mail. However, when it comes to a release such as this, things have to be different for me.
I want to experience this album with all of my senses. Literally. OK, just so you won’t end up with an image of me licking the CD, the sense of taste has to be excluded. But still, you’ll get the idea. I want this to be a holistic experience. Listening to the music. Feeling the album in my hands. Seeing the artwork. Smelling the paper of the booklet. I want to spend all of my attention on this new album when I first listen to it. Close the door behind me and leave the world outside. Almost like a little celebration. I don’t want to listen to it on my computer for the first time, because I know myself. I would end up being distracted, either by the urgent need of checking my mail, by some instant message popping up, or even by such trivialities as harvesting my Farmville crops.
Even more importantly, I want to remember my first listen of it. Actually, with a lot of albums that have come to mean a lot to me throughout the years there’s some distinct memory that clings to each single one of them.
However, I have a confession to make. I couldn’t resist listening and downloading the first three songs of the album when they were released into digital space ever so casually and, honestly, I could kick my own ass for it as it probably messes up this sacred ceremony of mine. Additionally, there are also some more songs on that album that I already know, having listened to them live or knowing them from former b-side releases. Does that weaken my intentions? No. I’m on a mission of practising self-discipline, may it be hard as it is with all these comments and temptations of downloading or at least listening to it around.
If you like you can laugh at me, just like the woman standing next to that vinyl-shelf when I almost body-checked her in order to get to my vinyl copy of Oasis’s Dig Out Your Soul, screaming the words “Come to mama!” at this bundle of wax and paper and caressing it when it finally reached my arms. Maybe I’m a bit crazy. Maybe my attempts of reliving said feeling of excitement are just a symptom of me trying to cling to my childhood. Maybe it’s just a kind of music-nerd practising some kind of rock’n’roll romanticism. If you have already listened to it, that’s fine with me. Each their own, really. I just remain hoping that in spite of fighting temptation in the end it will be worth the wait.
