Western Stars, Bruce Springsteen

For a while it has been mostly used vinyl, old records, that I've been after. Then a couple months ago my friend and I went to Albany for a show, stopped into Last Vestige Records, and I went through every record in the rock and jazz sections twice but couldn't find a single one to buy. Some of that is due to luck — there's no telling what I'll find on any given day — but a lot of it has to do with having built out my collection to the point at which the used albums I might want are too pricey and rare. There's just not that many old albums I need right away. Sure, I'll find some time to time as I have since that trip to Last Vestige, but I've reached a kind of tipping point.

This morning I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen's Western Stars on my turntable and thinking that it is one of several newly-released albums I've bought lately. There was Brad Mehldau's spectacular Finding Gabriel (which seems to have been mastered much better for vinyl and CD than it was for streaming), and I've preordered Mehldau's Live In Tokyo which is one of my top five desert island albums. There have been others and more are on the way. This is the way to listen to new music.

I stream these albums too. Or at least, I do until I buy the records and they come with an MP3 download. Then I copy the MP3 to my computer, spare hard drive, and phone so that I'm listening to something I bought. (I'll stream them too just to make the streaming company pay the artist a cent and a half or so, but I prefer to play the copy I own.) Streaming is fine. I'm not going to complain about something so convenient, but today I walked into The Sound Garden, grabbed Springsteen's Western Stars out of a display right up front, talked with the clerk about the album, drove home, put the album on the turntable and sat down to listen. My daughter rode with me to the record store and looked at stickers and t-shirts while I paid for Bruce's album. We talked about prom and stopped for coffee. Streaming's fine, but doesn't touch this kind of experience.

I just finished side D of Western Stars, pulled the album from the turntable and put side A back on. I'll listen again and again and again because it sounds and feels so good. Anyone who isn't raving about this album isn't listening. Or maybe they're listening to the stream and just aren't paying attention. Digital can have that effect on a person. Even as I'm typing this, I pause and savor what's playing. It's so good I have to stop writing now and go listen. I'm curious: What album will be next? Will it be old or new? Who is it going to be and where will I be when I find it? How will I be feeling when I let it spin for the first time? I wonder all these things, but for now this album is about all I need and answers all the questions I need to ask.

Digital Lost & Analog Found

I'm listening to Glen Campbell. Yes, Glen Campbell. Yes, I'm old. Yes, it's good, good stuff. And yes, it's on a vinyl record I bought, own outright, and, if you have a turntable, live nearby, and seem trustworthy, I can loan it to you without any corporation knowing about it. No breaches of privacy. No question about the format remaining compatible or the company going out of business. No user agreement forcing me into binding arbitration if I share the thing. Oh, and I paid for it once and never will again. Crazy stuff, really it is.

This week there was a report about a fire destroying a bunch of old recordings and master tapes. Depressing. Losing art saddens to me. My record collection could go that way if disaster strikes our house. My old record collection suffered the disaster of the CD, Napster, iTunes, streaming, and me selling all of them for a pittance at a garage sale. I wasn't playing them then and hadn't in years. These things happen. I'm not beating myself up. And I'm hoping the house won't catch fire.

I've been thinking about old writing files I've stored in the cloud or on hard drives. I still have things I typed at Clarkson University in 1987. They were written in an editor that saved things as text files. I can still open those with almost anything. By 1988 I was writing with an IBM word processor and, unless I'm willing to do a ton of work or pay some money, those files are gone forever. Paper is bulky and can catch fire, but it's a format that doesn't go out of style no matter how much the electronics industry has been trying to make it go away. There are reasons to hang onto the old ways of doing things.

Sometimes it's not disaster or the march of progress that ruins things. MySpace deleted millions of files from their service. All that music is gone. Corporate decision making, something we can always count on to do what's best and right. Yep.

This weekend I tried resurrecting an old iPod using iTunes. I found out that some of the songs I "bought" from Apple aren't playable without my Apple ID, something I deleted a few years ago. Oh well. I thought I owned those things. Not so much. Is it any wonder I buy records now?

This weekend I downloaded a non-streaming music app for my phone. It only plays music I own, downloaded to the phone. I like it so far. It works whether or not I'm connected to a data stream and doesn't tell anyone what I've listened to so I can be hit with ads. It's no turntable and amp, but those things are pretty tough to carry on a walk or play in the car.

Everything for sale seems only to be for rent. I don't like renting. Sure, ownership is a pain when things break down. Our house needs a roof, my amp has to be repaired, the car needs new tires. Still, these things are mine andhave more value to me than if they were rented or owned by someone else whom I pay in money, data, and the abdication of my privacy.

One of the computers belonging to a member of the band Radiohead was hacked and the bastards stole demo tapes the band had made. The thieves set a ransom and the band responded by releasing the tapes for a small fee they are donating to charity. Good for them and screw those thieves. I don't care if Radiohead has a lot of money. They probably do and I'm happy for artists to make that kind of money. They don't need to be punished for it. The thieves on the other hand should be drowned in a deep part of the ocean. And we should be wary of the progress around us. Nothing is safe online. Nothing stored online is private. Sigh.

Networks can always be hacked. File systems go out of date. Electronic storage breaks down. Just last weekend Google's servers failed on the East Coast. If Google can come as close to melt down as Nine Mile Point, how far are we from Chernobyl?

My records wouldn't survive a fire, but they survive time and the whimsy of the next new thing. Just like Glen Campbell. I swear, this guy still sounds just absolutely great. He's gentle as hell on my mind. Come on over. I'll lend you the album.

Albums & Empty Boxes

As I've said before, listening to a record doesn't sound better than streaming, but I listen better and enjoy the experience much more. This is why I was disappointed when the new Brad Mehldau record I had ordered wasn't in the box from the record company. It's the thought that counts, but a box of packing material and a packing invoice isn't much of a thought. I so wanted to listen to that album.

I could have streamed it, but no.

Mehldau is a jazz artist and those folks, more often than not, know how to write liner notes. A good evening is listening to a record while reading the sleeve, learning who played what on each track, and getting some of the story behind the music. Sure, some of this is online, but on the computer I'm likely to check email, Twitter, or, God help me, the news, all of which wrecks the listening. Holding an album make the music that much better, makes it more interesting.

Streaming is like listening to the radio, something I've long avoided because when I want to hear Supertramp's "The Logical Song" or Pat Metheny's "As Falls Wichita, So Falls Wichita Falls" the radio sticks me with the Thompson Twins' "Hold Me Now" and Foreigner's "I Want To Know What Love Is." I'm often depressed, but that's suicidal. This is why I bought a tape player in middle school, a turntable in high school, and a CD player in college so I could play what I wanted to hear. Actually, I bought none of those. They were generous gifts from my parents. Thanks Mom and Dad.

I bought my own turntable this time and have given up tapes and all but a few CDs in the car. I also use my streaming service. It's convenient and sounds clean, but it isn't in any way romantic. It's not a whole experience the way it is listening to a record, reading the album cover and sleeve, and focusing only on the music.

I can't wait until the record company ships the album. This time I'll open the box nervous of more emptiness but hoping to be filled up by what's inside.

Nebraska, Bruce Springsteen

Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska It's an acquired taste. A dark album. Sure, there are a couple tracks to sing along with. It's Bruce Springsteen after all and if you don't want to sing "Atlantic City," I don't know how to help you. But the album starts with a retelling of the Starkweather murders, sung pretty much in a dirge, and it mostly goes that way for the rest of both sides. This is not an album with a good beat that you can dance to. Unless you're about dead. Yet, it's spinning on my turntable and I can't tell you how happy I was to find it in a bin for a measly twelve dollars.

Springsteen recorded it as four-track demos. I picture him working alone though he probably had someone there with him. It's a lonely sounding album. To paraphrase what Hayden Carruth said about Raymond Carver's last book: Jesus, this is the saddest son of a bitch of an album I've heard in a long time. A real long time.

"Atlantic City" is on and, as I've said, you just have to like this tune. "Down here it's just winners and losers and don't get caught on the wrong side of that line." There's stuff like that all over this album:

New Jersey Turnpike, ridin' on a wet night, 'neath the refinery's glow, out where the great black rivers flow. License registration, I ain't got none, but I got a clear conscience 'bout the things that I done. — "State Trooper"

Well your honor I do believe I'd be better of dead. So if you can take a man's life for the thoughts that's in his head, then won't you sit back in that chair and think it over judge one more time. And let 'em shave off my hair and put me on that execution line. — "Johnny 99"

Seen a man standing over a dead dog lyin' by the highway in a ditch. He's lookin' down kinda puzzled, pokin' that dog with a stick. Got his car door flung open, he's standin' out on Highway 31. Like if he stood there long enough, that dog'd get up and run. — "Reason To Believe"

Your eyes get witchy in the wee wee hours, sun's just a red ball risin' over them refinery towers. Radio's jammed up with gospel stations, lost souls callin' long distance salvation. Hey, Mr. Deejay, woncha hear my last prayer? Hey ho rock n' roll deliver me from nowhere. — "Open All Night"

Listen to that again: "Lost souls callin' long distance salvation." That's a killer line. I mean, come on. That's writing, man. It's perfect. Spectacular.

A lot of artists have moments when it all comes together. Nebraska is like that, but it's not even his best album. He made Born To Run and Tunnel Of Love, two perfect albums. He wrote The River and Darkness On The Edge Of Town. In a couple weeks he'll release Western Stars which has all the marks of becoming classic. That much greatness come out of one brain, heart, and set of hands, that's genius.

The genius of Nebraska is reserved and distant like the sound of a train in the distance or the wind sweeping across the Midwest. It's full of possibility and maybe danger. I can't get enough of all that. Give it a spin. "Atlantic City" is track two. I swear you won't be able to resist.