I downloaded two new albums last week from iTunes. I was interested in the first one because I heard a song from it that I loved on KCRW. I bought the second on a friend’s recommendation. I was stoked. Went to the gym, excited that I had some new music to listen to. Got on the treadmill and...
...pressed play. Ten minutes into my run I was not excited any more. I didn’t like anything else on the rest of the first album aside from the song for which I bought it. Bummer.
Next! Album #2. I was like WTF? Still loved my friend. But I didn’t get the artist at all. Sounded to me like Prince on crack. Now I had buyer’s remorse. I knew I’d never listen to those albums again. And my wallet was $18 lighter. Plus, I had to work out without fresh music to feed my head. What a drag.
I never used to have buyer’s remorse when I was a kid. Every album was pretty good start to finish. The other day my husband reminded me that Stevie Wonder’s “I Believe (When I Fall In Love)” was an album cut!!! Yeesh.
He (my hubby) got me a Spotify (Premium) account last year. I never use it. I have an issue with Spotify. The songwriters (myself included) who write the songs they are streaming aren’t getting fairly compensated for the very content that makes it possible for them to exist.
But today I said f*ck it. I had a yearning to connect with some beloved records from my youth. And I knew I was going to be in the kitchen for a while so I decided to put those sour feelings aside, let my hair down and indulge.
As I made a vat of chicken soup for an under-the-weather friend, and a sweet potato soufflé for my daughter, and a ricotta cheesecake for a dinner party I got my Spotify on. I listened to “Something Anything,” in entirety, bits and pieces of “Dog and Butterfly,” “Anticipation,” “Abandoned Luncheonette,” and, don’t hate me, Peter Allen’s “The More I See You.” Then I fast forwarded (no pun intended) to the Twenty-First Century and sampled a few recommendations that Facebook friends sent me last week. I was gleeful. Peelin’ carrots, choppin’ parsley, crackin’ eggs. My heart’s desire was at my fingertips and coming at my ears within seconds. All for 9.99 per month.Talk about a Merry Christmas.
If I didn’t care for my selection, I jumped on something else. It was like casual sex. No apologies. No strings attached. No lighter wallet. I totally get it!!! It’s FanF*ckingTastic. What took me so long?
Admittedly, I’m always a little late to the party. But now I’ve arrived. And I’m gonna put that App on my iPhone AND on my iPad. I’m gonna be a streamin’ fool. Music’s gonna be spewing from every speaker in my house. And car. I’m tired of resisting. I want easy access. I want an unlimited smorgasbord of music all around me. All the time. I deserve it. I do.
Only thing is, sigh, tomorrow, I know I’m going to wake up with my pre-existing dilemma: The songwriter in me wants to buy full albums and support new artists. She wants songwriters to have Gold and Platinum on their walls. But the disenfranchised consumer in me doesn’t like wishing she could get her money back. She’d rather fire up the Spotify and cook. So, what’s a girl supposed to do?