Tag: mp3s

Digitization

Broken CDAs I mentioned last week in this space, over the winter holidays I experienced a period of relatively severe burnout that left me unable to complete any task requiring more than a modicum of intellectual commitment. One of the chores that I set for myself in order to feel somewhat useful was the digitization of my entire music library.

I’ve never been an audiophile. Instead of investing in sound reproduction equipment that can replicate the concert experience, I prefer simply to go to more concerts. At home, I rarely sit down and listen to music on speakers, although I often don my (relatively) good headphones in order to concentrate while I listen. In short, at home I can’t hear the difference between a compressed MP3 and an original WAV file. Unfortunately, I can hear that distinction rather clearly when I’m listening on the good speakers that predominate in the rooms where composition seminars tend to congregate, which has led me to feel embarrassed over the quality of my sound files while presenting. I therefore make certain to keep the uncompressed files of my own music for those times that I need them, while at home I quite happily enjoy MP3s.

Since I don’t own a stand-alone CD player, for the past several years I’ve been using my computer or MP3 player to listen to music. The excessive noise that my computer’s disc drive makes when reading from a CD actually makes uploaded sound files a preferable listening experience. With my old computer and its miniscule hard drive, this led to a gradual diminishing of the percentage of the music that I owned that ever found its way into my listening rotation. I also appreciate the convenience of being able to immediately download new music instead of traveling to a store or waiting for the arrival of a physical shipment, which has led me to go several years without buying a new CD when an alternative existed. That said, my internet connections are not the best and I’m new to smartphones, which means that I greatly prefer owning music files to playing the same music off of a streaming cloud-based service.

My recent purchase of a new computer whose hard drive contains ten times the memory of my old one left me able to consider expanding the amount of music I could leave on my computer, able to be played at a moment’s notice. I began to upload some of the music that I might use for teaching—pieces that I’ve wanted to play in class only to realize that I had forgotten to transfer them to my computer. I decided to continue with some of the contemporary music repertoire that I enjoy but hadn’t played recently. At this point, I’d built momentum and continued uploading the rest of my classical CD collection. Since that’s over two-thirds of the music that I own, by the time I finished this step, I was ready to complete the task.

I now have an entirely digital music collection. My CD shelves have been removed from the living room, allowing for more light and space. And the happiest result is that I’ve been listening to music that I’d forgotten I own. I’ve always enjoyed going for long walks while listening to harsh contemporary orchestral music—it colors the scenery around me in the most intriguing way. Now these perambulations can be more highly varied. At home, I’m spending more time quietly sitting and concentrating on music that I’d left in my past. It’s a little like encountering an old friend who I haven’t seen in a while.

And, yes, I’ve backed up the files on two external hard drives. I definitely don’t want to be forced to retrieve those boxes from the basement in order to redo this process.

Scrooged

Tree and menorah at entrance to 90 John Street

The most wonderful time of the year?

Well, it’s that time of the year again and, like many people I know, I’m scrambling at the last minute to find the right thing to give various members of my family. On Saturday, in between participating in a six-hour music symposium at Columbia University and attending an evening concert at Merkin Hall, my wife and I eked out a small temporal window to experience the holiday shopping madness in the Columbus Circle area of Manhattan. But if the underlying thread that connected the various talks in the morning and the compositions performed later that evening was the effective realization of really original ideas, our late afternoon navigation was decidedly unoriginal and ultimately ineffective. Ever since the New York Coliseum was torn down to make way for the Time Warner Center’s mall sprawl and independent vendors have set up an annual holiday market across the street from it on the southwest edge of Central Park, the area has become a consumer mecca. So on Saturday evening, it seemed like thousands of people had the exact same idea as we did. Needless to say, we quickly tired of it and therefore did not completely accomplish our mission. So, alas, it must continue tonight.

I must confess that I often have a difficult time shopping for gifts, and I know all too well that over the years I have been a difficult person to get gifts for. My favorite things in the world are books and recordings, so they are frequently my default gift ideas. But in this day and age, many people shun such things and they are also much more difficult to come by in shops. (The still empty storefront that was once the huge Borders in the Time Warner Center is a sad reminder of tons of lost jobs.) Even though it’s extraordinarily simple to order books and recordings online, such activity has yet to give me any sensation of holiday spirit which, admittedly, as a devout secular humanist, is already frequently a challenge to come by. To me, a series of on-screen clicks for ordering, credit card processing (it’s already stored on your computer if you do it a lot—one less step), and confirming shipping method takes away all the magic that comes with chancing upon the right thing, buying it there on the spot, and then wrapping it up and sending it on its way with a personal touch. The impersonal nature of online consumerism seems akin to the same culture that has produced drive-by funeral parlors and drone warfare.

Yes, I know, so far I have not even addressed the phenomenon of the post-corporeal interfaces that are replacing books and physical recordings, a presumably evolutionary direction we are all supposed to believe is the future. I’m not sure how someone would go about wrapping an mp3 file or an eBook. In many shops around town I have seen displays of gift certificates you can purchase which will enable your treasured gift recipient to acquire their own mp3 files or eBooks. But that takes away the whole magical element involved in choosing the specific recording or book you want to share with someone—ideally something that person was not familiar with and would hopefully become transformed by.

Decades ago a friend and I would purposefully exchange gifts every year that would attempt to expand our intellectual horizons—inevitably we’d give each other books and recordings. I still fondly remember two of his gifts. The first was a copy of The Beatles’ LP Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I know this might seem surprising for someone of my generation, but at the time I did not have a single rock album on my shelves. Such music was all around me, so I didn’t take it seriously—my loss. The record proved to be a life-changing experience for me as a listener as well as a composer, and I continue to reap its rewards every time I hear it. The second was a copy of Roger Kahn’s baseball memoir, The Boys of Summer. I was adamantly not a sports fan at the time. While sports is still not really a world I pay all that much attention to, the book taught me that there is much in common between fans of sports and music and offered some helpful context when I embarked on writing baseball-themed wedding music for some other friends who are sports fanatics.

Decades later I probably have well over 1000 rock albums (I have about 20,000 recordings all told, but I don’t arrange them by genre) and I’ve felt the adrenaline rush of watching a home run in Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium. I owe these experiences to those gifts. I also know that Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and The Boys of Summer are things I never would have bought for myself. In recent years another friend has given me books about trees and local birds. I’m a self-professed perpetual reveler of the great-indoors and so I don’t explore nature very much, but I should and, thanks to these books, I probably will before too long. I’m saddened that in our desire to always give people exactly what they want, we’re somehow eroding the opportunity to offer someone something that is outside his or her assumed personal taste (which can be an extremely exclusionary filter).

So, in that spirit, any ideas for great gifts herein are wholeheartedly welcome.