Ever since the screen on my iPod cracked and blacked out, I haven't had that much drive for reorganizing my music library. When the only way I can get to a song is by crossing my fingers and flipping through shuffle, any systemic method becomes obsolete. But Christmas is a great time to replace dysfunctional technology, and with the promise of a new player I recommitted to my library.
Honestly, I never actually took the time to systemize my music in the past. It is a combination of my songs, my dad's songs, my sister's songs, and about a thousand semi-legally gifted songs from one of my dad's colleagues. I only listen to about five percent of my library.
The sheer amount of random and potentially awkward songs on my iPod used to bother me. I couldn't figure out how to delete any songs, but after one too many, "Why do you have High School Musical/The Wiggles/Prince on your iPod?", I stopped letting friends whisk through my songs.
But when I myself actually took the time to browse through the songs and order them by genre, I was filled with a sense of pride. Look at all the songs I owned. This was my collection. A little bit of everything.
A few minutes later I realized this was ridiculous. I never listen to a vast majority of the songs, and I am not planning on doing so any time in the future. Sure, I found a few treasures, like a cache of Bush songs and Doctor My Eyes, but I discarded the majority of sings once I had ordered them.
Why should I feel any sense of pride from owning music I didn't use, but which someone had paid for? I pictured myself as a music oriented Imelda Marcos, replacing shoes for unused songs. In fact, I could accidently delete at least half of my songs and never notice.
And yet delegating any of my music would be unthinkable. I realized that for me the unused music is an insurance against the future. My tastes are constantly evolving, and so the wide array of songs are to preempt any new changes. I would be hard pressed to find a style of music I didn't own at least a bit of.
Before, when the artists were in an alphabetical jumble, the extra songs were a burden, weighing me down. But it wasn't actually the music that was to fault, it was my view of it. As long as I viewed any songs I didn't like as wasted memory, they pressed in on my mind and seemed to overfill my library.
But now that they have been put in their place, now that there is a purpose for the songs, I am no longer threatened by them. They represent future opportunities now, instead of clutter.
And that is the beauty of organization. Yes, throwing out a few items is usually on the list, but for the most part it is when everything has a place that I realize how much space there is.
Hello Nina! First let me say that I found your writing to be delightfully concise, with fresh and language and short journalistic paragraphs that were a treat for my tired eyes! This entry completely embraced the idea of metacognition, it was like a conversation in your mind that I scored front row tickets for.
ReplyDeleteYou wrote about the shame of your friends seeing embarrassing songs on your playlist, insinuating that for it to be on your iPod, you must EAT, SLEEP, and BREATHE the Wiggles.
But as the proud owner of two full Hannah Montana albums I’ve discovered that the only person who is actually judging is myself. Say hello to the pompous music buff sitting on my shoulder, whispering judgments into my ear, “The Jonas Brothers? Really? So lame. So mainstream. What a lo-o-o-o-ser."
And so I feverishly hammer at the ‘next’ button until I find something of quality. But like you were saying, the JoBros and Hannah Montana define a point in my life. A time when I was not quite a teen but had worn out being a ‘tween’ . I find that if I force my thumb away from that ‘next button’, I end up singing the words with incredible accuracy into my hairbrush.
I wonder, can you really continue to develop your taste in music with all the clutter of your past?
We know that every song has to become obsolete eventually. But with the iPod, the song is always there, at your immediate grasp. It’s not like a vinyl record, slowly decaying in a forgotten box in the attic. Either it’s there or it’s gone. So maybe you keep those songs. But also, maybe you make a new playlist. One with an emptiness that provides opportunity for years and years of music history.
Hi Nina!
ReplyDeleteAs always, a fantastically worded dive not only into your mind, but the minds of so many others. The daunting, cluttered library of digital audio is a monster many of us have faced. Like all other clutters, one's first instinct would be to start a trash pile, clear out some of the unneeded muck. It makes sense, too--conserve space, reduce overall "stuff", etc. But you address a very different way of going about things. Rather than throw out the unnecessaries, as one might do with school papers, you propose the usage of storage space in its intended way--storing things.
We frequently deem anything not in currently use to be wasteful and inefficient. My dad does this a lot, often going through the garage to throw out as much as he can get away with. While it's nice to have an emptier garage, we can't help but miss some of the old furniture, the ancient Mac computer games, and a really first rate set of marionettes.
These garage dwellers are more than wasted space. They're vivid memories in sight, sound, and smell. Even though it's refreshing to throw a big bag of crap into the bin, but it's also exciting to pull out something from the past and say "I remember this!" The organizing of your music library represents the perfect balance of efficiency and memory. By carefully cataloguing everything, you preserve some of your fondest memories, while maintaining cleanliness and sanity.
Briefly aside, it's true that our music tastes evolve almost constantly, but do you think that yours will ever find their way to the Wiggles?