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We already have this email. Try another? Hi, user Sign out. New York en es. Time Out New York. My Account Sign out. My Account My Profile Sign out. Best vinyl record stores in NYC 1. Read more. When Prince died in April, a huge number of fans turned to Spotify or Apple Music to listen to records like Dirty Mind and Sign o' the Times and even Graffiti Bridge , only to learn he'd relocated the bulk of his catalog to Tidal, the streaming service championed by millionaires , and presumably named after an off-brand laundry detergent.
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That's only slightly less annoying than Radiohead's more hodgepodgey streaming-service configuration. For the first few months of the year, most of the band's albums were readily available on Spotify, Tidal, or Apple Music—but not its seminal record In Rainbows , nor the group's killer b-sides, some of which were temporarily removed from the services as the result of a label switcheroo In Rainbows and those odds-and-sods eventually returned to Spotify circulation.
But they point to the fact there's no guarantee of permanence or stability in the streaming atmosphere, something I should have been thinking about back I was when selling off my Prince CDs and Radiohead EPs luckily, I still have most of Prince's primo records on vinyl—not so much because I'm an audiophile, but because they come with cool artwork and mostly complete lyrics, not to mention posters like this.
Around that time, I also unloaded my Taylor Swift CDs—meaning that, when the artist pulled her records from Spotify a year and a half ago , I was sent searching through a bunch of old hard drives, trying to find my MP3 rips of her waaay too earnest but still pretty great first album. Granted, all of these raptured tracks are available elsewhere on the web—either legally for purchase or iffily free-of-charge, and all with very little hunting or pecking involved.
Yet there were times this spring when actually finding them online—much listening to them—felt like work, work, work, work, work. Your only other option is digging around some Ukrainian website with 36 green arrows to click on, trying to find the one that links to an actual, illicit download. Which, sure, isn't super-hard to do. Walking into a store, finding the CD you wanted, and taking it home.
As I write this section—last one, promise—I'm trying to get a copy of Steve Gunn's excellent Eyes on the Lines to play in a crappy old CD player that functions, at best, maybe 40 percent of the time I bought at a flea market a few months ago, when "I think I'm getting back into CDs again" evolved from mused-aloud threat to sad reality.
I Can't Believe I'm Saying This, But I Miss My CDs
Eyes is a heavy-mellow guitar record, the kind that's really perfect for Sunday mornings, assuming you wake up on Sundays the way I do—underslept, and frequently overheated by whatever Horrific Backward Incident is currently making headlines that day. It's a ragged, restless album, but I can't play it for you, because my brand-new disc is absolutely not working, no matter how many times I try.
Finally, I slide it into my laptop, and it spits it out with a mocking mechanical wheeze, as if to say, "A compact disc? Why don't you just stick a Tamagotchi in my USB, you middle-aged, overly sentimental shit-snooze! And it's one of the reasons why my recent CD-yearning spree is, ultimately, little more than a small-scale indulgence—not so much a nostalgia trip as it is a nostalgia outing.
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- A music nerd's last stand: You'll pry my CDs out of my cold dead hands.
Then again, they always seemed to break, or crack, or get smudged beyond comprehension—it's one of the reasons why, a few years ago, we were all so eager to get rid of them, and so surprised when we found out some people would still buy them, so long as they still didn't skip. For all its frustrations, streaming is so convenient, and so deeply embedded maybe even encoded? So I will cue up my Steve Gunn record on Spotify, resigned to the fact that the disc version will soon start accruing dust on a shelf, alongside the Swedish death metal record I bought a few weeks back.
But every once in a while, I'll pick up those cases, scan the liner notes, and remember what it was like when music was something you could actually hold. My CDs were clunky, fragile, and impossibly overpriced, but to a manic squirrel like myself, they imposed a sense of order—a feeling of everything in its right place, even if just for a moment.
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