Hear Me Out: The Last of the CD Collectors

Wherein the authour reflects on a quarter century of hoarding shiny discs that turned out to be pretty much worthless, and ponders what a future without them might be like.

See that? That, dear reader, is my CD collection.

Recently, I did a count of the albums on that shelf, and came up with a total just under 1600. That number jumps to well over 2000 if you count burned CDs; those are mostly the singles compilations I've been creating, originally on cassette, for as long as I've been collecting CDs; they gave this blog its title, and I've kept at it, as evidenced by the fact that I'm currently compiling Sound Bites Volume 259 (you can see some of those CDs in the bottom left corner). Still, if the "over 2000" claimed in this blog's sidebar is a little misleading, the vast majority of those are the ones you see above, all bought and paid for through various means at various places.

While the title of this post is also humourously inaccurate, I admit that I sometimes feel like the only one left who looks forward to Tuesdays Fridays as a chance to add another CD (or five) to that massive shelf. It's a practice that is, at this point, purely habitual at best and painstakingly difficult and/or costly at worst. Now, when I look at my new release sidebar, I can no longer simply plan on which ones to pick up; more and more often, I'm forced to consider which ones I can reasonably obtain and forego the rest.

When I started that collection (in 1990, with AC/DC's The Razors Edge bearing the dubious distinction as the first CD I ever bought), things couldn't have been easier. Department stores had huge sections of music, and what I couldn't find there I could always order through Columbia House (of which I was once a member three times simultaneously through some good old fashioned system manipulation). I liked tapes just fine (I'd never owned a record player until about five years ago), but CDs sounded so crisp and clear that it was like listening to music with new ears. I also fell hard for the expanded artwork (again, hadn't owned a record player), and took to the practice of listening to those CDs while thumbing through the booklet and reading the lyrics whenever they were printed. It's still my preferred method of listening, although that sadly doesn't happen nearly as often as it should anymore.

When I was assistant manager at a CD store (from 2004 to 2008, at which point we were closed down), building that collection was a breeze. I had the power to order in whatever I wanted, and I got a discount to boot. After the store's closure it became a little more difficult, with frequent trips to stores that remained open (with a minimum 90-minute drive one way) and swallowing the bitter pill of paying full price again. Anything I couldn't obtain this way was usually just a click away, and I quickly became fond of using Amazon for those hard-to-find CDs.

Lately, however, collecting CDs has become an increasingly frustrating hobby. Take, for example, the latest release by Titus Andronicus. Whereas their previous record was readily available at my nearest HMV on release day, The Most Lamentable Tragedy is only available in Canada as an import, a head scratching turn of events considering the large amount of buzz behind it, plus the fact that they're on the same label as Arcade Fire. Regardless, my only options on release day were to order online, and Amazon's prices on imports have gotten a little out of hand with the current state of the Canadian dollar; their price for TMLT on Friday was a shade over $26 before tax, with the caveat that it "usually ships within 2 to 5 weeks". It's since dropped to a little over $20, but the waiting game still has to be played while they order it in from their American division and mark it up accordingly. Tellingly, a third party seller offers TMLT as an "in stock" item shipping from Ontario for about $5 less, and the order is fulfilled through Amazon. How's that for a no-brainer?

It gets better: Frank Carter (former lead screamer for Gallows) is fronting a new band whose debut album drops on the 14th. I want the CD, but there's no distribution outside the UK. Therefore, my only option at this time is pre-ordering through the UK Amazon. No problem, except for the fact that the price comes out to about $36 with the current exchange rates. At a certain point (and that point is right about now), I have to ask myself whether all of this money and bother is worth it.

There was a time not long ago when I would have answered with an enthusiastic "absolutely", but recent years have made things a bit more difficult in that regard. In addition to the increased scarcity of viable buying options, there are the questions of quality. Years of offensively loud mastering and diminished interest in the format have culminated in an industry that no longer cares about or sinks money into CD manufacturing. I've documented some of my frustrations with this over the years; Cage the Elephant's obnoxiously loud mastering, a Red Fang album with sound quality that might as well have come from YouTube rips, and a growing number of bands I love following suit have made a lot of modern CDs virtually unlistenable even with good headphones. Throw in dwindling artwork budgets (many bands opt for a basic layout without lyric sheets due to the perceived waste of money), and the way I both obtain and listen to my CDs has been pretty much universally compromised.

In turn, I have lost most of the enjoyment I once culled from my old way of doing things; with advance streams readily available for virtually any album a week or more before its release (and my personal goals for this blog necessitating timely reviews), plus the rise of streaming services (and my affinity for them), there aren't many albums I can go into without having heard most if not all of it beforehand. The excitement I once got from unwrapping a CD and slapping on the headphones has been replaced with an involuntary impulse to consume lesser-quality streams as soon as they're available. So, what am I doing with the CDs? In most cases I buy them, rip a handful of lossless audio tracks into the computer, and put it on the shelf while I reserve most of my future listens to my online streaming service of choice. I recognize it as wasteful behaviour, and yet I still put myself through it.

Now, with a collection I've invested tens of thousands of dollars into for more than half my life, I can see that dreaded crossroads ahead; it's a quickly approaching dead end where I have to cut bait, whether of my own volition or due to the inevitable end of CD production. I tell myself it would be easy enough to stop spending my hard-earned money on CDs (many of which I may never actually listen to on a CD player), sell off that shelf full of wasted space and move on with my life. How do I do that, though, when the return is so small? An average of $15-$20 spent, an average of $1-$5 back: I'd be practically paying people to take them off my hands.

As with anything that goes out of style, there's always the chance of a CD comeback. Just look at the vinyl revival (and yes, I'm collecting those too, though I'm much pickier about them) and imagine the same thing happening in ten years for CDs; I don't find that difficult to imagine at all. Maybe someday there will be a market for my old CDs again, and this entire article will become a precursor to my early retirement (hah).

More likely, though, is a situation where I've put my money on the wrong horse. Had I collected anything else - comics, stamps, sports cards - chances are I'd have some big ticket items right now. However, when I think about it, those things could never have given me the joy and entertainment that those stupid shiny discs have. As difficult as it may be for me to imagine a world where I can't build on that pretty collection, it's unfathomable to imagine a world where I'd never started it.