Married to the medium

I ended up having that “Baker Street” song stuck in my head for more than two weeks. I got a copy of the song, which I played the shit out of, then got a copy of the Foo Fighters cover, which is phenomenal, but it stayed in my brain, refusing to pass through with time. This doesn’t really bother me, because there are far worse songs that can squat in my head.

One thing did bother me during my 100 playbacks of “Baker Street,” however: It just didn’t sound right. Granted, I probably haven’t heard the entire song since the late 70s, only snippets on “The Simpsons” or “Good Will Hunting” (I love that fight scene), but even after all these years I could tell something was wrong.

I struggled to figure out what was different, then it dawned on me — I’m used to hearing this song on a crappy little transistor radio, sitting outside at the community pool with my mom, smelling her Tropical Sun oil and feeling chlorine sting my eyes. This is how I experienced many 70s radio hits; my ears aren’t accustomed to hearing this song in stereo, much less with good sound. (Just like I can’t imagine hearing Queen’s “Body Language” unless it’s on the distortion-graced jukebox the community pool eventually installed.)

So much music is like that for me — forever attached to one format. For instance, when I first bought “Kiss My Ass,” I really dug the Dinosaur Jr. cover of “Goin’ Blind” … but it really bothered me, too. Jay Mascis seemed to do the song justice, but I kept thinking he left something out — maybe an entire stanza — and it bugged the shit out of me. Only after months of listening did I realize this was the first time I’d ever heard the song without the interruption of an 8-track program change. The fade-out, loud-ass CACHINK!, fade-in was an integral part of the tunage — I never had heard any song from “Hotter Than Hell” on anything but 8-track. I still don’t like hearing that song without the break.

Other it-has-to-be-on-8-track albums include Led Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy” and Funkadelic’s “Tales of Kidd Funkadelic”, which incidentally was my first bargain purchase, sitting in the 8-track discount bin at Wal-Mart. (My first cutout album was Rod Stewart’s “Blondes Have More Fun.”)

As I try to re-create my vinyl and cassette collections on my laptop (the originals are in storage in the States), I am reminded of how connected songs become to their medium. This is part of what will get lost, I fear, as digital becomes the only format. My brain wants to hear the garbled-tape static in a few old Modern English songs on tapes worn to hell over the course of two invincible teenage summers, or add just a tad of overplayed-vinyl crackle to the Replacements‘ “Answering Machine.” It’s the imperfections you start to miss. I won’t hesitate to buy nine inch nails on CD, but make it vinyl for those old Tom Waits albums, please.

Does anyone else have tunage forever linked to a certain medium in their hearts and minds?