From Album to Tape to CD to .mp3 File to...the Cloud

Jon Pareles published an excellent article in the New York Times about the ever-evolving makeup of the music we listen to, and it all seems to be headed to the same inevitable conclusion: the cloud, which you may have already had exposure to on Amazon, Apple and Google.  Cloud computing isn't new and it isn't limited to music - people have been creating Microsoft Office documents on-line for years - but with regard to music, the cloud simply refers to on-line storage that allows listeners to access music from multiple devices via an Internet connection, rather than having to copy mass quantities of storage from device to device. 

For my own website, I've been using a DivShare to store my own compositions, though with the Big Boys now in the cloud business, I suspect it's only a matter of time before DivShare gets purchased.

Of course, having each music listener in the world own their own cloud requires storage - massive storage - and insane redundancy, not to mention user time.  Remember how long it took you to convert your CDs to .mp3 files all those years ago?  If you and I both own The White Album, does it make sense for each of us to have to upload the same album (again) and store it on-line?  Why not just have the album stored in one place that both of us have access to?

Apple is all over this concept with iMatch, that - for a fee - will recognize music you own (legally or illegally) and provide access to their own copies.  For those of us with hundreds or even thousands of CDs, this concept is an attractive one. 

Cloud computing continues the trend of diminishing the value of music, and poses a tricky problem for artists who are already feeling the squeeze since physical ownership of a song became unnecessary.  When listeners have access to any song at any time from any place, the song becomes something less in the hearts and minds of the listener.  As Mr. Pareles wrote:

"Songs have become, for lack of a better word, trivial."  Now anyone with Internet access has "an infinitude of choices immediately at hand. But each of those choices is a diminished thing; attainable without effort, disposable without a second thought, just another icon in a folder on a pocket-size screen with pocket-sized sound."

Meeting the Stranger: a Packer fan on the East Coast

In his novel Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. pokes fun at the superficial allegiances people make, particularly those based on geography (something Vonnegut calls a granfalloon).  But as I traveled last week in the Northeast, I concluded that meeting people – no matter what shallow reason might be behind the introductions – makes for a more blessed venture.

For about a third of my twelve day trip, I sported either a Milwaukee Brewers shirt or a Green Bay Packers shirt.  And on these days, my attire inevitably resulted in meeting people I would never have spoken with otherwise.

Sure, some of the conversations were actually one-line quips that ended as soon as they began:

• The man at the visitor center in Cape Cod who said, “We don’t generally give advice to Packer fans.”
• The woman in Boston, who in spite of jogging with labored breath over a bridge, nonetheless heaved out a “Go Pack” as she passed me.
• The older gentleman in New York sporting a Yankees’ hat who, after noticing my Robin Yount shirt, said “You’ll be lucky to get out of this town alive.”  (I reminded him that the Yankees swept the Brewers earlier this season).

But I also had two lengthier conversations on two different subway rides – one in Boston, the other in New York, both of them only two stops long – that I’ll always remember, and that gave my already enjoyable trip an extra lift that only human interaction can provide.

After a ballgame at Fenway, I met a woman who noticed my family’s Packer paraphernalia, and in the two stops we had together, I learned that she was a social worker from Neenah, that she considered moving to New York but decided on Boston, that she had a boyfriend in Connecticut, that the beaches we were considering visiting were nice but crowded, and that we should consider transferring to the blue line because the green line is notorious for mechanical problems (note: we ignored her advice, and three stops later our train broke down).

In New York, I met a man who congratulated me on the Packers’ Super Bowl championship, announced that he was headed to a Yankee game even though the score was already 12-0 in favor of New York, applauded my son’s and my decision to go to the Empire State Building instead of joining my wife and daughters at a Broadway show, and professed his allegiance to Brett Favre no matter what Packer Nation had to say about it.  After I shared with him the details of my family’s trip, he said to my son, “You are one lucky kid.”

Of course, I couldn’t wear my Packers and Brewers garb every day.  For much of the trip, I wore shirts with solid colors or stripes, and on those days I spoke with fewer people, started fewer conversations, and went to bed with terrific memories of sites to behold, but not with that extra something, that extra spark that awakens after sharing just a bit of my life with a stranger.

We meet people for silly reasons all the time: for the places we come from, the teams we support, the places we work, the religions we practice, the music we like, the pets we own, the politics we share or oppose and the authors we read.

And we are better for it.

So Long, Amy

On Saturday, July 23rd, I threw in a CD in the car, a Marc Cohn album, and listened along with my family.  On the same home-burned disc, it turns out, was another album, my apparent attempt at efficiency three years ago when I purchased downloads of two CDs on the same day and wanted to make a hard copy without wasting two blank discs.  The second album began to play when Marc Cohn finished.  It was Amy Winehouse's "Back to Black," music I probably hadn't listened to in two years.  It was good to hear.

The next morning, also by chance, I flipped channels on the TV for a few minutes and stopped when I saw Amy Winehouse's image.  I learned that she had died the day before, about seven hours before I played her CD.

Coincidence?  Most likely.  And yet...

So long, Amy.  Another one lost at age twenty-seven.  I think of her in-laws, who in the midst of Amy's substance abuse, begged fans to boycott her music to help her get back on track.

And I think of how I didn't listen.

Mickey Mantle broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM Milwaukee

Press play to listen to my essay on Mickey Mantle broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM's Lake Effect program on July 16, 2011.

Variations of my essay can also be found at two other sites: BorchertField.com, a website devoted to preserving the history of the old ballpark in Milwaukee, and Seamheads, a haven for all things baseball.

The Anti-Social Network

In the July 10 issue of the Chicago Tribune, columnist Fred Mitchell writes about the recent trend of ballplayers spending more time in the locker room texting, checking Facebook, playing video games and watching TV than actually commiserating with their colleagues.  He writes:

Times have changed from the days of ballplayers playing cards in the middle of the locker room, leafing through fan mail in front of their lockers, reading the newspaper or playfully teasing each other.

This might be a rather nostalgic view of the past, but it’s one I happen to share.

The potentially negative consequences of recent technological changes came to my attention about three years ago, when I noticed that parents picking up and dropping off their children at my home were no longer poking their heads in for a hello.  In fact, some of the kids we’ve hosted through the years have parents I have yet to meet.  Don’t know their names.  Couldn’t pick them out in a lineup.  That’s not only a shame, it’s kind of scary.  One of our seemingly endless list of parental responsibilities is knowing the parents of our children’s friends.

In the short six months I’ve owned a cell-phone, I’ve resorted to the anti-social behavior of texting my kids to let them know I’m waiting outside to take them home, but this is a habit I intend to break, extreme weather notwithstanding.   Generally, there’s time to say hello to people, and in life, there’s almost always room for a few more acquaintances.  Sometimes these acquaintances make my day.

Last week, I spoke to a parent at the pool for a good twenty minutes, and the conversation was so animated, so full of gems I couldn’t make up in a million years, I wrote our dialogue down as soon as I returned home, hopeful that I’ll be able to use it in a piece of fiction.  What if, instead of chatting, we’d both opted to check our email?  A more efficient use of our time, perhaps, but a real loss in social interaction.

Of course, technology isn’t responsible for all anti-social behavior.  This morning, it took one of my daughters ten minutes to acknowledge my existence, but I believe that sort of conduct began long before the cell-phone, the TV or even electricity.  And I also believe that time will help buck that trend.  If not, perhaps my incessant nagging will.