Digitally Replicating the Feeling of Discovery and Ownership of a New Band

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I. Is it possible to digitally replicate the feeling of discovering a new band in a record store?

It’s 1989, and Eric & Darrell are two metalhead kids wandering around Alabama and giving the kind of tour only local kids can provide. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a delightful trek through late 80s metaldom, but the part I want to focus on is their record store visit. The store is the whole point of their journey, and it’s the perfect primer for this week’s article. 

That video is a reminder that record shops are magical, sacred alcoves of musical insight and discovery. Like mythical alchemists, music store clerks trade musical knowledge between each other like currency, but instead of hoarding their mental gold like elitist dragons, they freely give it away to customers looking for something new. Even if they aren’t vocally giving recommendations, Television’s Marquee Moon placement on the rack next to Joy Division and Sonic Youth albums is no accident. Record store employees live to help you find your next favorite album, but they don’t do it to make the store money; they do it because they know what it means to discover a new album or band. 

I know this because I used to work at a record store. A bizarre record store, but still a record store. Located next to Chain Reaction, Orange County’s number one all-ages hardcore venue, it was named, and I am not making this up, Off The Chain. After a show, the place would flood with sweaty teens brandishing large black X’s sharpied on the back of their hands, scouring the store for an album to take a chance on. That feeling of searching through racks and racks of CDs, vinyl, tapes, whatever your listening medium of choice is, there’s something visceral about this experience digital streaming services have yet to replicate fully. 

I have a theory as to why music streaming services like Spotify have yet to fully reproduce that feeling of discovery and ownership you get at a record store, but first, here’s a 2018 Verge video about the last Blockbuster that speaks to the sensation of discovery I’m talking about. 

The first issue is risk. Sure, you’re paying money each month to listen to the music, but there’s no longer that thrill of taking a risk and fully committing to by forking down your hard-earned cash for an album you heard your friend’s cool older sister talking about. It’s nice to be able to listen to anything without a real punishment, but if Tower Records let you take home any record you wanted for ten bucks a month, you’d probably feel less pressure to pick an album you’re sure will mean something to you. It’s kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy buying a record because the act of paying money for it primes you to like it. 

Next is the algorithm. The algorithm is a blessing and a curse. I’ve discovered a few bands via Spotify (including the incredible Monster Rally), but that sense of ownership, that, “this is my band, I found them, and no one else knew about them before me” feeling rarely hits on Spotify the way it does when I find something in a record store. This is because of the double-edged sword that is the algorithm. On the one hand, it’s great to have an algorithm surface content you may never have come across thanks to a massive computing system indexing the tastes of yourself and the tastes of people who listen to the same type of music, but on the other hand, it takes away the feeling like you found that album on your own. 

If you walked through a record store and an employee followed you around every step you took, writing notes on each album you picked up before commenting, “Oh, do you like that album? Well, here are ten albums like that other people who liked that album bought. Remember when you bought that Thelonious Monk album? What about a different Thelonious Monk album? Other Jazz? Into bebop? Want to buy some of the albums you already listen to all the time? If so, I put them all right here for you. I remember you listened to the Muppet Movie soundtrack on our listening station last month, maybe you want to try Raffi or They Might be Giants?” Even if all of their recommendations were perfect, would you feel like you made a discovery that day? I wouldn’t. And I get it, the algorithm is there to keep people listening to music, and it’s great, especially when you just want to listen to anything, but when you want to discover music, I don’t think any music streaming service has it figured out... yet.

I don’t want to be the old man screaming at clouds yelling, “Record stores are the best, and you’ll never replace them!” I do want to say, “Feeling like you discovered an artist you can share with your peers is the best feeling, and I would like to replicate that digitally!” I have a solution, I think? 

II. The Solution

Above is my rendering of a digital record storefront. It would be a tab attached to a subscription streaming service like Spotify, where albums and singles can only be purchased with digital coins. If you pay for the service, you earn the coins by streaming, so the more you listen, the more coins you earn. If you use the free version, you can earn coins by listening to ads. In the storefront, the algorithm is turned down to only surface albums you’ve never listened to in genres you like. There’s also a recommendations section from real people. There’s little to no info about the bands past their album art, and you have to scroll through them like those poster display racks at Spenser’s Gifts. 

I sent this idea to a friend of mine, and his response was, “I feel like you solved a problem that doesn’t exist.” Though funny, I disagree. This problem exists because it exists for me. Maybe I’m the only one who feels like this is missing in the digital streaming space, but I suspect I’m not. Discovery and ownership are a huge part of music and art in general. The music we love speaks volumes about who we are. It’s shorthand for what we’re into, a way to understand each other without saying a word. That’s a powerful feeling, a currency in and of itself, and we aren’t going back to the way things were, so I don’t see why we shouldn’t try and replicate this feeling of discovery digitally. 

This digital storefront solves the issue of risk. You have to use your coins, make a decision, and you can’t try out everything. The lack of info about the bands and physical method of swiping gives the feeling of searching the racks at a record store, leaving you to go off of names you’ve heard or covers you think are cool. Sometimes making a decision is hard, but deciding to commit to something can also be incredibly rewarding. I was reminded of this while reading a delightful interview in the Atlantic with Pete Davis on the joys of committing to something:

“And committing to something can make the world open up to you, which is so exciting. When you fully join a cause, you can feel the epic story that you’re a part of, with heroes and villains and comrades in the cause. Together, that feeling of excitement and the work of your psychological immune system add up to let any regret around alternative options fade.”

III. Cutting Room Floor

Here are all the videos I couldn’t squeeze into the article but felt warranted a shoutout.

All Things Must Pass

Collin Hanks’ All Things Must Pass is free to watch on YouTube. If you grew up browsing Tower Records for hours on end like I did, this doc is a love letter to a bygone institution and full of fascinating characters. It was also what inspired me to check back in on the metalheads video and write this issue.

The Joy of Record Shopping

Meagan Belflower finds herself browsing a record store to looking for some sweet 80s vinyl. Her excitement and joy are infectious and exactly the feeling I’m talking about wanting to replicate digitally.

Catching up with Eric & Darrell

On the off chance you want to find out what happened to the Alabamian metalheads, they uploaded a “where are we now” video retracing the route they took in the original film.

Sound Warehouse Dallas record store nightshift 1986

Whatever you’re imagining, this video is exactly that.