Where's my CD?

Right that's it. I've known for a long time now but I can confirm that I am old (with disregard that my birthday was two weeks ago) and that society is evolving as I write this very post.

As my night of classic film entertainment, Scream 2 , was so abruptly interrupted for a 'commercial break', a very suspicious (but legitimate) viral ad came up. A black screen accompanied by the smooth soulful sounds of what has the makings of being an infectious hit held my attention. 'Tell Me 'Bout It'...'Available on download now'. Wow. Is that clever or what? From the start I'm being manipulated into finding out who the artist is. (Lucky for me I read a review earlier that day so I have no need to begin booting up Itunes.) It's another ten days until the young fresh faced Joss Stone releases her third album puzzlingly titled: Introducing Joss Stone.

What really got me thinking though was that I have lived through domination of the compact disc.

I remember listening to my comforting Disney story tapes and endless lullabies that sent me to sleep, fumbling in the car as Mum was driving to shove this little oblong cassette into the stereo and straining your wrist and pinky finger by winding up film for minutes on end. But that era has passed. It has done since That's What I Call Music 32, featuring Chumba Wumba and Spice Girls.

It was then we were introduced to a slicker, professional item that promised clearer and definite sound quality (much to the expense of an easily blemished and scratched disc) and that Christmas everyone received the device required to play them. Fewer kids began spending their Sunday nights taping the Top 40 and playing 'Radio DJ' and replaced this past time by polishing and alphabetizing their CD collection. Now I've spent roughly the best part of a decade, from saving pocket money to buying Top of the Pops, (but thats another childhood memory) to establish my healthy CD collection as it is today.

I welcome the downloads. The latest hits from the comfort of my own house and at a reasonable fee. I even envy my brother who will foolishly grow up thinking that this was how music began, from a computer, and he will creatively and ingeniously have the know how to not only knock up a song in his bedroom (with no talent what so ever) and be able to exploit the Internet and other resources to get a number 1 hit! Yet whatever happens I think I'll always be something that values the physical aspect of the CD. How it seduces me the moment it arrives in the post or I leave the store. That CD is not just giving me the songs I like. It's giving me a connection. From then on I am part of a community that shares a common interest. The artist. The shine on the case. The pointless advertising of the ring-tone numbers. The lyrics. Oh, the lyrics. Not to mention the artwork and exclusive content on the inside.

I always knew that technology insists that developments be quicker and smaller but at the minute I'm just fine savouring my CD's. I'm no technophobe. I gamble to university in the summer breeze with my mp3, but the moment I return home, I open my case and enjoy the sensation of which artist I will dedicate my time to for an hour to listen to a typical 10 track CD.