An Attack of Musical Nostalgia

Does it make sense to purchase music for archival purposes only?

Let me back up. A couple of months ago, in a book-buying orgy with the Spouse at Semi-Cost, I picked up a delightful little poorly-written tome By Christopher Feldman, The Billboard Book of No. 2 Singles. I say "poorly written" not because of any egregious problems, but because the author relies heavily on a short rotation of stock phrases, many of which sound like they were taken directly from the various bands' promotional materials. The actual information presented is generally fairly interesting. The big draw, though, is that it is a listing of all the songs, from 1955 to 1999, that hit #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart without then proceeding on to the #1 slot. It's quite an eclectic mix, and, as you can guess, there are numerous times when you are required to question the taste of the American music-buying public, either for letting a song get this high (as in October 1970, when the Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun" sits at #2, with the Partridge Family's "I Think I Love You" the mixed blessing keeping it from the top of the charts) or for not letting the superior song take the superior rank (as in September, 1971, when Aretha Franklin's "Spanish Harlem" was prevented from its full ascension by Donny Osmond's "Go Away Little Girl").

The problem, of course, is that I can't read about a song I know without hearing it. And it's no secret that I'm a sucker for bad '80s pop. So, starting around 1980 in the book and working forward, I've been picking up what's available that I like and don't already have from iTunes, both from the actual #2 list and from the #1s that kept them down. (Deadly, I tell you.) A few things, of course, aren't available - there's a noted lack of Glenn Frey or Glass Tiger, for instance. This is probably a good thing. And some songs I wouldn't pick up for free on a bet (February 1987, Georgia Satellites, "Keep Your Hands To Yourself," for example).

But there are a few that clearly fall into the category of "really, really bad songs" that I don't like and in fact make fun of that are necessary if my " '80s Music" playlist is going to actually be representative. By which I mean that, despite my not liking them, and thinking they're bad, I will hear their absence. The most egregious example is Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer." Now, Bon Jovi is the epitome of faux-metal; they're barely hard rock, but they have all the trappings of a hair metal band. If that wasn't reason enough to hate them, there's a key change in the song solely to show that they can do a key change. But - the song was so ubiquitous that it's not 1987 without them. And, well, if it was that or the above-mentioned Georgia Satellites song in the #1 slot, I'd much rather it have been them, because, ugh. And there is the one mildly redeeming factor that this is clearly Little Johnny Bongiovi's attempt at a protest song against Reaganomics, which, I mean, good lord, did we need some. (I prefer John Cougar Mellencamp's "Rain on the Scarecrow," but still, the more the merrier.) That last doesn't excuse the other Bon Jovi song I'd want to add to the '80s archive, though ("You Give Love a Bad Name," if you really need to know).

So: does it make any sense to spend the $.99 to pick up a song that I will skip every time it comes up in the playlist, that I don't particularly enjoy, that will get a rating of a single star, that has no redeeming musical or artistic merit - solely because I will hear its absence if it isn't there? Is it completely insane to buy a song solely to reproduce the experience of changing the channel on the radio every time it comes on?

An Attack of Musical Nostalgia

Does it make sense to purchase music for archival purposes only?

Let me back up. A couple of months ago, in a book-buying orgy with the Spouse at Semi-Cost, I picked up a delightful little poorly-written tome By Christopher Feldman, The Billboard Book of No. 2 Singles. I say "poorly written" not because of any egregious problems, but because the author relies heavily on a short rotation of stock phrases, many of which sound like they were taken directly from the various bands' promotional materials. The actual information presented is generally fairly interesting. The big draw, though, is that it is a listing of all the songs, from 1955 to 1999, that hit #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart without then proceeding on to the #1 slot. It's quite an eclectic mix, and, as you can guess, there are numerous times when you are required to question the taste of the American music-buying public, either for letting a song get this high (as in October 1970, when the Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun" sits at #2, with the Partridge Family's "I Think I Love You" the mixed blessing keeping it from the top of the charts) or for not letting the superior song take the superior rank (as in September, 1971, when Aretha Franklin's "Spanish Harlem" was prevented from its full ascension by Donny Osmond's "Go Away Little Girl").

The problem, of course, is that I can't read about a song I know without hearing it. And it's no secret that I'm a sucker for bad '80s pop. So, starting around 1980 in the book and working forward, I've been picking up what's available that I like and don't already have from iTunes, both from the actual #2 list and from the #1s that kept them down. (Deadly, I tell you.) A few things, of course, aren't available - there's a noted lack of Glenn Frey or Glass Tiger, for instance. This is probably a good thing. And some songs I wouldn't pick up for free on a bet (February 1987, Georgia Satellites, "Keep Your Hands To Yourself," for example).

But there are a few that clearly fall into the category of "really, really bad songs" that I don't like and in fact make fun of that are necessary if my " '80s Music" playlist is going to actually be representative. By which I mean that, despite my not liking them, and thinking they're bad, I will hear their absence. The most egregious example is Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer." Now, Bon Jovi is the epitome of faux-metal; they're barely hard rock, but they have all the trappings of a hair metal band. If that wasn't reason enough to hate them, there's a key change in the song solely to show that they can do a key change. But - the song was so ubiquitous that it's not 1987 without them. And, well, if it was that or the above-mentioned Georgia Satellites song in the #1 slot, I'd much rather it have been them, because, ugh. And there is the one mildly redeeming factor that this is clearly Little Johnny Bongiovi's attempt at a protest song against Reaganomics, which, I mean, good lord, did we need some. (I prefer John Cougar Mellencamp's "Rain on the Scarecrow," but still, the more the merrier.) That last doesn't excuse the other Bon Jovi song I'd want to add to the '80s archive, though ("You Give Love a Bad Name," if you really need to know).

So: does it make any sense to spend the $.99 to pick up a song that I will skip every time it comes up in the playlist, that I don't particularly enjoy, that will get a rating of a single star, that has no redeeming musical or artistic merit - solely because I will hear its absence if it isn't there? Is it completely insane to buy a song solely to reproduce the experience of changing the channel on the radio every time it comes on?