THE AURA PT. 1: THE RECORD
In 1984 Canada was in the midst of the biggest recession since the 1930s depression. Dealing with substantial interest rates that loomed anywhere from 14%-18%, people worked just to keep a roof over their heads. Others walked away from their homes, seeing the ability to own a home unachievable during such dire times. My father had been out of work for months. Every bit of money that came in from my mother’s job was stretched thin. Yet, my birthday was approaching. I was turning 11, and as much as I knew that we were financially in trouble, I was 11 and expecting something.
That day my father took me to the local used record store. I loved going to the record store whenever I had a few dollars, but over the last year, visits to the record store had become rare. My father and I entered the store, and he said for my birthday I could choose any two records. He was not much of a music fan, but I remember he didn’t rush me. He looked through records with no intention of buying, and when I finally made my picks, he passed no judgement on either choice. I left the store and crossed the street rifling between sleeves deciding which record would be the first to be played on my cheap fold-up record player.
As a father, I think back on that day and think he probably felt embarrassed that this was the best he could do for his son’s birthday. But, honestly, it was the best birthday present I ever received. My choice of records at 11 years old is not important here (I am somewhat embarrassed to say they were Quiet Riot’s Metal Health and Twisted Sister’s Stay Hungry). What was important that day was that my father seemed to understand how I felt about music. Although it was not of any particular importance, he understood how I felt about it. I haven’t played either record in at least thirty years but they hold a special memory for me, and in the era of streaming services that is the conundrum that we now face about the buying of an album.
German philosopher Walter Benjamin wrote his seminal essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” in 1935. In the essay, Benjamin notes that works of art are created and imbued with an artist’s aura. However, he wonders what becomes of that aura in the age of mechanical reproduction? Ultimately, the aura is lost as it is reproduced. The most obvious case in point is the poster one might buy at an art gallery. It — as a facsimile of the original — bares little to no aura. No one will pay money to come to your house and see the poster. But, they will line up to see the original because it is the one and only. As a piece of art, we admonish it with reverence.
There is a romanticising of art when we talk about the aura. And, for those who buy records, I would argue that the aura plays a significant role. When we interviewed Adam Sturgeon from Status/Non-Status he recalled buying Elevator’s The Such. He was on a field trip to Toronto and enthralled to buy a record at the famed Tower Records (had he been my age, it would have been Sam the Record Man). In our interview, he said “I think it is important because of how I bought it”. The record for him holds an aura, which is based on the story, the place, and a moment in time. The aura for Sturgeon, and for many of us, is created in the moment we discover or own something that shapes us into our being.
For Sturgeon, there was something about holding that record in his hands. Yes, this is nostalgic and no doubt romanticizes a commercial product. Really, what I am talking about here is what Marx and Veblen would call consumer fetishism, where the “fantasy of the appetites tricks the fetish worshipper into believing that an inanimate object will yield its natural character.” But, when we romanticize a purchase or a product, are we not objectifying it with an aura?
I think the emotional connection we make to music and a record is valuable. Valuable to us as music fans, but also valuable to record stores. Surely, the creation of aura plays a factor in the retention of the record store. We are 20 years into the advent of user-friendly streaming, and yet records sales are climbing. Pitchfork reported that vinyl sales in 2020 were up 29.2% from the previous year. But why when streaming is so easy are vinyl record sales growing?
There is no doubt that record store connects to the nostalgia I spoke about in my previous article “The Making of our Musical DNA”. The definition of self, which I argued was established between 17 and 24 is at least in part due to the grumpy record store owner telling you to put back Iron Butterfly’s Greatest Hits and instead of thrusting some unknown band in your face. The caricature of the condescending record store owner has lost its reverence. But, to the record purchaser, there is something in the buying of those cardboard sleeves and round discs that captures the essence of Benjamin’s aura.
When I chatted with record collector Dave Kuhr he said “there is a certain power in saying ‘I have that on vinyl’.” But, when further pressed, his explanation conjures up words and phrases that highlight Benjamin’s philosophy. He is quick to note the “tactile feeling of the physical object.” The record holds a physical place, a key idea to Benjamin’s idea. Furthermore, he talks of “the ritual of dropping the needle.” What an interesting word to use. It immediately brought me back to spending hours looking at every detail of an album cover. Sliding the record out of the sleeve. The way in which we hold up that vinyl to the sky. Not unlike a priest holding up the sacrament. The entire ritual of the record conjures up religious connotations. And in doing so, we create the aura.
The Wu-Tang Clan’s seventh studio album Once Upon a Time in Shaolin is a perfect example of a band that understood the aura of its art. They produced one single copy of the record (on CD), which they sold for $2 Million, the most expensive work of music ever sold. Even the packaging of the album was an art form. The album was encased in a silver jewel-encrusted box sealed with a wax Wu-Tang Clan seal. The lyrics and album notes are leather-bound. For Benjamin, the aura is tied to presence. Once Upon a Time in Shaolin is untarnished by modern mechanical reproduction. And, by creating a piece with no replica they created an art piece akin to a religious artifact.
And this was the whole point of the record. On the band’s website, Wu-Tang stated that the album was in response to a “music industry is in crisis” adding that “the intrinsic value of music has been reduced to zero.” For Wu-Tang, the era of streaming or digital reproduction was all but destroying the art of music. Since 2015, when Once Upon a Time in Shaolin was auctioned the era of streaming has only grown. But, so too has the rise of the record. Are those who buy records searching for the bygone aura that that streaming doesn’t give them?
For the musician, you certainly get the sense that for some of them their music is a piece of art. It does carry with it an aura. In our interview with Status/Non-Status’s Adam Sturgeon, he said that his record is his “musical landscape” that fits perfectly onto one side of a record. Dave Kuhr similarly used that word “landscape”. This is a lovely idea. The creation of music is like a landscape forged from the earth. There is a sublimity to a landscape. It can take our breath away and inspire awe, just like a good record. Even if you haven’t listened to it in thirty years.
