Institute of Contemporary Arts

Virtual worlds

Date: 19 January 2007

Not that long ago, I remember writing an article for my university student newspaper, lamenting the emergence of mobile telephones, which, to my disgust, were springing up all over the place, in a frighteningly swift transition from being the exemplary accessory that represented only the most irritatingly pretentious individuals on the campus, to a pocket-sized communication tool, that before long, most undergraduates could be seen hurriedly sneaking out of the room with, a loud whisper of 'I'M IN THE LIBRARY!', and the tinny squeal of uncustomised ring tones echoing down the silent aisles of books.

Less than ten years later, and I can count on my hand the number of people who don't own a mobile phone, that also doubles as a radio / mp3 player / camera / video / football score transmitter - even the most anti-commodity amongst us breaking out in a sweat at the realisation that their pocket life-organiser is still sitting on the toilet cistern back at home and that they won't be able to rearrange the time and location of that night's social encounters five times over before a final time and destination is decided upon.

Consider the complete transformation of life as we know it through the development of the internet, and my student experiences of being baffled at the possibilities of using an MS Dos intranet system to communicate with my tutors and remember to check emails more than once a week, seem an impossibly long way in the past. Now, we don't even blink at the ability to shop online for supermarket food, book a long haul flight, donate to charity and pay household bills, research an essay, buy 7 songs of an 11-track album, and watch Saddam Hussein's execution, all from the comfort of the sofa. And yes, I am writing this from my own, extremely comfortable sofa, the smug new owner of a snazzy new mac ibook laptop, having just booked a flight to Chicago next week, our penultimate destination in the US before heading home to London.

Anyway, the point of all this - and it's not that I am sitting here in utter wonder having suddenly experienced a technology-inspired epiphany - is that as we are talking to the owners of record stores, record label staff and music distribution companies about the transforming terrain of music, the rapidly changing ways that music is produced, acquired, exchanged and experienced, it is transparently clear that whilst our focus is record shops, we are really documenting the wider impact of technology on human experience and - not to get get too caught up in the high realms of existential contemplation - existence.

Our everyday lives have altered beyond recognition, and for the most part, without much notice, as technology quietly facilitates every small aspect of our daily activity. In relation to this, one of the most enjoyable and enlightening interviews for me, was in New York, with Jack Rabid, the editor of Big Takeover magazine, a bi-annual independent music magazine, that has been supporting and celebrating new music for over 25 years.

As well as being hugely knowledgeable in music history, Jack's reflections were compelling because of his perspective on developments in technology, and the profound impact that their convenience - 'a dirty word', he says - has had on human interaction, particularly in connection to music:

"Progress itself is not always good. There is usually a good and a bad side to it for human beings. There is something gained and something unnecessarily lost at exactly the same time... The bad thing is that it has isolated people more, and the need for a community in a music scene is something people feel deep seated in their souls... The tribal aspect of human beings in modern society is something we are constantly trying to invalidate, when in fact it's throbbing within our breast at all times... The natural aspect of the music scene is that you are constantly not only meeting people, but shoving up against them in a very space-invading way, at a really hot concert... and in a crowded record store, in the same way, as you're thumbing through the records, you're bumping into people, saying 'excuse me do you mind if i look at the 'B' section?' and the next thing you know, you're talking to them, and exchanging information, and it just sucks that people are now sitting at home, alone, shopping for their records."

So yes, we are lamenting the decline of the independent record shop in favour of the tarnished convenience of online downloading, whilst recognising the positive and inevitable developments that new technology brings - and there's nothing as sure as change, let's be realistic - but I think what's most apparent about the new ways that people are finding to communicate, is that they are all distanced from the reality and honesty of experience when two people are standing in the same room. We are, after all, human beings, and not machines, and made to interact, to rub up against each other, to talk to each other, and the one thing that a computer does - apart from make our eyes sore from the glare of the screen and give us RSI - is alienate us from our natural inclination to be around other people.

What a record shop - and any 'real' environment, from a grocer's shop to a friend's living room - does, is bring people together, it offers friendship, ideas, chance encounters, a visceral and emotional experience, that an internet chat room, or email, or myspace, cannot ever really replicate, even if it claims to. And while I don't pretend that computer technology hasn't benefited my own life in a trillion different ways, a homogeneous existence built around a screen and a key board, html code and a virtual information highway, doesn't cut it for me in the end.

I'm not sure if this makes me an over-romantic luddite, but bring on the ring of the bell as the door opens, the smell of dust, the peeling posters on the walls and the surround-sound speakers blaring out an unknown soul tune, accompanied by the tapping of feet to the rhythm, fingers flicking through the racks, and a voice of 30 years experience reliving the time John Lennon came shopping in this exact store for old 45s, as though he was telling the story for the first time, before a handful of change and a bright coloured bag full of new treats is exchanged across the counter, and the bell rings again on the way out, foot steps more urgent now, in anticipation of getting home, unwrapping the precious goods, and pressing play.

In order to post a comment, please log in:

E-mail:

Password:
Login
Forgotten your password?
Then enter your e-mail in the box above and click: Send Password

Not Registered? Then register here now.