Jefferson's Newspaper

Collecting Records and Walter Benjamin

I recently picked up a copy of Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations. I was completely struck by the first essay, “Unpacking My Library”, where Benjamin discusses book collecting. And while I myself take pride in my ever growing personal library, I almost immediately began to translate all his references to books as pertaining to record collecting. Not only this, but Benjamin’s words somehow summed up, far more eloquently than my own I might add, why, despite my professional stance that everything should be digitized and widely disseminated, I don’t and never will own an ipod. It made me rethink a few ideas I’ve become accustomed to, things like ownership and physicality, that have become essential to my work as a Digital Humanist. So, I thought I’d share…

Let me start by quoting part of Benjamin’s conclusion,

“…ownership is the most intimate relationship that one can have to objects”.

While this statement would possibly seem insignificant enough to your average person, “ownership” is an extremely weighted word for the Digital Humanist. Putting it simply, Digital Humanists hate ownership. Often, this disdain is directed towards corporations and their claims to proprietary software. This is easy enough, especially with the aggressive (unethical?) business practices of companies like Blackboard. The music industry, with its severely outdated business model, is another common target.  Many Digital Humanists go further though. They challenge their colleagues and institutions, especially universities and museums, to give up traditional rights to scholarship, educational content and primary sources.

However, we can think of ownership from another side. What about an individual’s ownership of something? Now, as I’m pretty sure not all Digital Humanists are total Communists (just kind of), I think most are comfortable with the idea of an individual owning possessions like a house, car, whatever. Its more intellectual property rights, especially of digitized intellectual property, that irk us. Because Digital Humanists have created this distinction, most of us can live in relative peace with the belief that its okay for us to own all sorts of things, but Microsoft needs to stop charging people for software. It works for me at least.

There are some cases, however, where this distinction begins to blur, and I think music is an excellent example. I’m not necessarily talking about the consumption of music here, but the collecting of music. Lets return to Benjamin’s idea of ownership. I’ll throw another quote at you because I genuinely like how he writes:

“Even though public collections may be less objectionable socially and more useful academically than private collections [as the Digital Humanist knows very well] … the phenomenon of collecting loses its meaning as it looses is personal owner”

Think about that for a second and let me pose a question: do you own the songs on your ipod? I mean, not legally, that all depends on how you acquired them. But, do you feel ownership of them? Is that Vampire Weekend (or whatever the kids are into these days) mp3 yours? Speaking strictly for myself, I don’t really feel like a song on a copied CD is mine, let alone an mp3 file. Even if some feel that they do in fact own their mp3 files, looking deeper into Benjamin’s essay, I think I can demonstrate why this definition of ownership is inadequate or at least very distinct from the ownership I am trying to describe. Let me explain.

The Thrill of the Hunt

I really miss hunting for records. Don’t get me wrong, I still go to the record store to look for things, but its just not the same when what I’m looking for could just as easily be bought online while I’m watching TV. Especially for the collector of underground music, the joy of finding something you’ve sought for literally years is pretty hard to describe. However, guess who describes it perfectly?

“I am not exaggerating when I say that to a true collector the acquisition of an old birth is its rebirth”

In explanation of this rather odd statement, Benjamin explains how, for the collector, the acquisition of an item quite literally fulfills that item’s destiny, which is of course, to become part of your collection. All of that item’s history, from its production, to its past owners, real or imagined, becomes an additional property of the item (think of it like invisible metadata that exists in the collector’s head). Honestly, it sounds dumb, but I have to admit that I’ve shared this extraordinary feeling. Putting all real probabilities aside, it truly seems like destiny when you uncover that record that you’ve been searching for, perhaps for years, in the used bin at some crappy record store you dragged your girlfriend to on vacation. Every crease on the album sleeve, every marking, all the writing, it all stays with you, forever becoming part of a collection that includes but is not limited to the music itself. Basically, it all adds up to much more than the music itself.

Physicality, Ownership and the Digital World

The point of all this nonsense, besides that record collecting is cool, is that while the digital world has not necessarily changed music itself, it has certainly qualitatively changed the collecting of music. Physicality is one aspect of this, as the physical marks on something like a used record can perhaps be used to conjure up a richer history of that item, which, as Benjamin suggests, adds to the many joyful histories contained within in a collection, inseparable but distinct from the music itself. However, I would argue that physicality, while perhaps the most obvious, is not the most important factor. For instance, back in the days of peer to peer file sharing, I certainly felt Benjamin’s “thrill of acquisition” when finding an album after countless unsuccessful searches. I believe the more essential element is that “ownership”, in the Benjamin sense, is directly dependent on a meaningful acquisition. One that produces “profound enchantment” and a literal sense of destiny.

Its interesting for myself, as a Digital Humanist, to consider that part of Benjamin’s “ownership” as defined in his quotation, cites public ownership in direct opposition to this personal ownership that makes collecting so desirable in the first place.  Its easy to see why this is so, if only because widespread availability would necessarily lesson the difficulties and joys of acquisition. Thus, some of my most cherished goals of dissemination and the eradication of the ownership of digital “property” also contribute to the deterioration of a different kind of “ownership”, that of an individual to that personal, intangible, yet very real aspect of his or her collection. In this case, its music. But perhaps the example can be applied elsewhere. When I reflect on all of this, I realize that receiving information of any kind, academic for instance, is not necessarily so different from listening to a record. Its certainly more than just memorization, critical thinking, or other mental processes normally associated with learning. In fact, my “collection” of academic knowledge has been dramatically enriched by everything else that took place while in school, at conferences, or in the archive. From the thrill of putting on those white gloves the first time I handled historic photographs to the memories of my music professor’s leather pants and rants about punk music (“Roots of Rock and Soul”, a legendary class). Of course, I’m not saying Digital Humanists should abandon our, in my view, very essential goals. Its just that, thinking of Walter Benjamin’s library and my record collection, I think its also important to remember the central importance of the process of acquisition, not simply the content acquired.