I’ve recently started reading Lisa Gitelman’s Always Already New. One key insight I’ve gained is that, in today’s world dominated by digital streaming, the popularity of old physical media can seem almost improbable. Gitelman explores this tension between old and new media, highlighting how older formats no longer “do the job” of their digital counterparts yet still retain unique cultural value. This paradox resonates deeply with my own experience as a record store owner. At Glitter Records vinyl records, shellacs, CDs, and cassettes continue to thrive, despite scepticism about their relevance.
Skepticism and the Record Shop Experience
As a recent TikTok video by Suffragette Records in Hobart, Tasmania, points out, one type of person that enters a record shop today is the sceptic. I get sceptical visitors as well. “You sell records?” they might ask. I respond, “Yes, I’ve been here for two years.” They often look puzzled, replying, “Really? Huh. Good luck with your business.”
Can you blame them? In an age of instant digital access to music, the existence of a physical record store seems at odds with how most music is consumed today. Many visitors aren’t sure what to do with the stacks of records before them, wondering what place they have in a world where music is accessible at the click of a button. Yet, this very scepticism invites deeper reflection on the cultural role of older media forms, which are often dismissed by those unfamiliar with their significance.
Gitelman’s Insights: “Muddying the Map”
In Always Already New, Lisa Gitelman writes that old forms of media “muddy the map.” This concept captures the confusion and disruption old media—like vinyl and shellac records—introduce into today’s digital media landscape. Unlike the seamless consumption of digital formats, records require more engagement. They don’t “do the job” of modern digital media, but they carry a distinct kind of meaning. Gitelman suggests that old media remain “recognizable as media,” even if only enthusiasts or collectors still use them. However, just like classic black-and-white films may technically be outdated next to a Marvel blockbuster, vinyl records also seem “unacceptably unreal” in our fast-paced digital world.
The Preservation Paradox: Digital vs. Physical Media
A key idea in Always Already New is the contrast between digital and physical media. Having recently reviewed the Association for Recorded Sound Collections‘ audio preservation guidelines, I see that this contrast extends to the realm of media preservation. In fact, many librarians have become critical of digital formats. Which, contrary to the optimistic predictions of the 1990s, have proven to be surprisingly more perishable than anticipated.
One important observation from this is that digital media demands ongoing resources and maintenance to preserve it. Above all, it requires intentional effort to maintain a subscription to a service or physical infrastructure for information to be stored. In contrast, vinyl records can sit on a shelf for decades with little to no maintenance. If rediscovered they still retain cultural and emotional significance, often without any effort.
We actively choose what to digitize. A physical object like a record may survive irrespective of the selection biases or tastes of our current generation. In this way, records, as tangible objects, act as a bridge to the past, allowing us to engage with music in a manner that digital formats simply cannot replicate.
Vinyl Records as Tools for Self-Reflection
Records are not just nostalgic artifacts. They are tools for self-reflection. Personally, I’ve found old sound recordings spark a deeper engagement with music—challenging my notions of genre, time, and relevance. Unlike the passive consumption of streaming platforms, records require active involvement. They invite us to reflect and to discover. Especially when it comes to music that doesn’t fit neatly into the categories we typically use to understand it.
What Always Already New Can Teach Us
In a world where digital media dominates, it’s easy to overlook the value of old analog formats. However, inspired by Gitelman’s Always Already New, I encourage reconsideration. Vinyl records, and other forms of old media, may seem improbable in today’s digital world. But they offer something digital formats cannot. A chance for reflection, objective preservation of the past. And a deeper engagement with a rich history that has come before us. As I continue to explore music that doesn’t fit neatly into simple narratives, I find that vinyl records and other analog formats remain powerful tools for self-discovery and cultural connection.
