I have to admit to this straight away – I’m the guy on your Facebook feed posting pictures of my CDs next to my CD player. I know, I know – I could just post the album artwork but then how would you guys know I was an authentic CD lover? I don’t just love them for my benefit you know!
Who doesn’t love that feeling of walking into Asda or Tesco and browsing up to three rows of albums, flicking between Now That’s What I Call Incidental TV Music and The Best Of Tom Jones: The Middle Years, the brittle translucent plastic grating against your fingers as you explore how best to fill the “3 for £10” offer? The way the polythene shrink wrap takes at leat four stabs with your sharpest house key to get it opened? And that sensational feeling when you pop open the box and see that the little teeth from the spindle wheel are broken, forcing you to re-appropriate a box from a complimentary Q magazine compilation album featuring Dogs Die In Hot Cars covering Bob Dylan? And that magical smell – who doesn’t love the natural organic odour of pure polycarbonate?
Then there’s the sensation you feel when you’re putting the music on. The mechanical whir of the disc tray sliding open, ready and willing to receive the delights you hold in your free hand. The magical swirl of laser on disc, excitement building as you wait for your CD player to finally reveal the album’s running time in all it’s beautiful glory. The orgasmic waiting period between hitting ‘play’ and the disc starting, tension building like the browny yellow stuff between Nigel Farage’s teeth. And finally, the joy when the disk ends and slows to a wobbly end in it’s circular glory hole, before starting up again immediately because you pressed ‘repeat’ once you realised – two songs in – that it was a classic.
Why do I love CDs? I could talk about it all day, but I only get paid for 40 minutes of writing so I’ll leave it there. I’ve got a hot date with a Chas & Dave Live In Margate bootleg I found in Morrisons at 1.30 this morning whilst looking for Mangoes.