from vinyl to streaming, via the K7, fifty years of musical revolution

By Thomas Sotinel

Published today at 00:40

At the end of 1971, probably in November, I bought my first record, Conceived. An album, a 33-lap, which cost 28 francs, the equivalent of 30 euros today. That was a lot for a college kid, but at least John Lennon was famous enough thatConceived is available in the small record box of the store where my parents bought television or refrigerator. To reach the music of these mythical creatures whose monthlies Best, Rock & Folk Where Extra chronicled – the Who, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin… – suburbanites, including myself, had to take the train to Paris to rummage through the shelves of the first large cultural area (whose low prices allowed the less to amortize part of the price of the ticket) or in those of the stores which proposed imported discs at a prohibitive price.

Photographer David Sauveur had fun, in his “Pop Life” series (2010), imagining an off-camera scene with vinyl covers.  Here, Lio's

At the end of 2021, a few sites caught fire for Vulture Prince, the album of the Pakistani musician installed in the United States Arooj Aftab. An album, insofar as it is seven titles released simultaneously, but to date Vulture Prince has no physical existence, it will not be found on CD or vinyl. This spectral status does not prevent it from being virtually present in the life of every inhabitant of the planet, it is enough to be subscribed to a platform – Spotify, Apple Music, Deezer… The curiosity aroused by these hypnotic melodies becomes as soon as you want, satisfied in a few clicks. I’m old-fashioned enough that, after a few gratifying listens, I pay the ten euros that will allow me to download the tracks onto my hard drive, which is what I did for Arooj Aftab’s album. But the statistics show how much this practice is in the minority.

From the invention of the phonograph by Edison in 1877 to the planetary triumph of the album Thriller of Michael Jackson, sold, in the months following its release on November 30, 1982, to 32 million copies (we are now at 66 million), popular music had extended its influence, to the point of defining, between 1965 and 1980, the generations, the political camps, before becoming the driving force of the cultural industry.

Started in the anarchy of illegal downloading platforms at the end of the 1990s, dematerialization (which also affects, in a different way, cinema or literature) has resulted in the triumph of streaming. Thus was dissipated an illusion born with the first recorded cylinders, which made believe that one could be owner of a piece of music as one can own a literary text. In the same movement, this rare material with intermittent radiation, music, has become omnipresent, permanent: today all you need is a telephone and a Bluetooth speaker to have at your disposal an infinite repertoire, by Fela Anikulapo Kuti to Scriabin, from Georges Brassens to Olivia Rodrigo, where you needed a turntable, an amp and two speakers plus an FM radio, a walkman and dozens of meters of shelving to be safe from musical needs.

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