The Sound of Music

Nestled neatly amongst the largest names in designer brands and sports cars, just two weeks ago I found a flagship Virgin Megastore half way down the Champs Elysees Boulevard. Like a glittering beacon of music industry past, the humongous store sat adhorned by thousands of bustling Parisians all dodging in and around the doors. I take a few intrepid steps towards this seeming mirage: I can’t quite believe that there’s still an operational Virgin Megastore around. With a certain sense of nostalgia, I remember how this would normally be one of my first and last stops on a trip into Manchester. Certainly, it’s a mecca of my childhood: the endless stacks of CDs and the perilous piles of DVD boxsets. It seems somewhat surreal, which is all the more confounding, because I know I can browse the selection at any HMV when I return home.

Nipper has become a symbol of HMV record stores worldwide.
Image Credit:  Lienhard Schulz, Wikimedia Commons.

But this treasured retail paradise is now threatened too. With the announcement of HMV’s administration, there is a huge question mark sat poised above the music industry in the UK at least. HMV is not just a store for music, film and game: it is a British icon and institution. The comic logo of a dog playing with a phonograph is an endearing image renowned worldwide, and branded the company something more than a faceless corporation, but a music shop that was ready to be alert, be active, be intuitive with the music scene.

From irrevocably changing the face of British and world music in helping to launch The Beatles, to today offering free intimate gigs with huge artists up and down the country, HMV has always been at the forefront of the high street music consumption. And some may argue that it isn’t a surprise that this store, which maintained high prices in the face of strong supermarket competition and emerging internet markets, has gone bust. In fact, some may think that it should have happened sooner.

HMV once had rivals in the form of Virgin, Zavvi
and Woolworths. Now, all of these illustrious music
stores look set to disappear from the high street.
Image Credit: Captain Scarlet, Wikimedia Commons.

Yet, consider that HMV still retain close to a 40% share in the sale of physical CDs on the high street. Without the fierce competition of high street giants, such as Zavvi, Virgin Megastore and Woolworths, HMV remained an oasis, a safe haven of the CD back catalogue. Whilst prices of chart and new releases are frequently a couple of pounds dearer than supermarket counterparts, there is no denying both the reasonable pricing and the huge selection available from yesteryear. Without sounding too much like an independent record-store hippie, HMV had become synonymous with the idea of rediscovering music, just as much as it presented the opportunity to hear new music. The catalogue is not only impressive for a physical store, but in cities, such as Manchester, the HMV is a virtual Aladdin’s Cave, hoarding gems to suit all tastes.

Perhaps without the competition of Zavvi and Virgin Megastore, HMV became too complacent, and believed too much in their monopoly on the market. But considering that Woolworths, until now possibly the largest brand to collapse under the crisis, was a leading retailer in DVDs until it folded, it is hard to believe that HMV would not extrapolate some lessons. More than any previous administration, this is probably the most significant of changing markets, and the most evocative of a ruthless industry.

And this ruthless legacy sparks potential for an even more sinister future. As the internet giants that are Amazon and Apple come to dominate the entire market, inundating consumers with rock-bottom prices at marginal profit, the high street fails. With the escalating problems at HMV, the nation’s last specialist record chain may soon face rolling the shutters one last time.

The ups and downs of HMV.
Image Credit: Kantar Worldpanel.

As fewer physical stores are open, the decline of job opportunities and the rise of further unemployment is only further aggravated by the fact that without any competition, the internet stores will soon be able to demand the same premiums that these stores once charged. Only excepting the fact that less VAT will be paid back to the UK, leaving an even greater whole in the financial heart of the country which only ten years ago welcomed the advent of internet shopping as a second coming for economic gains.

More than this, nothing quite beats the record shop. This is why independent stores have gradually made a comeback recently, competing more and more strongly each quarter. While the fall of HMV may spell a boost in custom for these shops, it will certainly see a real shift in the pace of digital takeover. Not even a decade ago, physical sales were more than double what they are now, whilst digital was still struggling to break the mainstream market and was only warily accepted by a few. Should a buyer not be found the endangered chain, not only is the future of the high street uncertain amidst the collapse of GAME and Jessops, but the very presence of the physical CD is undermined.

His Master's Voice: HMV's flagship store on Oxford St.
Image Credit: Getty Images

Without a major store in which to browse an extensive collection of artists and albums, the supermarkets’ charts will become the only token existence of the CD. Even here, there tends only to be CDs available from within the Top 50: if you want to find releases from before the past six or so months, there will be little choice but to turn to download. Personally, this strikes me as a killer blow to music. Just as some may say that nothing sounds like a vinyl, the CD, more than the cassette before it, is proof of the adaptability of music. Sharing and mixing, ready to be played in the car or the house, offering a backup against computer malfunction or meltdown, the CD is versatile. I find myself swizzing an album on Spotify before buying: if it’s something I know I’ll want to come back to decades from now, I buy the CD.

My favourite albums are all owned in the physical. There’s something about being able to hold a CD, point at an iconic cover, finger the inlays of someone’s work, slip in the disc to something that transports you to a time, place, mood, invoking memory and nostalgia. With the close of HMV, this very aspect of music love is also threatened, and it was the very thing that made the store unique. HMV might not be the first place to look for a bargain, but it is the first stop for a boxset bonanza, a CD binge or a gaming back catalogue. Without it, the versatile disc may not be considered versatile much longer.

The Greatest Album Of The Decade?

An abundance of controversy surrounds Gaga’s sophomore LP release, Born This Way. The album’s first eponymous single was the subject of an argument that the artist had exploited the homosexual world in order to promote her music. Subsequent release ‘Judas’ fared little better, with Catholic groups worldwide chastising the offering as nothing more than a cheap attempt to appear relevant. Unveiling the album’s artwork fuelled further criticism: the most poignant comment suggested the welding of Gaga to a motorbike was akin to a rejected ‘Terminator’ extra.  

For a disc that has been touted “the greatest album of the decade”, this image leaves a great deal for the material to negate. Gaga is not ignorant of such a fact. Her album delivers on its promise of being packed full of “sledgehammering dance beats”. Yet she manages to weave quite an intricate and delicate mix of social issues into her album nonetheless. The artist sings out in support of feminism, of gay rights, of romance (bad, or otherwise). Despite its party beat, the album’s message is to be true to oneself.

This is hammered home throughout. Opener ‘Marry The Night’, begins “I won’t give up on my life: I’m a warrior queen, live passionately tonight”. Its sombre start of organ chords highlights that this is an album of serious matter, regardless of how quickly these notes fade into a synth extravaganza that climaxes with an ever faster tempo. Single releases ‘Born This Way’ and ‘Judas’ follow in succession. Already, the album has set up stall as a fist-pumping anthem of self-loving and self-respect. 

“I wanted people to know that I really made a record” said Gaga when introducing the iTunes countdown to the release. Promotional singles have come thick and fast in the immediate pre-release period and these have noted the new directions of the artist. With such a plethora of influences, Gaga’s main challenge in this album was always going to be striking a balance that made the album flow neatly. “I wanted people to know that it was something that needed to be heard in its entirety.” Indeed, there is something much more rewarding from a complete listen: We journey through insecurity, to thanking all those who have been part of our lives, and all the Judas, Americanos and Bad Kids in between. These aren’t simply Gaga’s influences: it’s an album that is adaptable to all its audience.

Reinforcing such an ethos, Gaga picks at her varied and diverse fan base. ‘Americano’, a Spanish guitar track with flamenco flare, tackles forbidden love and immigration laws in one sophisticated swoop. Elsewhere, ‘Scheiβe’ infuses house and techno as an album highlight, yet tells women to respect themselves; you don’t need to speak German to “fight for your rights” and stop the… inequality. Rock-led ‘Bad Kids’ talks to every apathetic teenager in search of identity: “I’m a bitch”, “I’m a jerk”. There is a certain lavishness in Gaga’s creativity: she is sassy and silly on the one hand,  warbling to be “your hooker” and “as free as my hair”, and yet these indulgent metaphors are belted out with true feel and emotion, as well as being the most innovative expression tacts in twenty-first century pop. After all, in a cultural sense, Gaga proclaims herself to “just speak in future tense”.

When Gaga eventually slows her juggernaut for some evanescent melodies, their fragility is far from ballad relaxation. In fact, the album continues its dependence on synth-electronic revival. This is by no means detractive from the impact of the songs themselves: ‘Heavy Metal Lover’ is a smooth critique on fast lifestyles, and so the juxtaposition between subject matter and tempo creates a sensuous backdrop before which the sexual whims of washing a pony down are played out against fantasies of ruling the world. Again, Gaga masters the euphemism in a way that sees her graduate stylistically from simply “bluffin’ with her muffin”. 

‘You and I’ is a sumptuous charting of “lonely nights and lipstick on your face”, with a piano lead incorporating a sample from none other than Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You’ (a subversive reinforcing of the greatest album motto?), whilst ‘The Edge of Glory’ declares “we’re on the edge of something final we call life”. Gaga does not hesitate to reinforce the image of transcendence, and it is to her credit. “Put on your shades, cause I’ll be dancing in the flames”: she appears to purify herself at the end of an album full of blasphemy and dizzying pop synths, whilst adding an injection of jazz sax that is ever so refreshing.

Nonetheless, there is room for lyrical improvement. For all Gaga’s party pumping beats, there are few phrases that make a profound impact. As is often the case with tracks whose base is a party atmosphere, everything is quick, loud and explicit. Gaga manages this aspect well: where there could have been loss of focus, she remains succinct and to the point. However, in her straight talking, there is often a lack of an inspirational word or two: “I’m living on the edge of the law” and “Don’t be a drag, just be a queen” appear somewhat cliché additions to the artist’s resume. Maybe to be too deep is to miss the point, however. “This album is for you” reads the inlay: everyone is able to take away their own interpretation of the lyrics. And with tracks such as ‘Judas’ and ‘Scheiβe’ on the setlist, there is definite room for metaphor: after all ‘Hair’ is merely “surrealist extentionism” (get it, extensions… hair? Oh, that Gaga!)

Ultimately, it is Gaga’s creativity that detracts from the album. Due to a lack of self-reflection, no soft ballad, it appears that despite so many of the lyrical nuances pointing to an album of ordinary pop, the generic has been overlooked. Sometimes, the mainstream just wants a neat slice of pop music: after all that’s why it is called mainstream. No doubt a balance difficult to obtain, Lady Gaga has captured her flare, but failed to capitalise and exploit the pop genre as fully as one may have anticipated.    

Greatest album of the decade then? Simply, no. There is a great deal to praise about Born This Way, and it is most definitely one of the most exciting listens of the year due to its relentless energy and topical approach to music. Indeed, it is an album that should be heard in its entirety (and by entirety, the expanded edition is implied). Unfortunately in its attempts to achieve pure pop status, it overreaches itself. Perhaps this is not how it would be received on G.O.A.T. and maybe in that alien territory of boundless freedom, such an album would be the mother monster of LPs: for it evokes and oozes an ethos of freedom for each and every person throughout. However, in spite of Born This Way’s flaws, Gaga is certainly on the right track and the offering sees her quite literally on the edge of (musical) glory.