Nostalgia and the Rules of Ownership
I just finished my collection of 80s pop records. I wasn’t looking for anything epic. I knew of a few bands and wanted as many of their songs as I could get my hands on. The search is complete, and I feel better for having the singles. I have all of the 7” records from “Two People” a band that didn’t last that long and never got to release a full-length album. They got to release quite a few singles, however. They’re best one (arguably one of the best songs of the 80s) is linked below:
The thing is, their last single was rough. I think I still doled out about twenty dollars to get my hands on it, even though the song was on YouTube and I knew it was bad. And even now, as I listen to the song and decide it isn’t worth converting to my iTunes account, I’m still excited that I own some small slice of obscure history.
Why?
Why, even though I have converted the actual songs I like from this band, do I feel the urge to play the records and listen to the vinyl? I think on some level it makes me feel closer to the history, closer to the band.
Somehow this plastic disc was crafted with the hopes and dreams of many people, and the record, the vinyl that never made it far enough to warrant cassette or CD translation, represents a potential energy that never was released. Somehow I’ve convinced myself that I’m capable of releasing this potential energy by spreading word of this band. But I myself will most likely end up being an obscure relic that few know about outside of my small circle of acquaintances and friends. So why do I think I have this power?
I ask the same questions when I collect Nintendo games. When websites like Retro Uprising have virtually every video game that has ever been made available free of charge, why does it matter if I have a CIB copy of Chiller, the most violent game on the NES? Why do I care about shit like this? Obviously someone out there has taken the core data and they have made it available for public consumption, much like folks on YouTube have made songs from the records I collect available. Why do I have the urge to own this shit and make it mine? Why do we have this impulse that shatters the very premise of open-source philosophy?
Why must we own things?
This is a question I still struggle with. For me a large part of the answer boils down to an anxiety that all of the shit will disappear. I’ve seen it happen too many times. My YouTube account features playlists in which half of the songs I have, have been deleted by user or removed by WMG. Netflix is the same way. We donated Dexter Season I to salvation army because it was on Netflix. It is gone now (I think it has returned since I wrote this), and in many cases Netflix isn’t offering the same selections in live stream, and downloadable content found on iTunes, we’re discovering, isn’t really ours. We’re just paying to borrow or rent the material until we die. So we can’t pass it on or share it legally.
Open source, even material you must buy that is available in cloud and personal format, can be wiped. Kindle is the same way. In 2009 1984 got wiped from a bunch of kindles.
History has taught us to distrust open source, and even material we pay for that is thought to be universally available. It keeps consumer culture rolling in a world where consumer culture should realistically be dead.
For some reason my generation wants iconic representation of the things they own. It has to be tangible for some reason. I think this is the reason the SONY GoPlay failed. It is weird because they actually seemed to realize the importance of tangible products and made cases for their downloadable games. So you could buy the case to add to your collection . . . but it only had a downloadable game code inside.
It struck me as unsettling as well. I don’t want to own something that could potentially be deleted from my internet-connected device.
Strange business for sure. Sure as rain, the PS Vita came out featuring a mini cartridge system once more. SONY went back to square one. The world isn’t ready for exclusively downloadable content.
Companies are trying to make the jump. They are allowing people to buy DVD or Blue Ray and then download a digital version of the film. So we get both for the price of one.
Going back to the nostalgia thing, for some reason we need to own or be able to hold these relics of the past because we fear they will disappear from the internet, much in the same way they did from our childhood.
Truthfully, garage sales, loss, theft, trading, these things create a great anxiety among the consumers, and they are constantly aware of the impermanence of the shit they own. It could disappear at any time, so they must own it and protect it.
So what are the seeming “rules of ownership” in our society?
Ownership must be private. We must be able to own it outside of the world around us.
Ownership must guarantee some degree of permanence, at least permanence within our control.
The nostalgia product owned must not only grant license to the owner. It must reflect the product as it was originally experienced by the owner.
What are some of the other tenets of ownership we seem to have in our society, particularly associated with nostalgia-inspired purchases?
