Lost

Two weeks ago my hard drive died and everything on it was lost. Let's just say that my annual Blue Screen Of Death was a bit overdue and that I should have been better prepared for this (read: in possession of a backup hard drive). My most important, irreplaceable work-related files were backed up elsewhere, but about 9 GB of mp3's were irretrievably lost.

I wasn't particularly bothered by this (I was thankful for my complete care warranty though), mainly because -- to my numbed surprise -- I could barely remember what music had been on there. I knew I had over 1 GB of albums from 2006, but I couldn't immediately recall which ones I had beyond my four or five favourites, and felt very little need to recover most of them. Storage space is so cheap that I usually don't bother deleting anything unless I actively dislike it. Once the new Flaming Lips album was on my hard drive it was a non-decision to keep it there, but now that's it's gone, I'm not in the slightest rush to get it back because I didn't particularly care for it to begin with. There were several dozen unclassified tracks floating about, but damned if I can remember more than 10-15 of them (note to self: reacquire "Ms New Booty").
Can anyone possibly justify keeping over 1 GB of live Animal Collective mp3's on their hard drive (on top of the 600 or so MB already burned elsewhere)? How many live versions of "The Purple Bottle" does one person need? (OK, scratch that, you can never have too many versions of "The Purple Bottle")

So now, my computer runs like new thanks to the Windows reinstallation. In parallel with my mp3 replacement strategy, I'm in no hurry to reinstall every last thing because my computer's memory and hard drive were bogged down with a bunch of programs that I probably don't need at this very moment. I bought a backup HD (but not a DVD burner to back THAT up ... a mathematical induction problem awaits me), discovered that many of those Furtwaengler and William Basinski tracks were a lot easier to find again than expected, and replaced the essentials (Bardo Fucking Pond) with some new blood (Lisa Germano ... oh man, more on this another time). In all, I trimmed the digital fat and my computer is likely better off because of it -- I would almost recommend that everyone should have their HD wiped out at least once in their lives!

But it all made me wonder what other inessentials I'm saving. If half of my current CD collection suddenly evaporated, would I be that upset about it (besides the hammer to the head feeling of calculating how much I paid for all those discs)? I could go for years without hearing large parts of my collection simply because there's so much to wade through. What would I really miss? The strange thing is, I think I would miss a great deal of it, in part because I think a music collection is no different from a book or painting collection. It's as strong as its whole, and each CD fills a small but unique niche. People don't read every book on their shelves every year, or even every ten years, but it's nice to know that certain books are there when you need them. Sometimes you don't need them and it's enough for you to know that they're a playing their part in this tiny bit of your life's overall work. And the best part of all -- reappreciating and reevaluating music after neglecting it for years is a fantastic feeling.

Konono No 1, Jamie Lidell @ Harbourfront Main Stage (part of Beats, Breaks, and Culture)

Despite all the flaws in his set (bad PA system or shitty gear or a combination of both, keyboards that wouldn't work unexpectedly, keeping his gear in tune, a sloppy mix in which the percussion swamped the sludgy bass tones that sounded as if they were being played through a decaying guitar amp, the tendency to make Jamiroquai comparisons whenever a white British male makes an attempt at R&B, the overwhelming feeling that Brinkmann as Soul Center did a much better job with this minimal funk thing with the exception of the vocals), Jamie Lidell is onto something.

My number one expectation from Konono No 1 live was that they sound exactly like their "Congotronics" record. Everything over and above that would be gravy. Oh, and there were some other questions I needed answered, like "what sort of drum do they use for that rattling snare-esque sound?" (answer: it's not a drum, it's a hi-hat fed through a really shitty mic) and "do they use any sort of bass other than those thumb pianos?" (answer: no). In this case, the gravy was a huge group of white Torontonians getting down to an hour and a half of raw minimalism. The last (and probably only) time I saw anything like that in this city was the Scion + Tikiman show in 2002. And since this was the last show I will see in Toronto for a while, it's nice to go away knowing that people CAN learn some new tricks around these parts.

Berlin Music Stores -- the update

I swore that I wouldn't buy vinyl on this trip and I managed to keep that promise to myself. The planned Hard Wax swingby never materialized for unrelated reasons, I blame the World Cup. "Blame".

I spent a lot of time in Kreuzberg during the six days I was there, which was enough time for Spacehall to join my pantheon of Berlin music stores. Oddly enough, the further you walk into the store, the greater the riches become. The front is devoted to an unexceptional selection of indie rock, but a few steps further back is one of the grandest collections of rare early-to-mid 90's techno and rave compilations I've ever seen. The electronic and ambient CD sections are solid, but they pale next to the stunning quality of vinyl in the store's back room. Besides a top notch selection of new records, they keep a dazzling array of prominent techno artists perpetually in stock -- where else can you be sure to see about 30-40 records by the likes of Surgeon or Richie Hawtin or Speedy J, covering their entire careers and containing several rare gems?

With its expanded space (and vinyl stock), Dense easily remains on top of the Berlin heap. Every second inside that store is another second of trying to not look too conspicuous while my money burns a hole in my pocket. I managed to escape with about 40% of my remaining cash and CDs by Sensational, Final, plus a few Berlin noise/improv artists. Onward to Neurotitan, which is even more dominated by comics and artwork than I remember. In concerted symmetry, its CD stocks felt even more dominated by obscure and local noise.

A few words about the Saturday night clubbing experience: after wandering through roads that were paved over with bottles (fallout from the Germany vs Sweden celebration) we were denied entry to a Perlon night at Watergate (f. Luciano, Zip, Sammy Dee) on account of the bouncer's dissatisfaction at the guy/girl ratio inside the club. Modeselektor, Plaid, and Jega at Club Maria made for a fine Plan B. Despite the mountains of recent hype, Modeselektor sounded like the 3rd or 4th coming of Heckmann at times. On the night's rankings, they trailed far behind Plaid's thick, tuneful anthems as well as Jega's snowstorm of dnb and Confield-era Autechre-ish beats. Jega's onslaught brought the intensity of black metal, and in that vein, he played for only 30-40 minutes, followed by a near-instant crash of energy on my part.