First, I dug deeper into which platforms paid the artist more and discovered that Spotify was the worst. Apple Music was a little better, so I changed. Yet still I missed the ritual. I missed holding music in my hands, being able to listen anywhere, but also offline, unplugged, without a screen, and unobserved. I missed knowing that even if the internet disappeared, my music wouldn’t.
So I started rebuilding.
I found my old cassette collection and started to buy vinyl. I also started to collect audio files again, not so much MP3s but more FLAC and MP4, and in a higher uncompressed quality. Because that was another discovery I made. Streaming makes the quality go down because you have to compress the size of the file. And with my Dolby Atmos system, I can also play spatial audio.
And in this process, I found something I’d lost: My music collection again.
Yes, I still stream and use it like I used to use the radio for discovery of a popular hit. But in the ownership of music of artists I want to support and music I want to listen and listen to again and again. The feeling of being grounded in something that’s mine, that is now my new, still small music collection.
Why does it matter, and am I sharing this?
In a world that increasingly demands connectivity, being able to listen offline (truly offline) has become an act of self-care for me. Also, it’s a way of truly supporting the artists you care for.
This isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about claiming back the right to curate our world. Streaming has its place, but it should be a supplement, not a replacement.
It’s also why we, with Flower of Sound, allow you to truly own your sound again. With the added benefit, you don’t need to be online to listen to the sonic tools, which in the end is better for your well-being as well.
Elise de Bres
Missed the earlier post? Catch up here:
