I’d always thought it an elaborate hoax, an old husbands’ tale, that elephants never forget. But I recently found that it’s actually true, proven by research. Like, if you own a farm and some wild elephants pop up to destroy your crops and you somehow manage to chase them away (which in itself is easier said than done), the same creatures will one day return and mess you up. They will diligently crush every seed of rice, wheat, barley, maize, peas and bajra you’ve ever planted. Then they’ll laugh hysterically and give each other high-fives with their trunks. Us humans, though, are not like that. We’re a forgetful bunch.
Like how sometimes, I’m scrolling through Facebook aimlessly, with a blank look on my face. I’ll see a link to a song, which will start auto-playing. Even as the song is midway through, just before the greatest bridge section ever written is about to kick in, I’ll spot a GIF of a baby sucking on a wedge of lime for the first time in her life and freaking out. So I’ll watch that instead and giggle to myself. The song will stop playing, and within seconds, I’ll have forgotten all about it. Poof . It’s been erased from my consciousness. Then I’ll continue scrolling.
It’s not my fault though. Consider this: Apple Music and Spotify both have around 30 million songs on their streaming service (according to some not-very-reliable websites). At a generous average of four minutes a song, it would take a little over 228 years for a person to go through the entire library of one of these platforms just the once. (An Apple Music subscription costs Rs. 120 a month, which comes to Rs. 3 lakh-something over two centuries. Even accounting for inflation and demonetisation, that doesn’t sound like a lot of money.)
The roundabout point I am trying to make is that today, more than ever, our auditory sense is being battered with more music than we can consume. There’s only so much our brains can absorb. We have the problem of excessive access which, if you think about it, isn’t really a problem at all. Further, the way we hear music has changed as well. Millennials, especially, have been through several different technological upgrades, from tapes to CDs to illegal downloads to iTunes to streaming services. Recommendations, too, range from quick glances across social media to, say, rushed playlists made by others on Apple Music. So, naturally, a lot of really good quality music flies under the radar or is missed completely. Or just forgotten.
It’s easy to pin modern listening habits, and their alleged frivolity and deterioration, on technology and poor attention spans. That’s arguably true. But more than that, it’s the fact that the sheer heft of the media at our disposal today is overwhelming. How do I decide what next to listen to, and for how long? According to a Wikipedia entry, 78 albums were released in January 2016 alone, a list featuring mostly well-known artistes from the U.S. and the U.K. Compounding that over the whole year, that’s an insane number to sift through, just to be able to find the music that’d interest them.
This is where the idea of the “narrative” becomes all-pervasive. In 2016, more than ever, we “curated” our opinion. We sought out other, similar-minded folk, mostly online, borrowing and sponging their opinion and passing it off as our own. We had a seed of a thought, found the idea better articulated elsewhere, lifted it, and ran with it. We formed a collective with people who had ideas on music and art and pop culture that corresponded with our own world view, and clung to it. It’s only natural.
The problem arises when the reactions become outsized and extreme. Albums are lauded as all-time greats, only to fall by the wayside, out of circulation, within a couple of weeks. Longevity is circumvented (or overlooked) — by listeners, by reviewers and critics, often even by the artistes — in favour of instant platitudes and hyperbole. In 2015, a record called Currents by Australian rockers Tame Impala came out. It was a dramatic departure from their sound, moving from guitars and contemporary rock ’n’ roll to synths and electronics, residing in a constricted, self-contained space. Currents was a massive critical success, a supposed masterpiece, a modern-day equivalent of landmark experimental albums such as Kid A by Radiohead or My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless . Barely a year-and-a-half later, Currents is nowhere to be seen, even as the timeless quality of the other two is much discussed.
The knee-jerk quality of modern-day music consumption is probably how this year is going to be remembered (or should be). The hoopla, the buzz, the hype, the hysteria, followed by total apathy. A complete expurgation. Poof . Remember how Kanye West, at the beginning of the year, was the biggest damn name in pop music universally, and his album, The Life of Pablo , was all anyone could ever talk about? Not so much today.
The narrative extends beyond music too, stretching into how pop culture itself is consumed. It’s a kind of bandwagon-hopping that, while understandable, is still a little irksome. For instance, several major international publications have gravely deemed 2016 as “the year the music died”. No sir, it did not. A whole bunch of influential musicians died which, while of course being a terrible tragedy, is just one part of what happened. Nevertheless, the year has been conveniently shaded with gloom and misery.
Of course, heavyweights such as David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, Prince and, most recently, George Michael, have shaped so much of contemporary pop music that it becomes essential to commemorate their lives and their music. There’s absolutely no debate around that.
But the Grim Reaper quality of 2016, to me, seems to gloss over so many of the things that happened alongside all the deaths. There were tonnes of fantastic albums that came out, with so many big names experimenting with the album as a form (and how to promote it) and doing their best to reimagine the concept in the modern age. The year saw major releases by Radiohead, Beyonce, Kanye West, Frank Ocean, and several others. (And, in fact, David Bowie and Leonard Cohen too released albums before their deaths, albums that have been critically celebrated.) It’s an exciting time, when the entire industry — from artists to listeners to the money-people — is constantly moving, forever searching for ways to stay relevant and reach out. So I’m going to be a major buzzkill and suggest that 2016 was in fact a great year for music, narrative aside.
Akhil Sood is a freelance culture writer from New Delhi who wishes he’d studied engineering instead.
