I have a problem. Every time I walk into Target with the intention of buying one or two things, without fail, I find myself mindlessly gravitating towards the vinyl and CD section. 

This routine started in seventh grade, when my music taste began to branch out from whatever was on the radio to what I actually enjoyed listening to. I thought to myself: what better way to keep track of my favorite artists and albums than to collect the physical media that they were releasing? 

There is something about the tangible feeling of putting a record onto my record player or spinning a CD in my cheap CD player that makes me feel more connected to the music. It feels like the music is mine, playing for only me, and I love directly supporting the artist too. Sitting in my room and feeling the music in my bones is like my own personal concert. Since then, my Christmas wishlists have contained the all-too-familiar Target gift card that I regularly allocate to buying physical albums. 

I’ve always felt a little guilty about it, as I’ve been blessed with a Spotify premium family plan, but being able to listen to a full album the way it was created to be listened to with a deliberately organized tracklist elevates the experience exponentially. I’ve begun to set aside time every day to listen to my records or CDs all the way through, even the songs I don’t enjoy as much. This is because every song is so specifically chosen to be part of an album–it’s a puzzle piece that makes up the whole artwork and is intentionally included for some reason or another. I find value in enjoying the full span of the album while recognizing all the decisions and choices made to optimize the record and make it the best it can be.

 It’s helped me enjoy music more; instead of mindlessly shuffling through my playlists or skipping songs halfway through. There’s a value in sitting through and absorbing the music, rather than being impatient and just flipping through each song. Part of what I love about CDs and records is how I can’t fast forward and rewind, and I can digest the music easier and slower.

The habit of moving away from digital music comes directly from a term called “streaming fatigue,” a phrase popularized as a way to describe how Gen Z is responding to the consistent media overload. As popular services like Hulu, Youtube, and Spotify grow more and more riddled with advertisements, people are wanting to revert back to tangible media in an effort to eliminate that feeling of overstimulation and interruption from ads. Apps like Spotify and Apple Music can be difficult to navigate. They promote blends and playlists that take away from, in my opinion, the joy of supporting an album. 

I feel that music sounds better on vinyl. The sound is higher quality compared to playing the music digitally where the files are compressed and restricted—oftentimes robbing the listener of a deeper listening experience. When in a recording studio, artists have to send off their music to a distribution center where the sound waves of the music take form as grooves on the record and can be reproduced manually. This gives the music a more authentic, analog approach, whereas digital music is downloaded and redistributed all through a computer–oftentimes not being an exact match to the physical recording.

But knowing all this, my favorite part of collecting records is the community that’s fostered when people can connect over music, especially in a tangible way. Just like sharing a hobby, collecting music creates a bond between music lovers alike. While records can be pricey at times, there’s truly no better feeling than going into a record store and striking up a conversation with the owner about a limited pressing of your favorite album, or sifting through the piles and piles of old vinyls and picking up something new to try. The physicality and community of shopping for music is a habit I hope to never break and continue to love as I grow older.