My CD Player Has Entered the Chat

Apparently, retro is trending.

I discovered this on Instagram, where I was informed that CDs, DVDs, vinyl and all sorts of things I thought had been quietly consigned to history are having a comeback.

Which is funny.

Because I had no idea I was following a trend (or did I start it? Hehe).

I had simply bought myself a CD and DVD player.

It was a birthday present that I chose, paid for with an Amazon birthday gift card my Maasi Rekha gave me. And honestly, it was one of those purchases that felt less like buying something new and more like opening a door I had forgotten was there.

I have a rather ridiculous collection of CDs. And DVDs. And (not so ridiculus collection of) vinyl.

Happy Birthday

The vinyl obsession goes back a long way. At Gostana, we started BYOV, Bring Your Own Vinyl, back in 2013. People would turn up with their records, we'd put them on, and the evening would unfold around the music.

So vinyl isn't exactly a new discovery for me.

But the CDs had been sitting there.

Waiting.

And now, suddenly, they're playing again.

The first thing I realised was that listening to a CD feels strangely different from opening Spotify.

Maybe it's because I have to actually decide what I'm going to listen to.

Maybe it's because I can see the cover, the artwork, the little booklet tucked inside. Maybe it's because I remember where I bought some of them, who introduced me to them, where I was when I first heard them.

Or maybe it's simply because I own these songs.

Some of my CD covers and sleeves are actually framed and displayed in my Acoustic Flavours kitchen. Little fragments of music turned into objects, quietly existing alongside spices, conversations and whatever is cooking that day.

They don't just represent albums anymore. They've become part of the space itself.

And here's the really interesting bit...

Before Spotify Knew Me

There are things sitting on my shelves that take me straight back to a time when finding music required a little more work.

Take “Billy Boola” by Gavin Friday and Bono, from In The Name of the Father. It's one of those songs I have because I bought the soundtrack, listened to it, and kept it. There are also songs from Bend It Like Beckham and Monsoon Wedding that became part of my musical memory.

Some of those soundtrack tracks aren't currently available on Spotify. And even when the music eventually finds its way onto streaming platforms, something about owning the original soundtrack still feels different.

And then there are the compilations.

The ones from the 90s.

No Alternative, released in 1993, was one of those records that felt like a whole musical universe in one package. Alternative rock, artists I was discovering, songs I probably wouldn't have stumbled across otherwise. It was a compilation put together by the Red Hot Organization, a charity raising money and awareness for AIDS relief.

Then there's Sweet Relief: A Benefit for Victoria Williams, also from 1993. A collection of alternative and grunge-adjacent artists covering Victoria Williams after she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Pearl Jam, Soul Asylum and others came together for the album, and the project eventually led to the Sweet Relief Musicians Fund.

These weren't just albums you listened to.

They were maps.

They pointed you towards artists, sounds and entire musical worlds.

And then there was Australia.

Triple J was my favourite radio station, and I collected their annual Top 100 compilations. Imagine discovering a hundred songs that had made an Australian radio station's year-end list and then taking that music home with you.

These were songs and artists that I wasn’t necessarily coming across in India at the time.

And I don’t mean that in a “we knew better” sort of way.

It’s simply that my own access to music was shaped by where I was, what I was exposed to, and what I actively went looking for.

A lot of the international music I discovered back then was music I stumbled upon through compilations, radio, friends, or sheer chance. If I was deeply into a particular genre, I could absolutely dig much further. But there was no Spotify search box waiting patiently for me to type in the name of some band I’d never heard of.

You had to find the music.

Sometimes the radio found it for you.

Sometimes a friend did.

Sometimes you bought a compilation because one song caught your ear and discovered nine more things you hadn't known existed.

And perhaps that's why I'm enjoying this ridiculous CD player so much.

I'm not simply listening to old music.

I'm opening old doors.

I'm pulling out CDs I haven't listened to in years. I'm finding things I'd forgotten I owned. I'm remembering why I bought them in the first place.

And occasionally I'm thinking:

Why on earth did I buy this?

Which brings me to the DVDs.

Because once you've gone down the physical-media rabbit hole, apparently there is no graceful exit.

I've started watching movies again. Old movies. Movies I haven't thought about in years.

And then came Bombay Boys.

Or rather, my discovery that I too had the Hindi version of Bombay Boys.

Naveen Andrews, why are you breaking my heart again?

Some things, perhaps, are better left exactly where you remember them.

And maybe that's the thing about all this so-called retro revival.

I'm not sure I want the past back.

I just like being able to visit it.

A CD, a DVD, a vinyl record. They are all little invitations to go rummaging through another version of yourself.

And if Gen Z has now decided that all this stuff is retro and therefore cool, that's sweet.

Because if No Alternative, Sweet Relief, Triple J Top 100s, ITNOTF, The Million Dollar Hotel (I can do a podcast on this one), Monsoon Wedding, Bend It Like Beckham, Temple of the Dog and all those slightly odd little soundtrack discoveries are now officially “retro”...

Well.

I was apparently living through a very good time in music.

And I didn't even know it was going to become retro.

For now, I'll be over here, listening to a CD that Spotify doesn't know exists.

Apparently, my CD player has entered the chat.