Lament of a Lost Art For(u)m

Back in the 1970s, before Vinyl Album sales started to plummet, most everybody knew, where their local record stores were, and usually had a favorite, or two, to which they were more loyal, than the rest. Those shops were so ubiquitous, in the face of our urban streetscapes, that some attained landmark status. Growing up in Toronto, the Sam the Record Man chain's iconic twin LPs were as often evoked in describing directions, as they were symbols of our destination. If radio helped to cause our addiction, record stores were our dealers, and we were not, ever, long from our next fix.

From the moment of our arrival, at these dangerous halls, that could spell short term financial ruin to many a teen, we were inundated with visual stimuli, from every angle, even as we could only listen to one tune, at a time. As a forum, the album art we were surrounded by, may have singly exposed more impressionable minds, on a personal level, to a visual art form, than any other.

The way music was sold, then, produced an effect of storefronts acting not only as retail outlets for the music publishing industry, but, as a side effect, as showrooms for album art. Of course, there was a synergy. Often, we would develop an interest in an album based on what was visually attractive, which would lead to listening to the content. In fact, those brick and mortars were so lucrative, and as a result equally prevalent, that we city dwellers often found ourselves face to face, being introduced to new art, both in the audio and visual media, while randomly passing by, or by innocently standing curb-side.

These twelve and three eights inch square, printed card stock, mass produced works of art, were frequently to be seen strung together in a dizzying pattern repeat that added a kaleidoscopic element to our awareness of these works.

This format, when studied at arm's length, revealed sufficient detail, to allow a good level of appreciation, of some intimacy. As much of the song/artist information was published on the covers, we often had the propensity to study them, while taking some sacred personal time to listen to the record. More often than not, this was the time, during which previously unseen details appeared to us. Some were dark, others humorous, and others yet simply interesting, but this increasing familiarity always seemed to help us to connect with the music on a deeper level. From Coltrane's pensive contemplation to Yes' utopian worlds, across Nirvana's social commentary, and beyond Pink Floyd's enigmatic imagery, to The Misfits, and Black Sabbath's over the top seriousness, from RUN-DMC's businesslike toughness to the Beastie Boys' playfulness, the covers not only had to be iconic representations that reflected a musical genre, but capture the audience's imagination, as well. Even the simplest, cleanest portraits were a study in that duality, often capturing a style, or a feel that fans adopted. The artists had to embody, or visually represent the ethos of the content of the album, as well as the band's overall aesthetic, and, in the case of established acts, had to position the artwork in context with preceding works. In its most evolved form, the artwork managed to add another layer to the rich texture of a band's mystique.

Where Yes fans would look forward to the tactile connection between themselves and one of Roger Dean's new illustrations, followers of the Clash could feed their need for the expression of anarchy and anger from the implied violence and aggression represented on that band's latest release. By the time that band's seminal third album's cover art was designed, they'd already permitted themselves a jeering reply to mock rocker Elvis Presley's eponymous debut. While this was surely not the earliest instance of a sort of visual retort, is was, with even greater certainty, also not the last, with the range of intent spanning form ridicule to homage. The variety of work one could find, was as limitless as artist's imagination, and we who were exposed to it, were enriched by it.

The closeness many of us feel, to this for of art, springs, in part, from the tactile interface of having held the newly released work in our hands. We touched them, when they were in the record stores, and had even the feel and texture integrate into the knowledge of the object.

Today, even though sales of the 33 1/3 RPM format are rebounding, the brick and mortar stores selling vinyl neither have the presence they once did, nor do the few that do exist possess the magnetic, sometimes even frenetic draw, that massive music industry ad campaigns frequently produced.

As music sales have morphed from LP, to CD to digital downloads, we've lost a sumptuous luxury. While the format initially shrunk to less than on quarter of its original size, it eventually faded, almost completely, from its once esteemed role. Even though long playing vinyl records have seen a resurgence, in recent years, with 2013 marking a 33% increase from the previous year (a 22 year record), neither they, nor their packaging will ever again reach the level of cultural significance they once enjoyed, in terms of placing a visual art form in the public eye.