A musical constant

Every now and again I take to the sofa with a Coffee or a Beer and watch a film from my youth. They typically aren't the greatest films in the world, they tend not to be classics and upon re-watching their flaws can become more than apparent. But these are films that at their time of original watching, struck a chord.

One such film, and the one I watched this morning, is 1995's Empire Records. The basic premise of the film is that a bunch of impossibly good looking and improbably cool American teenagers try to save the independent record store they work at from turning into a typical corporate retail music outlet. It's a tale as old as Hollywood's realisation that teenagers spend money and think adults are dumb. Naturally, they win the day and all sorts of emotional, romantic and personal issues are resolved in the course of a single workday. It's all very inspiring stuff.

Having watched it again for the first time in years there are a couple of things that I noticed. Apart from the whole Hollywood fairy tale aspect to the story, it's odd to think that with the benefit of hindsight the victory they won in keeping the store out of the hands of a corporation seems rather hollow. When I first saw this film 15 years ago the only place to get music you could 'own' was in a record shop, selling music on CD and vinyl was one of those facts of life, and fighting to keep an independent music shop was a plot that was easy to buy into, but the last 15 years has seen a sea change in how music is sold.

With few exceptions modern record shops seem to be outlets for movies, box sets of popular TV shows and console games. What little music that is available is Simon Cowell approved, or greatest hits and selections from the top 100. Good luck trying to find Ben Folds' album of a Cappella cover versions of his better known tracks.

The one thing that does stand the test of time from Empire Records (apart from the future careers of Liv Tyler and Renee Zellweger) is that the music is still with us. Despite the realisations that life is not like the movies or that music no longer requires a physical stock control system, it's the passion that people feel for the actual music that gives this film it's last remaining foothold in reality.

Decent independent music shops on your high street may have gone the way of the Dodo and the idea that all of life's issues can be resolved in a day thanks to an impromptu gig on the roof without anyone getting arrested (even the Beatles got arrested for that) was never true. But the final scene during the end credits where two of the films' characters passionately argue about which band has the better bass style, Primus or The Pixies, is one of the few scenes that feels real, and perhaps more tellingly, could still be played out 15 years later and not feel dated.

While in Aachen in the Summer of 1992 I listened to music on a personal stereo that used an iron coated plastic tape to store low fidelity music that I had purchased on the high street. Today I use digital media to store high resolution music purchased from an on-line store. While the technology for playback and distribution has advanced, I'm still listening to that same Tori Amos track I was listening to almost 20 years ago, and while the version I listen to today sounds infinitely better, it still has the power to transport me back to that summer I listened to it on a beaten up Walkman. Regardless of all the changes in life or technology in 20 years, the music remains the same.