What do a necklace, a Target gift card, and a SanDisk USB drive have in common? They were all gifts from my grandfather for Christmas of 2021. The small USB drive, shorter than my index finger, contained a mammoth of music- 2,000 songs curated by my grandfather over the years, 132 of which had to be Shazamed, containing no title or artist. Among all of these songs was also a Word document with a typed up letter, which began “The gift of music has always been the greatest gift others have given to me.” More than just a thumb drive, my grandfather had given me the greatest gift he could give, and that I could receive. 

Over the years, I’ve shuffled through those songs now and then, but admittedly, have taken the vast array of music shared with me for granted. Recently, I felt my own playlists becoming exhausted; I was skipping every song as I shuffled album after album in my library, and I pulled out the old USB drive in hopes of rediscovering music that I wasn’t as familiar with finding some new favorites out of the mix. 

More valuable than the thousands of songs was another part of the letter that was left for me. “Your Grandmother would always love to listen to her top favorite songs, write down the lyrics, then further investigate the writer’s life history and times so as to understand the true meaning in the lyric’s poetry,” the letter read. Maybe the music I listened to wasn’t the problem, but instead, how I listened to it. 

Finding an appreciation for music is arguably more important than finding new music in general; I already had thousands of songs downloaded and had skimmed through playlist after playlist without considering that every lyric, every beat, every chord represented something important for the artist behind it.

Fiona Apple, by far one of my favorite artists, and easily one of the most poetic, is an artist who, “won’t write a song unless it serves me in some way, unless I feel I have to write the song to make myself feel better,” she says. “If you’re not overflowing with something, there’s nothing to give,” Apple explained. 

This anecdote of writing songs as an outlet for emotion holds true across the board for many artists; the vulnerability that overflows with every word sung and pulses through every note is something that can’t go overlooked by listeners, for risk of undermining the song’s meaning. 

Another artist whose music is as openly vulnerable as Apple’s, becoming increasingly resurgent in the headphones of many, is Jeff Buckley. Recently, I got a copy of “Jeff Buckley: His Own Voice,” a book loaded with pages upon pages of Buckley’s personal journals and hand-written lyrics. To witness his art visually rather than audibly, to see his lyrics scrawled in hasty pen and to imagine the urgency to put his feelings onto paper, changed the way I listened to his music.

Another habit to gain as a listener is listening and reading. I’ve found myself listening to an album through, absorbing the sound, then giving it a second listen and really paying attention to the lyrics as though they were a poem. This experience can even be heightened by understanding the artist themselves. Just as millions of songs are easily accessible through technology, so is endless information about the people who created them. Even demo tapes and alternate tracks, now easier to access than ever, allow for a deeper understanding of the song’s evolution and can enhance how a song is heard. 

Recently, I got my hands on Minor Threat’s Out of Step Outtakes, a three-song 7” EP along with a note from band member Ian Mackaye. The record has a demo and alternate takes of songs, along with breaks of the band arguing over the release of the songs they were playing. Not only did I get to hear these songs in their rawest form, but also got to learn about how they came to be released, giving me an even greater appreciation and insight into a favorite band of mine. 

The artists just mentioned were primarily releasing music around the 1990’s. Some argue that today’s releases mean less, allowing an entire time period of music to be stereotyped into a single category, but there are plenty of meaningful and creative artists today just as there were decades ago. Modern streaming services have normalized having millions upon millions of songs easily accessible at our fingertips, but there is something to be gained from slowing down to appreciate each one. What really has changed is our modern methods of listening to music, a habit that will have an effect on all music, new or not.

Still on my mission to adopt the same observance of music as my grandparents, I had come to realize that one of the largest differences between my grandparents and me is the medium of music used, which undoubtedly plays a part in appreciating what’s playing. My grandfather and grandmother primarily were playing records as opposed to a shuffled and easy to skip through playlist like many modern day listeners. I own a little under a hundred records, but, to my own shame, let them collect dust more than I let them spin on my player, often opting instead for my headphones and a playlist I can skim through at my own will.

Part of my music appreciation journey was putting my collection to good use; listening to one artist’s album for a good 45 minutes to an hour in a row, without skipping through, and listening in the intended order, is something that has allowed me to fully take in the songs and the poetry behind them. Another important aspect of physical media, be it records or CD’s, is the art that accompanies them; lyric sheets, posters, photographs, even the record itself serve the album’s aesthetic and highlight the artistic visions of the artist.

The art of listening to music at this slower, attentive pace doesn’t require records, but patience and thought. Even with streaming services, soaking in music rather than letting it become background noise is an experience taken for granted. Music itself is a language that, when heard, can let listeners connect with the artist. Often taken for granted, the gift of music is the greatest gift that keeps on giving.