Children are not nostalgic, but, unbeknownst to them at the time, they are filing away the experience memories upon which their later nostalgia will be based.
That is, if they turn out to be nostalgia-prone. Not everyone is. I’m not a psychologist so I can’t say whether nostalgia is more common in people whose self-told stories include a happy childhood, versus those who’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that they were happy to escape that stage of life.
I’m not sure if I’m nostalgic or not. If so, it’s awfully selective. I have no interest in websites or blogs or social media platforms where people my age engage in “remember-when?” On the other hand, if you show me a receiver or amplifier from the 1970s in perfect condition—the big ones, with mahogany cases and brushed-aluminum faces, with needle gauges and heavy, balance-weighted dials, my eyes will get big and covetous. That’s an aesthetic thing—I get it. But I also have a bias that these were more robustly-built for longevity than what we make now.
I’ve written here before about the phenomenon of the vinyl LP revival—which, it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out, is part of the more general appeal of “analog” technology in an overwhelmingly “digital” society. I pointed out that the attraction is entirely aesthetic, regardless of any counter-argument one might hear, and I stand by that.
These examples remind us that we can’t understand technological choice without seriously considering aesthetics. It will be the exception, not the rule, when we conclude that a certain choice had nothing to do with aesthetics.
Is nostalgia, and the accompanying turning-away from novelty, so common in people with the same hair color as mine, just a wistful longing for youth, or aspects of it, when it is clearly gone forever? Is it indicative of a discomfort with the new, an end to the willingness to learn and adapt to change? Or is it, in part, a realization that novelty isn’t, in fact, all that? That older technologies still have something to offer, besides aesthetics? These of course are not mutually-exclusive possibilities. They’re also personally-relevant examples of what we might call the psychology of technology, for a lot of people.
UNC Press just put out a book called High Bias: The Distorted History of the Cassette Tape. I haven’t read it, but I saw a review. It argues that the cassette tape was a technology that encouraged a “communal exchange” of music, defying absolute corporate control of recordings, and that its physicality offers a counterpoint to the thoroughly intangible digital audio file.
I had an intimate relationship with the cassette tape when I was at the age when popular music is an elemental component of life. I bought high-quality cassettes, and did technically-illegal things with them that no one could stop me from doing—recording songs off FM radio when they came on, recording LPs and CDs, and making mixes. All three were commonplace. We also knew that the cassettes we recorded ourselves were of much higher audio quality than the cassettes offered for sale by the record labels—at less than half the price.
Aside from high audio quality, the most desirable features in a tape deck were those that allowed for a more easily-selective playback experience—particularly seek, both forward and backward, and auto-reverse, so you didn’t have to pop out the cassette and re-insert it to play the other side. Standard auto-reverse compromised audio quality on the reverse side, but the best decks had a version of it that overcame that limitation.
Someone accustomed to digital music will read this and think, “Any digital music platform will do all of that quicker, easier, and with more user flexibility.” That is correct. Cassettes were more amenable to pick-and-choose listening than LPs, but CDs were easier to skip around on, and digital streaming music even easier.
The reality is, the best-quality digital streaming platforms offer the most user control without any of the compromises of technologies in which a playback device—needle, tape head—contacts the recording, ultimately wearing it out.
I love streaming music. It fulfilled a fantasy of mine when I was recording cassettes: that you could just magically punch up whatever tracks you wanted, from some sort of jukebox in the sky. I adopted it early; I used Napster before the industry won their lawsuit against them. I “ripped” all my CDs onto a hard drive—all 1,000+ of them. That CD collection cost about $15,000.00. I pay ten bucks a month to stream Amazon Music Premium, with lossless files.
On the other hand, I lust after two Jaguar XKs, and could be overjoyed to own either one of them. The earlier one, the XK8, was in production from 1996 to 2006 (U.S. models). The replacement, the XK, came out here for 2007 and ended in 2015. Starting in 2002, if memory serves, the XK8 offered an optional sat-nav screen. Now, it looks pitifully small and you haven’t been able to update the maps (stored on a CD) since 2003. If you didn’t opt for the sat-nav (at extra cost, of course), you got the same three needle gauges on the dash that the early models had. Those cars are now more desirable to buyers. Including me (a wanna-be buyer). It’s aesthetic, for sure, but is it also some sort of “reverse novelty”? Meaning, have we gotten accustomed enough to “infotainment” in cars that something different—even if it’s old—is appealing as novelty? Or, is it the fear that “infotainment” dates cars, and introduces obsolescence, in the shorter term, with no obvious work-around yet? Or is it both of the above?
The XK (2007—15) has an infotainment screen. It’s modern enough, though, to be reasonably functional—for now. It doesn’t look quasi-ridiculous, as the XK8’s does. But how will we feel about it in fifteen years?
The XK8 sans sat-nav is a modern car, with all the advantages that offers, with a “classic” look—without looking as though it’s trying to be “retro.” It works. Prices are going up.
It also has physical buttons for all the controls, and a cassette deck hooked up to a 6-disc CD changer in the boot.
Some owners replace that audio system with one built around digital streaming and Bluetooth. I get that. But I’m not sure I would.
Maybe this is where my age kicks in; I’m familiar with these sorts of systems. I own 1,000+ CDs. A 30-year-old would find this not just obsolete, but foreign. There would be no familiarity, and no memories associated with such technology. The 30-year-old would be far more likely to rip it out than I am.
Whether we’re talking about luxuries and recreation, or working, technological choice is tied to cumulative experience. A 56-year-old fisherman, who’s been using a hand-built wooden sail-powered vessel all his life, might just keep using it until he retires. His skill and experience are worth something, and he can keep using them to do the work rather than invest the time and effort into learning something new at that stage of life. He will likely say to those who ask him why he doesn’t switch to an outboard-powered boat that he doesn’t want the expense, repair hassles, fuel bills, and reliance on an unreliable mechanical contraption.
Such technologies as sail-powered wooden fishing boats usually die out as their lifelong users die out. Then, the knowledge and ability to use them usually dies out as well.
I’m not trying to tie all this up neatly here. I do think that what we call “nostalgia” is sometimes tied to something that perhaps we could take a little more seriously: accumulated experience and ability. We know how to use this. It works. Why not keep using it.
The rejection of something old because it’s old is no better than rejecting something new because it’s new. If either one will do what you want it to do, then you have the luxury of letting your taste, and maybe your memories, make your choice for you.