The Enfranchised's first step

Foster makes many points and several good ones in his analysis of the album as an art form. But he misses the larger picture: the singles of yesteryear are different entirely in purpose and spirit than the singles we have thrust upon us today. So if Foster's was a scientific post, allow mine to be a whimsical historical journey. As with all looks backwards, there may be some anachronisms and mistakes, the erroneousness of which are now lost to the sands of time.

In the 50's, socks hopped, drives threw, and boobs were so pointy that second base required goggles. An album was released on a vinyl record disc. As I understand it, these were manufactured by artisan dinosaurs and this is why we no longer listen to them. Instead of bittorrenting an mp3 or iTunes Music Storing a single, less-catchily-abbreviated AAC, you committed to the entire concept. Let's say you started listening to this 12-inch monstrosity of information: in those days you'd be stuck listening to the entire thing. This means that if something came up in the middle (traditionally, this involved peasant rebellions, discovering a northwest passage, or something people used to do.), you couldn't just fast forward to the next track. So, to offer an alternative to support the Tower of Babble of such artists as Elvis and the Chimpanzys without fully buying in, the single was created. Take this token of musicality, it has pictures of the dreamboats, which is, we both know, the only reason you want to buy it, you horribly non-art-oriented "fan". And, while we're at it, on the B-side, we have to put *something*, so... here's some junk.

Nowadays, however, we can pick and choose. Pluck an apple of an AM/DC song or a cherry of a Green Dan tune. Album art has gone the way of Ascii art (that is to say, best taken in small, infrequent doses). The single, as it was originally conceived, is now the center. Why do they still bother, record companies? Fans have already bought the album, passers-by the tracks that were the hook.

The answer is that fans are stupid. They have no shame, wallets infinitely deep, and a thirst unquenchable. As an example, allow me to say, I like the Postal Service. I like the Postal Service the way that most people like Oxygen. If a woman, in an attempt to seduce me, were to play any track of theirs, I don't know how my pants could stay buttoned. (this is unfortunate because, to be honest, it wouldn’t have to be a woman doing the seduction, and, well, I'll continue to say that's the way the pig got into my bedroom until the day I die).

12:21 AM Tuesday, I check out iTMS's front page to find, lo and behold, a new album by them. But wait, it's a single I already own multiple times over ("We Will Become Silhouettes", a sickly-sweet rendition of our own mortality as reminded by, y'know, nukes). But wait, it has b-sides. One of these is "Be Still My Heart", a catchy jingle in its own right that's, in their vein, a sickly-sweet telling of some love story (this is one of their tracks that falls into the "with hope" category). The other two tracks are remixes that derive most of their goodness from the original.

And as I was downloading the tracks and my credit card was being charged, I realize, I would buy anything they put their name on, so long as I could get immediate gratification. No Postal Service lunchboxes until we perfect the lunchbox modem. But, sure, I'd join their fanclub to see more photos. Or, yeah, why not pay extra to hear the songs that people more versed in music than I decided were crap. I would expend capital on a (More Cowbell) remix.

And that's when I realized: I have a problem.


My name is Dan Bentley, I'm a Postal Service-holic, and B-sides are enablers.