After almost half a decade of hemming and hawing, I decided to finally let go of my CD collection this week. The impetus was the start of some long-pending house renovations, which forced me to bring out boxes that had been hidden away in corners and cabinets for years.
Among the reasons I’ve taken so long to get rid of the CDs, which include sheer laziness, is that I didn’t want to see my musical memories being treated as trash. Never mind that they had been gathering dust from disuse. My plan was to drop the discs off at an e-waste centre. Before I carted them to E-Incarnation (at which I’ve deposited everything from old printers and plugs to empty cartridges and cables), I asked a bunch of fellow music lovers, on social media, what they did when faced with the prospect of junking their prized possessions.
A couple of people suggested turning the CDs into coasters, but who needs more than a dozen coasters? One of them said they gave some to neighbours, another shared that they gifted them to their hair salon (which I thought was a great way of improving the music usually played at such places). To my surprise, quite a few were happy to take them off me. Clearly I’m not the only hoarder in Mumbai.
“Hoarder”, to me, is just a rude description for collector. And collections can serve a larger purpose. I should confess here that I’ve retained my Indian independent music stash, but it’s also a relatively small percentage of the overall stockpile. I should hang on to old music magazines and CDs, I tell myself, because one day they’ll become part of a helpful archive of the evolution of Indian independent music.
I’ll admit that I’m worse than your average music fan. I can’t bring myself to throw away even ticket stubs and bracelets and show souvenirs like the steel mugs and plastic bottles served at NH7 Weekender and the erstwhile Blue Frog. As I get older, I’m trying to feel less emotional attachment to “things”. However, even Marie Kondo says that you can keep things that “spark joy”, and each of these objects carries sentimental value for me.
To be completely honest, I probably would have kept all the CDs if I had the space. And I have an equally large cache of CDs and cassettes, many dating back to the 1980s, at my house in Pune. Yet deep down I know that a keepsake is only as valuable as the number of times you use it. Take, as an example, the clips we record at gigs. While we might rewatch some of the videos on our phones, I’m pretty sure we view only about ten percent of what we shoot.
On the other hand, I treasure what some may call junk because I believe they’re physical documentations of past feelings in an increasingly transient digital world. One look at an album sleeve and I can remember whether it soundtracked a happy, romantic, sad or angry point in my life.
I felt heartened by the thought that by giving my CDs to others who care about music as much as I do, they would spark joy for other people. Especially those who will use them to build music libraries. (I’ve listed their contacts below for readers who wouldn’t mind sending their collections to them.) Of course, I checked that each of the albums, EPs and singles was available on a streaming service.
Out of over 300 CDs, about a dozen weren’t on my most-used platform; maybe these were special editions or releases on labels that don’t currently have licensing deals with streaming services in the country. I’ve held on to them.
On Facebook, one person suggested I save the inlay cards, which are among the features of physical formats of music I miss the most. I decided that if I cared enough about the booklet, then I wouldn’t give away the CD. I chose about 40, which is less than 15 percent of what I was hoping to hand out. Now I just have to figure out where to store them.
Where to donate your CD collection if you’re in Mumbai
Music school Adagio, which runs classes in Chembur and Bandra, allows students to borrow CDs. They’re looking for classic rock, blues and jazz titles. Email helpdesk@adagio72.com.
The Afterschool of Hip-Hop, run by The Dharavi Dream Project, will take hip-hop CDs. Email info@thedharavidreamproject.org.
Non-profit organisation Surangama Kala Kendra in Muzaffarpur in Bihar is building a library of music for underprivileged children. A representative, based in Mumbai Central, is collecting CDs. Email recallingrootsorg@gmail.com.
Recently played
In honour of my old music collection, I’m starting a short feature at the end of these columns where I mention some exciting new releases I’ve listened to recently. While hardcore punk has never been my go-to genre, this time I recommend checking out Mumbai-based trio The Riot Peddlers’ EP Strength In Dumbers. In five songs spread over a mere 12 minutes, they distill the rage that many of us are feeling right now over the communally divisive politics that plagues our country daily.
A more subtle take on the same sentiment is singer-songwriter Ankur Tewari’s just-released single 'Woh Hum Nahin', another addition to the growing cannon of Indian indie anthems inspired by the ongoing protests against the Citizenship (Amendment) Act and proposed National Register of Citizens. What’s notable about Tewari’s tune is that it’s been put out by Artist Originals, the in-house label of JioSaavn, which courted controversy when it temporarily removed an anti-establishment track by vocalist-composer Deepak Peace from its platform in December 2018.
You can stream Strength In Dumbers, released appropriately on Republic Day aka Constitution Protection Day, here and watch 'Woh Hum Nahin' here. If you’re in Mumbai, you can listen to Ankur Tewari and The Riot Peddlers live when they perform on Saturday and Sunday respectively at the Control Alt Delete festival at Roaring Farms in Malad.
Amit Gurbaxani is a Mumbai-based journalist who has been writing about music, specifically the country's independent scene, for nearly two decades. He tweets @TheGroovebox
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