As a lists lover, every year, I want to order the latest sounds, compiling end-of-the-year best-of lists that represent, from my point of view, the best releases in jazz. It’s a process I deeply enjoy, but lately, I’ve questioned whether I’m giving digital-only releases the same consideration as their physical counterparts: Am I unconsciously biased against them?

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The physical album–that listeners can hold, collect, and display–has been the main vessel through which jazz has been experienced. Liner notes, album art, and the tactile experience of handling a record were all part of the listening ritual. And for sure, these physical elements added to the music’s perceived value.

The transition to digital music has been significant, with streaming services and digital downloads becoming the primary means of music distribution. While this shift has democratized access, making it easier for artists to release music without the constraints of manufacturing and distributing physical media, it may also have changed how we enjoy, perceive, and evaluate music.

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The First Hearing: Digital

This has to be a fact. The way we discover music today is online. We visit streaming platforms, follow artists and labels online, and read publications–digital or printed–yet once intrigued by an album, we try to find an online place to listen to it.

A few years ago–or was it decades?–we would have visited record stores, and even though it was a great experience, the Internet opened up the world in a way that none of our favorite prescribers could have done back then.

And to be honest it has been years since I bought a record based on its art cover, artists, or a single recommendation. Perhaps it’s because the price still feels significant, even as an adult, or because I’ve been disappointed too many times by my impulsive buys, or maybe I don’t want to clutter my collection with random items destined to do nothing but gather dust.

I am not sure.

But what is sure is that I won’t buy an album without listening to at least a track or a sample. And I will do it 95% of the time on the Internet (the remaining 5% is for concerts and listening sessions at friends or libraries).

So the digitalization of music, in that sense, is very beneficial. It gives us what feels like unlimited, instant access to nearly every album ever released, right at our fingertips, and it is a fair possibility to estimate if the album is something for us or not. Plus in jazz, a genre that thrives on innovation and new voices, this accessibility on both hands–for the artists and the listeners–is crucial.

Then, The First Listening: Quite Often Digital

Here I am, with a carefully selected list of albums I truly want to listen to.

Again, looking at my behavior, this moment is also digital. I’ll listen to these albums in full directly on streaming platforms where they’re available through my subscriptions. If they’re not, I might request digital access—one of the perks of being an editor in this industry*—or purchase a copy (digital or physical).

This first listening could be done on my phone with a headset, or on my stereo with speakers. But anyhow, if it feels it has the quality of a keeper, I will have to listen to it on my stereo.

*If you want to join the team to review your favorite jazz music, please contact us here

Last, The Long-Term Listening: Physical

After an undetermined number of listening, my pre-historical brain wants to decide whether I need to own it or not.

If it is not, I won’t be paying attention to that album anymore and discard it from my head. This is brutal, and this is why I take the necessary time to make up my mind (minutes or months), but it is the only way I find to make space for all the music I love.

But if I need to own it, I would prefer every day to own a physical copy.

I enjoy my favorite albums on my stereo, in my living room, played from a CD (not LP, but this will be explained in another post). The tactile experience gives it a sense of permanence and significance that a digital file doesn’t possess. When I hold an album in my hands, it feels complete, as an object that demands attention.

Plus, it is the rituals around it: one has to stand up and touch the record. One will read the notes and the credits and definitely hold and contemplate the art cover while the music plays.

However, certainly more than I would like, I also buy digital format. Because no CD would be produced for that release, or it would be too expensive to ship overseas, not even counting the import taxes.

Here lies my bias.

Once I own a copy, I naturally connect more with the physical one than the digital one, by playing it more often, but also looking at it more intensely, giving it more thoughts and time to grow inside me.

The pleasure comes from a mix of the possession and the music experience. Just as if it could be entirely mine, indeed, in a physical sense.

These reflections come from examples I have in mind of albums I overlooked and realized, but too late, they should have made it to my lists. For different reasons certainly, but always linked to the fact I was only listening to it online.

Reed Rapture in Brooklyn by Ivo Perelman. I had access to it, yet as it was digital–and an extravagant amount of music–I did not take the necessary time on it. But on the contrary, I could find it for Giant Beauty by حمد [Ahmed] which is nearly as demanding but for which I own the CD Box.

I revisited my past EOY lists, analyzing this bias. Unfortunately, I missed some great albums I only own digitally as for Reed Rapture in Brooklyn or Juba Lee by Avram Fefer Quartet.

Even thou the count is marginal, so nothing dramatic or unprofessional as I was first afraid of, it feels that it should not be so.

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A Call to Action

It’s clear that while I strive to be objective, there are unconscious factors that might influence my evaluations through my way of listening to music. I guess this is the problem one has to face when creating best-of lists while being a collector. Moving forward, I’ll approach my EOY lists with a more balanced perspective, ensuring that the digital releases I own or stream receive as much attention and consideration as the physical ones.

I’d love to hear from you. Have you noticed similar behavior in the way you connect with a digital or physical album?