I love the ease of music streaming, but there's something about physical media that I just can't resist. Sure, being able to play any song ever made in mere seconds is cool, but CD players are nostalgia incarnate.
It's been 20 years since I owned a CD player — a huge boombox type thing I probably dropped and was covered in sticky fingerprints — but that feeling of physically loading a disc into the new FiiO DM15 hit me like a wave.
I don't think everyone will agree with me, but my recent foray back into physical media makes me genuinely believe that CDs are better than streaming in three important ways.
Ownership: My music belongs to ME
You're not paying some guy in Silicon Valley every month for the rest of eternity to please please please let me use this digital license of this song I like. You own the CD. It's yours. No one can take it away from you.
Hypothetically, if Spotify goes under, you lose all that music. If TIDAL suddenly decides to shut its doors, those playlists you favorited? Gone. If Qobuz gets banned in your country for whatever reason, all those meticulously curated album downloads are gone.
Not with CDs. Sure, CDs can degrade over time — it's called disc rot — but if you look after them properly, this is less likely to happen. I've got CDs from 1999 that still play as if they were brand new, so unless you're storing your CDs outside, it's not something you need to worry too much about.
I'm not the only one feeling this way. In this era of streaming — streaming movies, streaming music, heck, maybe even streaming laptops in the near future — we want to take control of our media again.
I'm going to have 'Currents' by Tame Impala until the day I die.
The Times reports that last year, 9.7 million CDs were sold in the U.K. and 33 to 36 million in the U.S. This number has been stable since about 2022. Obviously, it's still a far cry from the peak of 1999-2002 when 200 million CDs were sold, but these silver discs still have lots of life left in them.
I love my CD collection. I'm going to have "Currents" by Tame Impala until the day I die. "NOW That's What I Call Music 86"? Yeah, that's all mine, baby.
I love the FULL album experience
This point isn't exclusive to CDs — it applies to all physical media. You'd get the same result from a CD, tape, or vinyl, so it's relevant here.
But let me set the scene a little. I've loved this band for 17 years now. I know all their albums back to front. I know an embarrassing amount of trivia about them. I used to have their posters on my wall from 2009-2015. But when I bought "Origin of Symmetry" by Muse on vinyl, I learned a brand new fact.
I was reading the inserts — you know, the fine print text on the inside of the album artwork — and I discovered that the organ on one of the tracks was recorded at a church in the city I call my home. I went on an impromptu walk and played music tourist, ogling the pipe organ in question.
How cool is that? If I'd never bought that album, I would never have discovered that tidbit of information. Because I never owned the CD — I just stole my dad's to import the files onto my iPod Nano — I didn't take that extra step and peruse the insert.
It makes me wonder: how much else have I missed? Maybe the drums on Foo Fighters' "Sonic Highways" were recorded in my apartment building? Perhaps the vocals on Katy Perry's tween classic "One of the Boys" were actually performed in my elementary school? This is good information that we're losing.
No distractions and no AI-generated playlists or algorithms
Imagine how artists feel — they pour their entire creative souls into a project, only for it to fail because some binary code deemed it non-trendy.
You know the feeling: picking up your phone with the intention of putting on a playlist or album, but getting distracted by a random, unimportant push notification and then falling into a doom-scrolling rabbit hole. I've been there. We've all been there.
But that's not the case with a CD player. You're fully in the moment. It's all about the music, just as the artist intended.
Albums take years to write, record, master, and produce, and when you combine the tangible CD, the insert detailing everyone who worked on the record, and the whole listening experience, it almost feels like you're closer to the artist themselves. This is how the musician intended it.
Besides, I'm kind of sick of living my life to appease an algorithm. Imagine how artists feel — they pour their entire creative souls into a project, only for it to fail because some binary code deemed it non-trendy.
Sure, it's a challenge to get noticed in a record store overflowing with CDs by musicians just as talented and special as everyone else, but at least it feels more genuine. When looking through CDs, at least there's a human element to it.
Perhaps the artwork or album name catches your eye; perhaps its location beside one of your favorite CDs inspires you to take a risk on it; perhaps your stomach lurches just as your finger meets its plastic casing. Perhaps all three, and then it's kismet.
This is the kind of connection we're missing with streaming. Everything's on demand. Everything's fighting for dominance. There's nothing permanent about it, and that's why I'm committed to the CD resurgence. This Gen Z says bring it on. I'm ready.
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