Have corrupted files corrupted our souls? I started downloading music in earnest two years ago, discarding my strict previous policy about “supporting the artists.” Instead of music arriving to my ears in a slow, methodical dribble, I was suddenly flooded. I could listen to virtually everything Pitchfork reviewed; I could find rarities and b-sides with just a little legwork where once there would’ve been frustrated quests and exorbitant shipping prices. I was finally in the loop.

The sheer joy of endless music to discover mutated into delirious tedium after, oh, a week. Where before I was always on the prowl for the next band that could strike a match and set my perennially gasoline-drenched heart ablaze, I now slogged through hours of shitty-sounding mp3s wondering if the fire had permanently gone out. These days I feel bad if I listen to anything more than three times – something else, something new, is waiting just around the corner. There’s no time to waste.

I’m tired of spinning my wheels. I don’t want to just hear music, I want to actively listen to it. What I do now is more akin to skimming than close reading, and it disgusts me. Beyond that, nothing sounds good; my ears are closed to the warped stream of noise constantly bombarding them, and I’ve reached a new level of cynicism and existential despair that has rendered me unable to write about music for weeks now.

This process of rediscovery started a week before Arcade Fire released their latest album, The Suburbs. I received a download link from an associate and dug in immediately, my whole being set a-tremble with anticipation. Much like everyone else on the planet, few bands mean more to me than Arcade Fire – Funeral, their first full-length, transformed my interest in indie rock into a full-on obsession, and the follow up Neon Bible forever changed the way I appreciated music. I was able to look past the egregiously bad production and burrow into the songs within, and it filled me with hope at a time when it seemed like the lights were going out on the world.

But I didn’t get anything from The Suburbs for the first week I listened to it. And I listened to it a lot. I couldn’t understand the deep meaning that everyone ascribed to it. When I picked up a physical copy at Best Buy on the official release date, however, that changed – I cranked it up on the stereo, relaxed with the lyric sheet, and the experience was fucking magical. By the time “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” rolled in on those huge synth lines, I was moved to tears. And the experience lasted all day – I cried and listened to Arcade Fire and wondered what the fuck ever happened to my love for music.

I want that love back, and so this is what I’m doing: no more downloading. I will only listen to music that I’ve purchased or was sent to me by artists/labels – occasionally I might even flip on the radio and try to deduce what’s happening on FM these days. I will resist the urge to even look at other blogs, let alone read their reviews; trolling the internet leads to spending an entire week on bands like Sleigh Bells and then forgetting them a week later when a Best Coast record leaks. (Anybody remember Sleigh Bells and Best Coast? Those were the days!) I purchased a composition notebook and a special pen for the express purpose of taking notes while I listen to music. Instead of straight bullshitting 300 words so I can get to the “smoking weed and playing Guitar Hero” portion of my day, I will attempt to actually think critically.

This column will function as a diary for the experiment and also as a receptacle for general ideas about music and perhaps even reviews of classic stuff that once moved me the same way The Suburbs did. I’m listening to a vinyl copy of Born In The U.S.A. that I picked up for $3 at the local record store, and “I”m On Fire” just flipped my love switch for the millionth time.

I’m not sure how long this will take; instead of imposing an artificial time limit on it, let’s say I’ll never illegally download music again, and I’ll keep hammering away at this until it doesn’t hurt anymore and I’ve learned a few new things about the same old music that I’ve always cherished. My name is Oswald Hobbes, I’m a download addict, and this is my first day of sobriety.

Fall Out Boy’s recently released singles collection Believers Never Die is a great example of the greatest hits paradox – by including all of a group’s best known songs, you inevitably leave off deep cuts that better exmplify the given band’s greatness. So, while Believers Never Die includes official singles like “Dance, Dance” and “This Ain’t A Scene (It’s An Arms Race),” it inadvertently supports the notion that FOB is a shallow band for teenagers. As hardcore, unapolegtic Fall Out Boy fans, we at the Assault offices have compiled a list of supplemental tracks to help complete the picture. To wit:

“Chicago Is So Two Years Ago”

“The Patron Saint Of Liars And Fakes”

“7 Minutes In Heaven (Atavan Halen)”

“Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued”

“The Carpal Tunnel Of Love”

“Hum Hallelujah”

“I’ve Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers”

“Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet”

“w.a.m.s.”

“Pavlove”

If you happened to be in a local Hot Topic or Barnes & Noble lately you may have seen the October/November issue of American Music Press Magazine with Rise Against on the cover. If you ALSO happened to turn to page 121 you would see us featured in their fashion section with a small picture of our favorite deranged cartoonist, Candice, donning the Justice Rave girls t-shirt and some really tacky looking 80s sunglasses.

But, in case you missed us, I’ve taken the liberty of scanning the article and cover for your viewing pleasure.

From the article:

Unconventional was one word that came to my mind when I first saw the designs from Assault come over to the office. Assault Shirts are so cool that they are highly susceptible to getting stolen from your local laundromat, so watch your back. This shirt was designed by co-owner Tim Toomey himself, and is one of the newer ones.

-Kristin Schuetze

Rise Against on issue 35 of AMP Magazine

Assault's writeup in AMP Magazine.