What A Blindfolded Bon Iver Listening Party Taught Me About Music Elitism
Treating music fans like they don’t know how to enjoy music is cringe-worthy and backwards.
Over the last decade, we’ve surrendered ourselves to the criticism that we don’t actually know how to do anything without our phones. Okay boomers. But despite our unhealthy relationship with smartphones, our mindless scrolling addiction does have a silver lining.
Lately, it seems that more “distraction-free experiences” are popping up each day. Pitchblack Playback, a London-based all-in-the-dark, “cinema-style listening experience” isn’t just about putting your phone away, it’s also about restoring high-quality sound to the listening experience. So if you’re the kind of person that insists your friends listen to the new Selena Gomez album with “good headphones”, this is for you.
A couple of weeks ago, Pitchblack Playback arrived in New York for the first time. And the first album off the rank was from someone accustomed to peculiar listening parties.
We all remember when Bon Iver lured Melbournians into a Fitzroy alleyway with a cryptic Instagram, right? In 2016, hoards of coffee enthusiasts and fans clambered into a laneway, expecting to see Bon Iver, but were instead greeted to a small stereo sitting atop a table. There, a cassette playing Bon Iver’s new record, 22, A Million was lauded over and Melbourne became a parody of itself.
Tuesday, it was New York’s turn. And as a Melbournian, it felt as though high powers were propelling me to attend this streaming of Bon Iver’s 2011 self-titled album, Bon Iver. So I did.
All Bon Iver Fans Are From Fitzroy
Temperatures in Manhattan dropped to -1°C as I walked to the Dolby Screening Room on 6th Avenue. My feet began to go numb as I strode past a group of Wall Street bros when it suddenly dawned on me that I was voluntarily subjecting myself to a 2011 Bon Iver album in 2020. I quickly reminded myself that I was doing it for the story. That didn’t calm me down.
Soon, I was suddenly surrounded by Bon Iver fans. Somehow, all Bon Iver fans look like they’re from Brunswick (Melbourne), Brooklyn (NYC), or Newtown (Sydney). There’s no logic to this equation, but it’s undeniably true.
Having been handed a blindfold, I stepped into the packed theatre where 75 or so people were chatting excitedly. Bon Iver’s 2011 album cover filled up the cinema screen like a children’s picture book alongside some guidelines for the experience: “Please do not talk, whisper, or sing during the playback.” Before I even had a chance to snicker at the strict rules, the lights dimmed and a mellifluous English voice poured over the Hi-Res sound system.
I leaned back into the reclining seat, slipped the black eye mask over my head and thought, “You are Louis Theroux.”
“Welcome to Pitchblack Playback,” she announced, before reiterating the rules. Most people laughed at being forbidden to sing, and they had a point — isn’t half the fun of listening to a nine-year-old album singing along with it?
But that wasn’t the point here: The point was Qobuz’s Hi-Res streaming service, which has been praised by Neil Young and The LA Times. And seeing as I unfortunately made a New Year’s resolution to be more open to new experiences, I leaned back into the reclining seat, slipped the black eye mask over my head and thought, ‘You are Louis Theroux.’
Bon Iver’s voice appeared suddenly, and he discussed the making of the album using glittery words like ‘rich maple’ while describing his favourite cabin and the sound of the woods. Breathy, over-descriptive, and pretentious, I felt at ease, even though the mask was pushing my mascara into my eyes. Even in the face of a makeup malfunction, I endured.
Peaceful And Meditative — Just Don’t Mind The Sneezes
Being silent, blindfolded, and completely still while listening to an album is a stark contrast to the way most people enjoy music. The moments when I felt completely alone were peaceful, even meditative, but the crinkle of a bag or a stray sneeze quickly brought me back to reality.
Stripping the experience of our phones makes sense, but banning dancing, singing, and, well, fun made it feel like I was stuck in a Vice documentary. And this Bon Iver album felt like a jarring choice for such a strange experience. I couldn’t tell if it was 10, 15 or even 30 minutes in, but suddenly the gently plucked guitars began to sound menacing and Justin Vernon’s voice failed to drown out my intrusive thoughts, like, ‘I wonder if Shake Shack will be open when I get out of here?’
Even though the sound was crisp and clear, with the Qobuz streaming system boasting 29 times the resolution of regular MP3’s, my mind felt fuzzy. And I clearly wasn’t alone.
As the streaming session came to an end after a bonus and exclusive live recording of ‘Woods’ — the only Bon Iver song worth caring about — everyone let out a collective groan as the lights turned back on. Bleary-eyed, everyone momentarily remained in their seat as though the credits were rolling at the end of a film, to discuss their thoughts.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what I was going to have for dinner,” one person near me blurted. The two, very obvious Bon Iver fans in front of me stayed to share memories of their favourite concert.
As we spilled out onto the street, walking past the people outside eagerly waiting for the 9:30 pm screening to start, I felt relieved it was over.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about what I was going to have for dinner,” one person near me blurted.
This was the second, distraction-free and phone-less album listening experience I had in the last few months. Last year, I decided to join some friends at the Brooklyn Museum for Yasiin Bey’s (FKA Mos Def) art-meets-hip-hop album streaming of Negus. Here, attendees were given wireless headphones as they listened to an exclusive album surrounded by art from contemporary artists like Ala Ebtekar, Julie Mehretu, and José Parlá, as well as work by Bey himself.
And while it was a step above Pitchblack Playback’s cinema slumber party experience in terms of substance, it felt equally as hollow.
It isn’t just the fact that these events hinge on the concept of removing everything that makes the music listening experience enjoyable, replacing it with silence, stillness, and blindfolds — it’s that music fans are being talked down to, treated like children who are unable to have fun without fidgeting.
Put either of these albums in a room with an open bar and a few friends and maybe, just maybe, it’d be something worth talking about. Treating music fans like they don’t know how to enjoy music feels like a step backwards. Maybe, phones aren’t the enemy; pretension is.
Kish Lal is a writer and critic based in New York City. She is on Twitter.