I love the convenience, but is Tidal making me antisocial?

People say you should always look on the bright side of life, but 2026 is really testing that sentiment.

There are a variety of reasons for this. But the main one this week was the news that a record store close to my heart is closing its doors at the end of the month.

This led me on a long, winding trip down memory lane, remembering how important shops like it had been during my formative years, and the impact they've had on my taste in music over the decades.

I mean, how many of you, the people on this very page, remember going to your local record shop to rummage for classics, or grab that week's hot new release, only to then strike up conversations with the owners or fellow music fans and walk away with something completely unexpected?

I certainly did. In fact, I spent so much time parked on one of the barstools by the checkout counter during my teenage years that the manager started referring to me as the venue’s Norm. Cheers to anyone old enough to get that reference…

And this in turn led me to ask: how can so many cool places be closing when they’re such an integral part of the “scene” and all evidence suggests the vinyl revival, and music sales in general, are still going strong?

Am I the problem?

Sure, the answer is complex and in part to do with general shopping habits (people mainly buy online now). But, chatting to record store owners, I think there’s one big part that’s not talked about enough: how antisocial streaming is making us. This has been a repeat issue that store owners have flagged when I've spoken to them for multiple years now.

And the worst part is, I know I’m now part of the problem. The realisation came as I ran through my memory rolodex, recalling all the times I discovered new bands via my conversations with punters and staff, or just sitting listening to what was being played, at my local shop.

Doing so, around the point I was finishing my second cup of green tea (middle age is pure rock’n’roll, kids), I realised all the memories were quite old at this point. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone and actually hung out at a record store. And, to make matters worse, the last time I actually bought one at a shop was via the Dig A Little pop-up that occasionally takes over my local pub, which was last year.

A spiral of shame then ensued, where I realised it wasn’t just record shops, it was gigs too. Outside of a few big names, The Manic Street Preachers, Smashing Pumpkins and the like, I haven’t been to any recently – especially smaller ones, like the ones I went to in the old days, where I’d see five unknown acts for as many quid.

Back in my prime, I’d go out and do that at one of London’s many stellar venues (my favourites were 12 Bar Cafe, The New Cross Inn and The Black Heart) on a whim. Now, it takes my wife presenting a structured PowerPoint to get me to go to our local mid-week…

What happened, man? That was the thought that kept repeating in my head. And as it did, I realised, at least in part, it’s because of the way I now listen to music. Like most of us, the majority of my listening is done via streaming. Tidal, to be specific. And don't get me wrong, Tidal is an incredible platform, as streaming in general is incredible, but it makes it too easy to listen in isolation.

Discovery algorithms that help us continue happily smelling our own farts (musically), never expanding our horizons, or trying new genres. A special area for unsigned bands that lets musicians upload their own tracks, letting me scratch the itch to at least try and pretend I’m still supporting up-and-coming acts. It’s all too convenient and easy for me to do all of this without ever leaving my lounge (and my newly purchased comfy chair).

Sure, the fact I’m middle-aged and generally less social these days doesn’t help, but the convenience is too compelling and definitely a factor impacting how younger listeners engage and discover music as well.

Think about it for a second.

When was the last time you flogged a fiver to go to a local music venue to check out a band you’d never heard of, just because it would be a good night? When was the last time you re-enacted THAT scene from High Fidelity and discovered a new band, chatting to a fellow music fan in a record store?

I’m guessing the answer for most of us, regardless of age, is “I can’t remember”.

And that’s not a good thing. The number of vinyl shops may have boomed in 2024, but music venues like the ones I used to visit every other week are struggling.

An easy fix

And, though there’s no data on how the new wave of record shops is faring at the moment, it’s pretty obvious that if we don’t support them, they won’t last long. Shops are businesses and need to “sell” things to exist. They can’t survive on goodwill and people thinking they’re cool.

Which is why I felt the need to get on my soapbox and pen this feature. Yes, streaming is great, but if you care about music then maybe, just maybe, every once in a while, put the phone down and head out to see a band you’ve never heard of at your local venue.

Or, if that sounds too much, pop to your local record shop and engage in a good bit of crate digging. Maybe even spoil yourself and grab a new record on impulse – especially if you agree with me that places like them deserve to exist, not just be a nostalgic twinkle in the eye of ageing music fans such as myself.

Even if you’re a youngster who’s never done any of the above, trust me, these safe spaces for music lovers and the communities they breed are special and worth saving, and once they’re gone, they tend to stay gone.

Just look at Denmark Street and Soho in London as an example. 12 Bar Cafe, The Intrepid Fox, all gone and replaced with chain restaurants, and the area worse for it, at least in my mind.

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