For me, the day the music died wasn’t when Buddy Holly went down in a plane crash. It was when I invested in a digital sound system for home use. I have happy memories of listening to records in Brussels as a child. We would play gatefold Beatles LPs, Peter, Paul and Mary, and Alan Freeman’s History of Pop, and sit as if in the Wigmore Hall, silent and rapt, apart from inter-sibling disputes as to whose turn it was to flip the record over. The Sony Walkman came along in the late 1970s, but it wasn’t until the launch of the iPod that music, and listening to it, became a private passion – and the rot set in. Since then the buffet of options and permutations – Spotify, Deezer, home-streaming systems, Bose, Bang & Olufsen – is so endless that it militates against listening to music at all. We...
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