Workshopping Essay Topics: This one time on Bandcamp...

Bandcamp Logo: www.twitter.com/bandcamp

As one of my previous posts detailed, I have finally accepted Spotify into my listening habits but as far as new music platforms go, I am a much bigger fan of Bandcamp. I tend to buy regularly them; sometimes it is the digital release, but I enjoy buying merchandise through them, knowing that the significant percentage of the money is going to the artist and that a digital version will be added to my Bandcamp collection.  I can visit my collection as many times as I like and download the digital files in a variety of formats, including high quality FLAC files. I can stream directly from the app, and the app can cache files for offline enjoyment.

Many aspects of the platform appeal to me: you can embed their files, share links, and stream all their music for free with only an occasional prompt to consider buying from them. Bandcamp offer artist-subscriptions for rather than the platform itself and artists can set their own prices, from free, to name-your-price, to set amounts. The platform does not lend itself to playlists as Spotify does but rather than annoy my inner mixtape-maker, it allows me to focus on entire bodies of work rather than pulling out my favourite tracks.

I had originally thought to explore Bandcamp as a midway point between ownership and service – it appears to offer aspects of both worlds, it is perhaps something of a liminal platform to borrow from Rowberry (2015). However, I have recently had experiences with the platform that presented additional questions about materiality and ephemerality in digital music.

One strange thing I encountered was disappearing releases. I first came across it when I tried to send a song link to a friend using What's App via the Bandcamp app. No matter what I did it wouldn't work. I went to the page of the artist (Aaron Roche) and the release (which I had paid for) was seemingly gone. When I looked for the release on my profile it was in a new folder called a "Private Items." I am not exactly sure of the rationale for pulling the release, but it is incredible that in a digital world, something could become ephemeral, that it might be "limited edition.” 

Screenshot of the error message on Bandcamp which appears when attempting to access a release which has been removed.

Another release in my “Private Items” was never actually released. The artist, Donnacha Costello, used Bandcamp as a means of crowd funding a release, he had a title, a release date on which digital files would be available, and a plan to distribute the album on vinyl in the subsequent months. I paid up front and waited. In the intervening months, he changed the title of the album and added that new title to my collection (vinyl is due to arrive soon!). However, the ghost of the original planned released still exists in my “Private Items,” it is simply a title and a cover, but it is there.

Screenshot of my own private items in Bandcamp. This are not viewable to other users.

The final object in my “Private Items” is an album by Aaron Roche (no longer available for streaming or purchase) which contained a series of images accompanying the audio files. The images are the equivalent of liner notes. One is a photograph of a handwritten page in a notebook, signed by Aaron Roche, addressing the listener and describing the release as “the final document in the digital realm” – something that made my Future-of-the-Book antennae vibrate! The note describes the release as an attempt by the ensemble “to be honest,” going on to explain that “another account” will be made available on vinyl in the future. Whether this “account” means a completely different take on the same songs, completely new songs, or simply a reproduction of the same material, I will need to wait and see. However, I the note provides a novel language and framework for exploring born-digital texts. 

Image bundled with the audio files in the Aaroon Roche Bandcamp release, "HaHa, HuHu."

Along with this note is an album “cover” - a photograph of a tattooed arm. There is a separate image file of a track list, consisting of a photograph of a laptop screen displaying the release in the iTunes app (note the album is not available on iTunes!). Track details (producer, players, etc.) are provided on a separate image file: a screenshot of the text in the Text Editor app; the filename follows the standard Mac screenshot file naming protocol -  we can see the exact date and time the screenshot was taken. There is also a photo of a handwritten reflection/essay. It looks like the same notebook and handwriting as the message from Aaron Roche to the listener but it is credited to another author. I won’t go into who that author is here, but I will say I went down a brief but strange rabbit hole of a search. The choice of handwritten note, photograph, and screen shot really intrigue me.

So (in as close as I can get to a nutshell) I think I am going to attempt to use my Bandcamp “Private Items” as a site to explore notions or permanence, ephemerality, authenticity, and representation in digital texts.


Rowberry, Simon Peter. “Ebookness.” Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies (2015): 1-18.