She wants to sell the music for less; he wants to buy it for much more. She wants to dispose off the singles collection of her husband—who ran away with her daughter’s friend—on a shoestring, send the money across to the runaway man in Spain, and in the process, not leave him with enough cash to allow him to return to her in London. Good riddance—to both husband and his music. He, the owner of a used record store, knows what the collection, which includes a 30-year-old James Brown single, fan club-only Beatles and You Left The Water Running by Otis Redding, is worth and bargains hard to pay more for them.

The irony of situations plays on in Nick Hornby’s tragicomic novel, High Fidelity, with finally money exchanging hands in lieu of that Redding single. But what the hell do we do with the huge pile-up of outdated music that has filled up every little nook in our rooms? Well, the music isn’t quite passé — Traffic, CSNY, Neil Young, Jethro Tull, REM and Queensryche still continue to be relevant to the ear. What is passé is the format: cassettes. What do we do with them? Do also enlighten, what do we do with the old tape recorder, the hi-fi stereo sound system, the portable cassette player with its five-band graphic equalizer and the CD player? What the hell do we do with the spanking new portable MP3/CD player, yet unblemished by any scratch, now that music fits into the palm, in a player the size of a matchbox, and through which The Who’s My Generation sounds just the same, maybe digitally crispier?    

... contd.