I have a confession: Until about a month ago, I’d never owned a set of headphones sold separately from a certain ubiquitous line of Apple media players. Admitting to a life spent digesting sound spat from those little white earbuds feels shameful, especially as someone who writes about music professionally. It’s as if there’s a clause in the informal contract between a publication’s readers and writers stating that the Music must be delivered to the Writer using a device of sufficient quality, such that the Writer may accurately receive all lyrics and other sonic details that may tangibly affect the Writer’s perception of the Music. So, at the risk of tearing that contract to shreds, I’d like to discuss the factors that shaped my first two decades of listening, and the way my relationship with music has changed since upgrading to a better set of headphones.
Apple released the first iPod on October 23, 2001, and—while sales have been cannibalized in recent years by the growth of the iPhone and iPad—the company has sold over 350 million to date. The iPod’s impact on listening habits via increased mobility and accessibility is obvious, but it had a similarly huge effect on the sound being delivered to a new generation of listeners: Packaged sets of Apple earbuds became windows into world of sound for countless young people—and fashion statements to boot. I received my first iPod for my 14th birthday in 2006, and from that point on I found no reason to spend any of the little money I had on headphones when perfectly good sets were included for free with the devices I wanted. (In fact, wearing non-Apple earbuds could turn an unsuspecting teen into a pariah: Off-brand headphones meant a substandard MP3 player and a corresponding lack of cool, or so the conventional wisdom went.)
For every happy iPod owner, though, it seemed like there was a disgruntled audiophile or industry affiliate complaining about those tinny, shoddy earbuds. The idea of truer, more "real" musical experiences became an important part of every headphone manufacturer’s marketing toolbox. When Jimmy Iovine and Dr. Dre launched Beats by Dre in 2006, their mission statement was "to introduce premium audio to a generation that had never experienced the emotion of music… because of substandard earbuds and PCs." (Nevermind the fact that plenty of critics bemoan Beats' poor balance and overwhelming focus on bass.) This line of thought generated its own reactionary stubbornness, as listeners who grew up and learned to love music with those "substandard earbuds" resented being told that they were missing out on the real thing.
I know this because I was one of those listeners. For a long time I remained cynical about high-end headphones, but, slowly, my resistance eroded. I got older, gradually acquired more disposable income, and watched more and more of my peers invest decent amounts of cash in sets that were meant to last. (At the same time, Beats became a major player in the premium headphone arena, capturing 27% of the entire headphone market—and 57% of the $99 and over market—by the end of 2013.) My first "good" headphones—a pair of Bose AE2s—sat waiting for me under the tree this past Christmas, and as I flipped through my iPod looking for their Very First Song, I felt like I was being made to play some version of the famousDesert Island game: What song would take me into a brand new musical world?
I decided to go with Lady Gaga’s "Sexxx Dreams", and I heard a song I knew and loved transformed: Beats that simply burped before rumbled with menace and gobbled up space, synths sizzled like high-voltage power lines, new notes burst into frame like fireworks. I’ve had my new headphones for about a month now, and I have experiences like that every day. Music I’ve been hearing for years is reborn, and I start to appreciate it in new ways. It reminds me that the songs and albums weaving through my life aren’t static; they evolve with me, changing with context and medium and something as simple as the headphones I use to hear them.