Lelio: The Prehistory

Somewhere in this primordial soup you can hear Lelio being born

It’s been a little while since I’ve updated this blog, for which I must apologise.  Keeping a blog is a little like keeping a pot plant: without regular attention and nourishment, it will wither and die.  I was never much good at keeping pot plants, and I fear that as far as the Lelio blog is concerned, the brown leaves have long started outnumbering the green ones.

But it’s a new year, which means that it’s as good a time as any to turn over a new leaf (if you’ll forgive me overextending the plant analogy).  I’m going to be updating this blog much more regularly from now on, so watch this space.  I’m also going to be moving away from general ruminations on the world of classical music – there are plenty of other talented bloggers covering those subjects as it is – and talk to you instead more about what Lelio is all about, what we’re working on, and why we’re doing what we’re doing.

I’m going to start with that last point, which entails a short, slightly depressing history lesson.  Sorry.  There will be gleaming futuristic awesomeness in the next post, possible featuring hovercars and world peace.  Promise.  In the meantime. . .

The Problem with Classical Music (Abridged Version)

Back in the early 1990s classical music was a pretty big deal. Globally, one dollar in every ten spent on recorded music was spent on classical.  This was partly fuelled by the introduction of the compact disc in the mid-80s, a format which represented a significant improvement over the cassette tapes of the preceding generation, and whose introduction precipitated a spate of re-buying amongst audiophile collectors.  Classical fans led the charge in this department, and small wonder: the CD had been developed with classical interests firmly in mind, to the extent that the actual physical dimensions of the new format had been defined as ‘just big enough to fit a complete recording of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony on a single disc’.

By the turn of the century however there was a new game in town, and it was called the MP3.  Far easier to buy and much more portable than CDs, the MP3 – along with its less famous but more widespread cousin the AAC – promised to change the record industry forever.  Apple released its iPod in 2001, and in just under a decade transformed from a slightly unloved technology company into the world’s single largest music retailer – all because it was first to ride the new wave of downloadable music.

What a pity, then, that downloads represented such a backwards step for classical fans.  Highly compressed audio was never going to unseat CD in the sound quality stakes, and the portability benefits downloads offered was only of limited interest to the three-quarters of us who still do most of our listening at home.  The only possible advantage a download could offer over a CD was the convenience with which it could be bought: online, from the comfort of one’s own home.

But even the convenience of buying music online had been compromised when it came to classical.  Just finding classical music was – and continues to be – a huge pain in the proverbial.

Type in the name of a Beatles album, and iTunes or Amazon will be able to point you to it, take your money and deliver your music to you before you can say “it’s not actually called The White Album officially you know”.

If, on the other hand, you are looking for a specific recording of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique Symphony, you and the retailer first need to agree on the correct spelling of Tchaikovsky (Tchaikovsky? Tschaikowsky? Tchaïkovski?), whether you wanted the “Symphony 6” or the apparently unrelated “Pathetique Symphony“, whether you meant the “VPO” or the “Wiener Philharmoniker “, and finally sort out who this Rafael Kubelik fellow is anyway.  It’s a mess of shoddy data, inadequate search tools, and an apathetic attitude by retailers that reflects the decreasing importance of classical buyers.

Shopping for classical music online has become a confusing and frustrating experience, and without any pressing need to upgrade our CD collections, it has become less and less worth our while to get out our credit cards.  The result?  Classical has dropped from 11% of worldwide music sales to just 3%.

Worse, this decline has become self-perpetuating:

Classical cycle

 

The only way to halt the decline of classical music is by breaking this vicious cycle.  And that’s where Lelio comes in.  My collaborators and I have invested over 18 months of our lives into this so-called ‘dying genre’ because we believe that there remains a strong, committed audience for classical music out there.  We want to make shopping online as enjoyable and engaging an experience as nosing around in the classical section of your local record shop used to be.  Ultimately, we want people to buy more classical music.  And we want to do that because we want to see classical resurge and grow strong once again.

In the next post I’m going to talk a bit more about how we’re actually hoping to achieve all this – and how you can help.  In the meantime, I wish you all a very happy New Year and promise – cross my heart and hope to die – not to let this blog shrivel up again.