If you’re unaware that 2026 is being touted as the return of analog, you’ve either already logged off, or your algorithm is most unusual. Most of us won’t have missed reels announcing, “For 2026 I’m trading my smartphone in for a Nokia 3210, a record player, a polaroid camera and a library card.”
My Instagram feed is awash with folk half my age announcing a resolve to delete their entire internet presence and get a landline, then celebrating brick buildings full of books because (and I quote), “There’s no AI in libraries.”
And that’s before I mention the backlash surrounding Spotify’s payment models or former CEO Daniel Ek’s questionable investments, the rising costs of online cloud storage due to a massive demand surge from AI data centers, the DRAM chip shortage (which will likely drive up the cost of TVs soon – so even if you have Netflix, you may struggle for a screen on which to enjoy it), or the prevalence of AI slop music on streaming sites…
Oh, and then there’s the omnipresence of big brother. No, not the TV show, the fact that every time we stream something, it’s being logged by your AI DJs and the like for further algorithmic recommendations – and to generate your all important Spotify ‘listening age’.
Bit of a mess, isn’t it? We’re only two weeks into 2026 and it seems millennials (and people much older – i.e. me) want to cancel their media rental subscriptions to enjoy simpler times. And that means owning and enjoying music in physical form, without the constant feeling of being watched, judged and studied…
You can keep your new year, I’ll pick an old one
Today, I’d like 1997, please. And I absolutely can have this year, in the shape of Now That’s What I Call Music! 37 – a double-cassette compilation album comprising the “41 hot new hits” of the year. I should clarify, this is the UK variant of the compilation series, not the later US series, which came out in 2011 and featured songs such as Rihanna’s Only Girl (In the World) and Pink’s Raise Your Glass – although that compilation also sounds like a vibe and year I’d also want to get into, on another day.
Reader, I found this delightful little time capsule of tracks, alongside Now 29, Now 31 and Now 33 in my other half’s childhood bedroom. I discovered it while staying at his folks’ place over Christmas, in a cache of assorted albums on cassette including East 17’s Walthamstow and Steam (who knew he had such a thing for the London lads, back in the day?), The Verve’s Urban Hymns, Fatboy Slim’s We’ve Come a Long Way, Baby, and Blur: The Best Of.
How much?!
One of these cassette tapes (Catatonia’s breakthrough creation, International Velvet, released in 1998 and home of absolute belters Mulder and Scully and Road Rage) still bears an old £10.99 Smyths Musique price tag. Yes, that much! Because we used to pay quite a bit of money for our own little 12-song copy in physical form, so that it could be ours forever – or at least until the tape got chewed up.
The internet tells me that £10.99 in 1998 is the equivalent of £25.85 in January 2026’s money – and here we are, complaining about having access to virtually every single track in the known world for £12.99 per month (£25.85 is about $34.82 or AU$51.90, and you probably know that Spotify costs $11.99 per month in the US, or AU$15.99).
It’s time to meet the players
Regular readers may remember the FiiO CP13, because I’ve written about it in various guises: whether it’s the blue ode to 1979’s TPS-L2 Sony Walkman, (I was indeed alive then, thank you very much), the transparent version or even the Barbie in-line skating flavored option. And rival brand We Are Rewind has been unveiling various themed portable cassette players for a while now, including a sparkly Duran Duran-themed player and even one with ‘ELVIS’ emblazoned across the front in red, each with a re-issue of their adjacent album bundled with your purchase.
This particular FiiO player, while perfectly functional, is presented in your basic landlord beige not because I’m adhering to Pantone’s 2026 Cloud Dancer missive (I am not; Phtalo Green for me all year long), but because I really want the cassettes and what they mean in the current climate to take center stage.
Can you tell me who will still care? Mmmbop…
I slam Tape 1, side 1 of Now 37 into the player, realising my poor old Gen X hand has never forgotten how to do this quickly and efficiently. The first track is Hanson’s MMMBop. Have you ever noticed how melancholy the lyrics are, given what feels like such a whimsical and carefree chorus? There’s also a slightly off-center feel to the soundstage here, like you’ve just walked in on a bunch of kids jamming in their parents garage – and actually, they’re pretty good.
We’re on to the next song, which comes in a little too soon for my liking, such is my reverie on those lyrics, but anyway: Eternal’s I Wanna Be the Only One, feat. Bebe Winans. I’m jiggling my shoulders and singing those “Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah… protect you from the rain!” BVs like I’ve never experienced a social media presence, Apple Pay or coronavirus – but I have to clear my schedule for Top of the Pops this Friday because apparently they’re doing it live.
There’s the slick modulation; there’s jubilation. I remember that this track helped me walk into the studio on my first day at ballet college. Why was I doing this? Why, because I wanna be the only one!
Ever listened to Owen Cutts’ take on old music in his weekly radio show, or watched him wherever you get your reels fix? That’s what this compilation feels like for me and my internal monologue.
Yes, Queen
My other half picks up the box beside me, aware but only vaguely interested that I snaffled it, and plenty like it, from his bedroom over Christmas. I mention that there will now be a gap at the bottom of his old corner shelf, next to the Lynx Africa. “Wait, this one’s got Paranoid Android as the final track,” he muses, adding, “It’s like Now went, ‘You know what this compilation needs? Some depression.'”
He picks up another. We confirm a piece of lore both of us remember from back in the day (because Queen’s Too Much Love Will Kill You is the first track on Now 33), that Freddy et al’s people had agreed to Queen being in these compilations only on the proviso that they would appear in the coveted first song spot. That’s how important these timely audio roundups were.
I wish I could find my own Now! That’s What I Call Music collection, which spanned 15 to 21. I remember because 15 kicks off with I Want It All by Queen, followed by Simple Minds’ Kick It In and then Fine Young Cannibals’ Good Thing.
If we do this, we also need to show up in physical form
Of course, there are issues with all of this. Cassettes, vinyl and CDs are all great to collect – and you can find plenty in thrift stores (or charity shops, as we say in the UK) – but we need to remember the artists. Yes, most big acts tend to release new music on vinyl, CD and in some cases on cassette too, but it’s important to remember that no matter how many times I play it on my FiiO CP13, Joaquin “Quino” McWhinney and the rest of Big Mountain aren’t getting any more money when I dance around my living room to Baby I Love Your Way on Now 29. I know they’d only make a fraction of a cent if I streamed it, but it’s still more than the square root of zip.
So, if we’re going offline and seeking our music fix second-hand (and physical), we need to stan. And by that I mean we need to show up physically too – at gigs and ideally wearing a bit of official merch. This is how we remunerate the bands we love, so that they can keep releasing new music. I’ve booked tickets to four gigs this year, including My Chemical Romance at Wembley Stadium (the last time I saw Gerard & Co. live was in April 2005, at the London Astoria, sadly no longer there).
You can also, if you feel inclined, sign the petition calling on Parliament in the UK to change the law to fix music streaming, so that music makers get a fair share of the revenue, via the Musician’s Union.
As covered by NME just over a year ago, in the UK nearly £2.5billion was spent on music in 2024, but the Musician’s Union stated that shockingly, almost half of all working musicians in the UK earned less than £14,000 in that same year. To clarify, according to the Office for National Statistics, median gross annual earnings for full-time employees across all professions the UK were £37,430 in April 2024, so it’s shockingly low.
Don’t think being a musician is a ‘real job’? Think back to lockdown and all the music you listened to – think about your commute and how much easier it feels with your headphones on. We need to show up for humans playing music, if we want them to keep creating it for us.
A lasting future
Last thing: a bit on the kit. As I’m listening to “my” new cassettes on this little analog system, without the interruption of songs I won’t like, emails, whatsapp messages or any of the distractions that come with streaming on my phone, it strikes me that my wired Campfire Audio Clara IEMs and this player could last for the rest of my lifetime – unlike every set of wireless earbuds I own.
Yes, you can tell me these elite IEMs are too good to endure the hiss of magnetic tape all you like, but I love the detail and space they deliver. And I love that they don’t contain the li-ion batteries that give their wireless alternatives a hard shelf life.
I hope you also buy audio products that are built to stand the test of time – because despite my initial reservations, almost every track on my new little stash of 90s music has. Some tracks are more relevant 30 years on than they’ve any business being. As Michael Stipe sang in What’s the Frequency, Kenneth? (which features on side 2 of 1994’s Now 29), “Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy.”
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