There’s been recent talk about the death of the album. If evidence were needed, HMV’s latest sales figures for CDs and the fact that MP3 downloads are now included when compiling the charts, it hardly needs a Sebastian Shark to swing the jury. The download is fast becoming the preferred method of accessing music. Couple that with the shift towards selecting single tracks rather than a collection and the death knell rings ever louder.

Some say that the art of writing and performing an album has declined and this accounts for its imminent consignment to history. I wouldn’t know about that. Although I still purchase CDs - not as many of my age do, merely remastered reissues from bygone days - no, I buy a fair amount of new stuff. But not enough to confidently pass judgement on the quality of the majority of current releases.

I admit that I am biased when it comes to defending the album format. After all, I spent the first fifteen years of my working life doing little else but designing album covers, first at Decca, then EMI and after that as a freelance designer. But that’s only part of it.

The albums that I count among my favourites all have a theme running through them, musically, lyrically and in mood. Each song is like a chapter in a book. It has something to say in its own right, but links with the next to build an entity. What you end up with is a complete story. I’m not talking about the dreaded concept album or overblown pop opera, but a work that sounds like it was recorded sequentially, where musicians may use a variety of instruments, but leave their signature unmistakably stamped on each song. Again, the subject of each song, as contained in the lyrics, can be varied, but the language, writing style and texture, when coupled with the music, will bind the piece together. Listening to a well- crafted album is like reading a well-written book. There may well be highlights, flashes of brilliance, even genius, but they only serve to contribute to the whole.

So far, I’ve said nothing that couldn’t be attained by bypassing the CD album and going for the option of the download. But then there’s the small matter of the cover. Small, because once upon a time, in the era of the 12’’ vinyl LP, the cover was… well… 12’’ inches and a bit square. The arrival of the much smaller compact disc in its fiddly plastic case sent a shiver down the spines of those of us that designed record sleeves. The death of album art was pronounced, but, for the time being, turned out to be exaggerated. Cover art thrived, even expanded, with the need for the booklet insert. A reprieve.

A good cover can round off the perfect album. It can graphically represent the musical content and in some cases equal and surpass it, achieving an iconic status of its very own. If the CD is to disappear, the pleasure of enjoying a brilliantly conceived and executed adjunct to the music will, for me at least, be a sad loss, for not surprisingly, I have always made a connection between music and image. Each can add to the other, increasing the effectiveness of both. How powerful, if it’s done right, is the combination of image and music in film for example? It can be transforming for either, but especially the music. A piece or song, however familiar, can be made to sound like you’ve never heard it before.

I could name many, but for me, one album that pulls all the components together to make the perfect whole is Aimee Mann’s ‘Lost In Space’. Each song stands alone, but heard in sequence and as a complete work, they weave together to create a rich tapestry that has a haunting and lasting presence. The experience of listening is topped by the beautifully realised illustrations from an artist simply named, Seth. They capture the mood of the piece perfectly and then add to it.

But I’m not surprised that the album is in trouble. In a time of sound bites and instant gratification people are no longer willing, or intellectually able, to give something time, to work at it, to get involved other than on a superficial level. We live in a throw away society, influenced and driven by shallowness, loutish behaviour and mediocrity posing as entertainment and culture, to be paraded for maximum effect, then chucked like the trash it is. It seems to me a whole generation now lives its life like the characters of East Enders and the housemates in Big Brother. Life imitating art, or art imitating life? Or, life imitating crap, crap imitating life?

In the meantime… albums? RIP.