Completists: Gotta Catch ‘Em All?

Following on from last week’s Sunday Thoughts article about boxed sets (read it here), this week I thought I’d look at the whole thing around being completists – that is, folk that HAVE to have EVERYTHING a particular artist has released… and more.

Back in the day, I was a bit of a completist where Hawkwind was concerned. I had everything they did (at least once) and most of the stuff done by individual band members to boot.

But what is the driver behind this desire to get absolutely everything? Is it a bit like an adult version of collecting Panini football cards…or as the title os this article suggests, Pokemon? Is it a bit of an obsession?

The answer, I suspect, is yes… and yes. In my case, anyway. 

There’s something deeply satisfying, almost soothing, about the idea of completion. That moment when you slot the final piece into the puzzle – be it a Japanese tour-only 7-inch single, a promo CD with a sticker on the front, or a bootleg cassette recorded on a potato in 1973 – is deeply rewarding. (Oh yeah, I also had LOADS of Hawkwind bootlegs. I recall one recorded at Reading Festival where you could hear a plane flying overhead.) It speaks to a very human desire for order in a chaotic world. And for many of us, it’s also wrapped up in nostalgia, ritual, and even a sense of identity.

Because let’s face it: being a completist is rarely practical. It’s often expensive, sometimes frustrating, and occasionally embarrassing when you try to explain to someone why you own seven slightly different versions of Live at Sunderland Polytechnic 1975 by a band the other person has never heard of. But it’s not about logic. It’s about love. A sort of obsessive, blind, occasionally (read often) irrational love.

Completists aren’t just fans—they’re curators. Archivists of sound. Nut jobs. They treat an artist’s discography like sacred scripture, where even the rarest footnote (or flexi disc) deserves a home. And sure, there’s probably a dopamine hit involved every time that final rare pressing arrives in the post, or you stumble across a forgotten EP in the back of a crate in a record shop in Barcelona. But it’s also about connection—to the music, the artist, and even to a particular time in your own life.

There’s also a certain comfort in knowing that you’ve got it all. That nothing’s missing. No FOMO, no “what if?” Just the entire catalogue in neat alphabetical order (or chronological, if you’re that way inclined). And in a world where music is often reduced to invisible streams and disposable playlists, having a complete, tangible collection feels almost naughty – it’s certainly costly!.

Of course, there’s a darker side. Completism can slip into compulsion. One more item. One more click. One more eBay alert. And suddenly you’re bidding against someone in Cleethorpes for a CD single you already own—twice, neigh thrice. But hey, at least you’re not spending your money on watches and expensive cameras…oh, wait a minute.

To add, I sold the vast majority of my Hawkwind collection many years ago when our first child was born and we were skint. Of course, I’ve got loads of them back on vinyl, and I rebought pretty much everything they had done up to a few years ago on CD.

So, are you a completist? Or do you dabble occasionally before walking away with a knowing smile? What’s the most obscure piece in your collection—and what did you go through to get it?

Let us know in the comments. Go on… confess your sins. This is a safe space.

Full disclosure, I also collect vinyl copies of Concierto de Aranjuez.

Stuart Smith