Before I picked up the guitar, I was a fan of music on the level that it permeated everything I did. I had an infinite playlist running in my head long before the age when you could have an infinite playlist running on your smartphone (or first generation iPod for that matter).
I miss music before American Idol and Glee. I don’t care how good Glee is, its a fuckin parasite on anything artistic in music. I want to discover music by buying used records for cheap down in Greenwich Village. Laying on my bedroom floor next to my stereo, looking at the cover, reading the liner notes. I want to put headphones on and hear some musician make a masterpiece expressing the existential nature of existence. Today’s episode is brought to you be the letter “E” apparently (read the last sentence again).
Buying albums became a way for me to explore music made before my time. Neil Young, Derek and the Dominos, the Allman Brothers Band. “I hit the city and I lost my band.” What in the world did he mean? Interpretations can be endless when you don’t have a clue. Which is part of the journey. Learning which leads were Duane’s, which were Dickey’s. Hearing Duane’s glissando slide work on the Layla outro.
Digital distribution makes music feel worthless. It feels as if I’m downloading a copy of art, not actual art. This angers me, saddens me. I know its being a Luddite, its old fashioned, its whatever you want to call it. The format likely matters less actually. Its the music itself. I want music to be so good again that I want to lay on my floor and discern its meanings, and connect it to my life. Everything is a single. Where are the great rock albums? The ones that you would listen to over and over. I placed hope in “Backspacer.” That was a terrible miscalculation, sorry PJ.
I want music that’s so great I’ll add it to the infinite playlist running in my head.
