Someone gave me the entire discography of the Kings of Leon today, it was an afterthought, a bonus, an offhanded gesture, 'oh you might like this'... 3oo Megabytes of ones and zeros later and it's all there, the first tentative album, the second stronger sound, the third storming guitars and anxious, nervous drums of power.
I compare this with the precious individual who introduced me to Sonic Youth, we talked about some other album we had both enjoyed and a couple of days later he said he would make me a tape of some stuff I might enjoy. He did it over a weekend, curated a mix, composed a side, and another, 90 minutes in all, hand wrote the track listings on the card insert, each track name and artist, in small, legible capitals; in blue biro.
He brought it to school, and gave it to me, I turned it over and examined it as a stereotypical Japanese businessman examines a new business card. I asked questions, got answers, and made projections in my mind. I couldn't wait till I got it home to play it, no walkman for me till later, and years later till I felt comfortable in public with earbuds in.
Each song was considered, treasure, pondered. I've just had Kings of Leon playing as wallpaper for two hours now, I did other stuff. I hope it's me, but I don't want to value music less.
1 comment:
Well said, Ben. I felt this way when my cousins introduced me to Senuti. 'So, I can just vacuum thousands of songs off an ipod because the computer tells me I don't have them? Great!' Did that. Last Christmas. Still haven't listened to them all.
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