There's something like two week's of music on this computer. I can't do anything with such an absurd profusion of choices. Unlike most of you–who seem to be more than ready to exit this corporeal plane for some kind of Johnny Mnemonic or Tron existence where you are nowt but electrons dancing amongst the light particles–I come from the 1980s.
I thought the audio cassette was the height of sound reproduction and convenience. An album was somewhere around 12 songs lasting about 40 minutes that one had to turn over after the end of side 1 in order to facilitate the listening of side 2.
Truth be told, I don't think I'm quite over the introduction of that seductive, mirrored coaster, the Compact Disc. But you're over it, aren't you, my friend? Even as we speak, you're downloading millions upon millions of MP3s a.k.a The Western World's Compleat Pop Music Back Catalogue (1900-2011)–minus Rod Stewart Destroys The Great American Songbook (Volumes I-V).
For the sake of my sanity and to solve this First World problem, I must travel in the opposite direction. My need is for a petite and manageable musical experience, so I have just downloaded a paltry 743 songs from the 'puter and onto my 5th Generation iPod Classic from 2005. I've docked the 'pod into some portable speakers and I am currently listening to "Dinner Jacket" from They Might Be Giants 1992 album Apollo 18.
Yeah, album. I keep using that archaic terminology. A collection of songs speciously linked and sold to music lovers in an attractive package with liner notes. Don't worry Woman or Man of the Future, Today, there isn't a quiz at the end of this post, you don't need to remember any of this cultural detritus, this minutiae of yesteryear.
That's my job.
(Just a guy made of dots and lines...)