I’ve been listening to a lot of music lately. I’ve never been one of those people that sits around with a group of people talking incessantly about bands and songs; music has always been more personal to me. I don’t get any pleasure from analyzing songs with people, I much prefer to say, “hey listen to this new song/band I found; I think it’s neat” (yes, I actually say the word “neat” because, well, I like it). Since I got rid of the TV I’ve been buying more music than I used to over a given period of time.
I was looking at this stack of blank CDs on my desk at work today and thinking about the name, “compact disc.” Such amazing technology in the early 80’s. I only owned a few actual records that I inherited from God-knows-where; once I was old enough (teenager) to scrape together some funds I started buying CDs. I had a couple of those big binder things stuffed full of them. One was “high school music” and the other was, for lack of a better term, “my twenties music.” I still have one of them. The other, as far as I can tell, didn’t make it out of the apartment of an ex and I never tried to ask for it back; I suspect they got thrown out. That makes me sad, but life goes on. I’ve learned that holding on to things is never as rewarding as just remembering they were there. Plus, I can’t remember the last time I actually listened to an old CD anyway. I’ve been an iPod user for awhile now; the music is purchased with mouse clicks and gets backed up to a second hard drive. I guess I’m keeping up with technology pretty well; I text people from my [cute] cell phone, after all.
I was reading the blog of an old friend from high school. Actually I guess I could say the blog of two old friends from high school. The two of them met when we were freshmen or sophomores and have been together ever since. They have a baby now and, despite my lack of child-rearing interest, I find it cute and moving to see how their family is doing.
Thinking of them made me think of Tommy, another high school friend. He was killed early in Bush’s war; the guy never saw his thirties. I went back for his funeral and our high school named their stadium for him. Just a tragic situation. He and I used to sit around for hours and hours listening to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, a CD that I asked for, and was actually given to me by my rather progressive grandmother.
We’d listen to that album all the way through and talk about how the way it felt must have been like getting stoned, which neither of us had [yet] tried. I’d go with friends to see Floyd laser shows. I would listen to Dark Side of the Moon alone in my room. If I heard one of those songs on the radio in the car I would turn it way up. It was just so visceral at a time when I didn’t yet have many life experiences of my own. I even tried listening to it while watching The Wizard of Oz though I didn’t find it all that impressive.
I have no idea where my copy of that CD is today. It may be in the missing binder, it may be in the back of a binder that I still have, out of order, lost, quiet. I could just go on to iTunes and buy the album again, but for some reason I haven’t. I will, sure. Eventually.
Those old records had art on their covers, of course. CDs had art on their covers too. The downloaded songs include digital versions that pop up on the screen while the music is playing. There’s a certain continuity there which I like. It’s not about the packaging, it’s about the sight, the sound and the feel, as it always has been. For me it’s about memories, of building soundtracks into periods of my life and then coming back later to hear those memories anew.
Some bands I’m into right now: Tosca, Mindtrap, Cantoma.
That’s all for now.
