Thursday night ride home, up I-95 N on dry roads and heavy traffic.
My right hand rests on the dial.
So, DK, what’s it gonna be?
Radio, with its 50+ stations?
Sirius, with its 100 channels?
iPhone playlists, with 5437 tunes?
Or, Pandora streaming, with its infinite candy?
So much candy, yet never satisfied, yearning for the familiar grooves.
McEwen answers in World Enough & Time: “Intake, for example: how much is enough?”
And Simon Reynolds follows: “Complaining that there’s too much good art and entertainment being made at the moment seems churlish — how could that be a problem? Yet it’s undeniable that there is something curiously oppressive about the current bounty, something paralyzing about our ease of access to it. keeping up with what’s good gets to seem like a chore. If anything, the overload in music feels even more unmanageable.”
And in flows nostalgia. An ache…
For the 70s.
For eight track players, cassette decks and RCA record players, scratched discs and poor quality speakers.
For Bob Seger’s Night Moves.
For Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours.
For Eagles’ The Long Run.
For the handful of albums and songs grooved in from thousands of replays.
I lip sync the chorus from Seger’s Night Moves: I remember. I remember. I remember.
And eat the comfort food sitting at Paul Lisicky‘s table: “The table, this bread, forks lifting again and again to our mouths.”
And back to Simon Reynolds to wrap: “Conversely, one of the downsides of the age of plenty is that the more widely you listen outside your well-worn grooves, the more frequently you’ll experience disappointment, distaste or just indifference. More is less.”
My hand spins on the dial to 70s on 7 – the ear warms to the familiar of the first two bars, the mind locks in, the shoulders begin to sway and the lips move with Mercy, Mercy Me – – things aren’t what they used to be…