I wrote this quickfiction piece after realizing that I might never buy another CD again.
Sounds
Listen to the story
Remember when it was vinyl and the bookcases were so weighted down that they bent to the left? You worried so much about what would happen to the cats if it fell and crushed them. Music had that kind of weight back then. You could sit on the ground, legs crossed, for hours as you listened, explored and read through each word of the liner notes. The revolution changed that as you carted your albums off to the landfill or tag sales or to friends who still had room and interest, and bid farewell in dramatic silence. Then, the sounds were captured on little shiny discs. The new bookcase, however, was the same as the old — bent and crooked with sounds. It might have been some woodworking error, yet here you were again, with the weight of music on your mind. You had long given up even reading liner notes during the revolution, losing touch with the stories behind the songs. The names too small to even read now. When the bookcase fell to gravity, you moved all of that plastic to boxes in the basement and shoved the round discs into an over-sized folder, optimistically hoping some random nature might take over. It never did and all you had now was disappointment. Music, yes, but also disappointment. Now it’s all on this box in the palm of your hand. You’ve realized something. You may have bought your last disc. Ever. You hold the last plastic box in your hand. Green Day. 21st Century Breakdown. Yes. That seems about right as you open the top to the recycling bin and toss the box in. Forever.
Peace (in music),
Kevin
Yes Kevin, this one strikes a chord as well. I can recall sitting on the floor at home and friends apartments as we listened to the Moody Blues, The Band, and the Yardbirds . We listened for every bit of sound and rhythm and expected the best guitar work from our heroes of the time. We also had to walk a bit more carefully around the room as vibrations (oh no! dancing) would cause a skip, possibly damaging the vinyl for a permanent skip. My husband toted all his vinyl to downtown Easthampton one day several years back and gave them to a record dealer here. It’s almost as though the artistic value of them surpassed any thought of monetary gain. It was like giving them to a good home and hoping they would receive the love and appreciation that had been part of their “lives” with us. I also remember riding along in hubby’s old Rambler and listening to The James Gangon the 8 track. The box of tapes was huge by today’s standards.
Now my iPod shuffle is loaded with Jack Johnson, Bob Dylan, and U2. I plan to get the cable that connects it to the car system and you’re right, I haven’t bought more than one or two cds in the past year.