I grew up making mix tapes off of the radio. As a teenager I was lucky to enjoy the technological advance of CDs.
As a passionate music lover, I built a comprehensive collection of CDs of all kinds of music. I spent hours burning albums to my computer, and as iTunes and iPhone rose in popularity, used them well. Then with Pandora and Spotify, I occasionally used them to find new music. I have a wide taste in music, so I’ve really loved discovering new music this way.
I tried a subscription to Apple Music for a bit but felt disappointed with the algorithm. I’ve been a loyal Spotify subscriber for a few years now.
Today Spotify notified me that one of my favorite artists, Andrew Bird had a new album, My Finest Work Yet.
Would I like to play it? Well sure. I hadn’t listened to Bird in a while, why not?
We were on our way to the grocery store and my daughter doesn’t like listening to books or podcasts in the car (or ever… are we even related!?) so I opened it up and played it through my car as we drove.
“Wow, this is a good collection of songs,” I thought. “I like them. A great soundtrack for a lazy Saturday.”
And then I had a stunning thought.
When was the last time I listened to an album like this? I could not remember.
An unintended consequence of the convenience of Spotify was that I listened to music recommended to me, or occasionally that I wanted to revisit, but generally song by song.
As each song played from Bird’s new album I realized why I loved cracking open a good album and listening to every song. I should do it more often!
What other simple pleasures forgotten should be remembered?
