The other day I went into a cd store browsing for new music to add to my collection. Normally I would not pay full retail price, but the was having close-out sales with 40-50% off. I browsed each aisle A-Z searching for names I have on my list as a must. Some of the band names I desired were missing so I moved on then there was an album I had been dying to own. Be long I had six cds in my arms. I could not possibly afford them all so I had to rate on level of importance.
It is a bit of a shame now how internet and iPods are changing the direction of music sales. My parents keep asking me if for Christmas would I like an iPod. Call me old fashion, but I just shrug off the suggestion. I like holding the cd tangibly in my hot little hands. I do not love the struggle of removing the shrink wrap then picking at the sticker strip, but it is still apart of the experience of buying new treasured music. Because then come the best part. Sliding/placing the cd in the cd player, turning the volume up, waiting for the first track to begin. With full approval the music sings, my excitement builds with each song. I follow along with the lyrics with the insert knowing exactly how to harmonize. During the musicians' rifts I gaze at the albums artwork approving or disapproving the coherency to the music's soul. I am completely submerged absorbing every meaning to the musician's emotion.
I can remember similar experiences occurring to my mother a couple of decades earlier purchasing Tracy Chapman and Paul Simon's Graceland. Over and over she listened. Under African Skies by Simon was her favorite as she had the volume turned up extra. No sooner would the song finish then she was there lifting the needle to play the song again. At Christmas while putting up the tree and decorating it we listened to the Drummer Boy album on the record player. There was a nostalgia about hanging ornament to the crackling static of the drumming chore.
The same record player I grew up listening to my Disney and Mothergoose songs, as well as Mom's albums of Paul Simon and Crosby, Still, Nash, and Young, I now own. None of the records I have bought. All the records in my possession belong to my mother, but I love pulling out the vinyl discs, placing it on the turn table, lowering the needle causing the table to spin. Then oh so carefully lowering the diamond to touch listening to the rumble as the needle picks up every flaw in static. The anticipation ends when the music plays. It allows me to hear the past as once current greats are now classics. I receive a sense of my parents history with the issues they faced and what was important. With the ancient larger stereo system I crank up the volume allowing me to feel the vibrations of past musicians' convictions as their emotions ring through my body.
I am older now with an appreciation for diverse music, however the acknowledgment of the iPod age disheartens me. Future generations will not have the opportunity to use all the senses to experience music if iPods take over. There will be no hardcopy for a young child to tangibly grasp the with greasy finger tips to place on the turn table. To try ever so gently bring the needle down without a boom. I can remember when I became of age receiving permission from Mom and dad, trusted enough, to play a record on my very own. Every time I held my breath as I cradled the needle's arm with my finger. With a whence I placed it down. Most often the scratch could be heard, but I breathed in relief when the percussion began to thunder then the strings accompanied in harmonious approval. My smile grew larger as I turned up the volume. I had in a strange minimal way helped create the music that now reigned.
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