Recently I’ve admitted to myself that I’ve basically given up on discovering new music. It no longer circulates as social currency so much among the people I know, and I find I don’t have the time to absorb anything unfamiliar. It’s easier to dismiss what I happen to hear as reworkings of stuff I already know. I never thought this waning of curiosity would happen to me, but now that is another lost illusion from youth. Confronted with the infinite playlists at my fingertips, the endless shuffle, I feel ready to surrender, either by letting music wash over me indifferently or by switching to podcasts.
When the Owls Cry in the Night
When the Owls Cry in the Night
When the Owls Cry in the Night
Recently I’ve admitted to myself that I’ve basically given up on discovering new music. It no longer circulates as social currency so much among the people I know, and I find I don’t have the time to absorb anything unfamiliar. It’s easier to dismiss what I happen to hear as reworkings of stuff I already know. I never thought this waning of curiosity would happen to me, but now that is another lost illusion from youth. Confronted with the infinite playlists at my fingertips, the endless shuffle, I feel ready to surrender, either by letting music wash over me indifferently or by switching to podcasts.