I have barely posted on ‘Music’ over the past few years.
Partly this is because I have stopped buying music. My attentions have turned to the more creative, from a personal point of view, art of photography.
This means I have stopped becoming a music consumer.
I never thought I would reach this stage. Looking out, in my basement from my computer den, I see rows and rows of CDs and LPs, all lovingly accumulated over the years since I was 15.
Most have been converted to MP3s or FLACs, played now over my computer network in my bedroom, usually just before I go to sleep.
Or at work over the tinny speakers attached to my computer.
Or in the car over the not quite so tinny car speakers. Occasionally, between recorded radio plays.
Has music really become so peripheral to my life?
Perhaps it has. Yet it still holds strength. Last weekend, driving back from Holliday, MO, after an afternoon photographing sunflowers, I played the third album I ever bought, the first Roxy Music album, over and over again. Music bought when I was fifteen. I loved it. Those old songs, heard so many times since, still move me. They cast me back into the absolute beginnings of my life yet hold true to the life I life today. How can this be? How can something I loved while still living with my parents, while still a virgin, while still terrified of the unknown future ahead of me, still be meaningful today?
I don’t know. Perhaps this, more than anything, is a testament to the power of music.