I can’t remember the last time I
watched a movie that impacted me this much. When I was younger, it seemed to
happen a bunch. The movies and music that you’re exposed to as a teenager hits
you at the perfect time for long-lasting impact. Ask your parents their
favorite album or movie and most likely it was released before they turned 25.
So on a lazy, quiet, sunny Saturday morning, I wasn’t expecting to browse my
favorited movies on Comcast, find that ‘Once’ was on demand, and for 86
minutes, become completely entranced. It’s such a beautiful and powerful and
warm movie that I’m still glowing. So much so that I spent some time during
lunch today browsing YouTube for Glenn Hansard performances. Some from the
movie. Some with his co-start. But one in particular with another Irish
musician, Lisa Hannigan. Click. Highlight. Drag and drop. Wikipedia. Holy shit,
she was in Damien Rice’s band during his albums O and 9. I KNOW HER! YouTube.
Click. Listen. Like. Grab phone. Unlock. Spotify. Search. Find. Albums. Sea Sew
– Save. Passenger – Save.
I am excited to forget that I saved
two albums by Lisa Hannigan, get bored one afternoon, browse artists I’ve
recently added, and listen to her music. Maybe in the car. Maybe before bed.
Maybe just on a lazy, quiet, sunny Saturday morning. But it’s there, and it’s
nice to know it’s there. Losing all my music on a dropped external hard drive
wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me, mainly because I immediately
signed up for Spotify Premium and all of a sudden have access to more music
than I can listen to in a hundred lifetimes. Sure I have Tragic Kingdom saved
because music in 1995 had a major impact on me, especially albums that were
released on my 10th birthday,
but that doesn’t mean I don’t love scrolling through my list of saved artists
and not recognizing dozens of names because I heard one of their songs on an
Evening Chill playlist and decided to save 38 of their songs on 3 albums.
Around 1995, well a year or two
before and the years after, at least until the fall of 1999 when my brother
went off to college, music was a special thing. It created a bond with my dad
when I told him I wanted the entire Pink Floyd ‘The Wall’ album recorded onto a
cassette tape, and again when I decided that ZZ top was a good band to listen
to as a fifth grader. With my brother when I let the alternative minded music
seep into my everyday listening, and again when live shows became a part of
everyday life, from garage punk bands to the House of Blues. But the most vivid
memories related to music come from riding in my parents’ Cutlass while my
brother drove, Palatine to Roselle, Roselle to Algonquin, and all the way west
until you hit this tiny music palace called Record Breakers. I don’t think it
was always there, but for the sake of this story, that’s what I remember.
That’s not around the corner from where we lived, so to go there took some
actual effort. Luckily (I guess) my calendar wasn’t too full.
We’d go to this store and literally
browse the stacks of tapes and CDs. The smell of incense wafted strong
throughout the store. Sometimes there was a mission. Sometimes there was not.
Sometimes you would listen to a CD in the CD listening stations and make a
decision. Sometimes you would buy a poster or a hat or a shirt. Sometimes you would
get a suggestion from a worker and try something new. Sometimes you would see
that a band member of a band you like had a previous band worth checking out.
Sometimes you would hear a song on a soundtrack and that would open up a whole
new set of music to explore. Sometimes nothing would happen. But every time,
something was happening. You didn’t always walk out with new merchandise, but
you always walked out.
There’s something about this
on-demand world that is suffocating our society. That Pink Floyd tape sounded
better because I had to talk my dad into setting up a time to make the
recording, he had to get his equipment set up, the recording had to happen, and
then I got to listen to it. Finding a CD at Record Breakers was exciting and
adventurous and rewarding in a way that made you appreciate the music.
And don’t even get me started on
video games. NBA Jam TE (tournament edition) was one of the greatest Sega
Genesis games of all time. And the cheat codes you could implement to unlock
characters, super dunks, super threes, big heads; amazing. After seeing a Kobe
Bryant spoof with NBA Jam graphics, I decided to search for a current version
of NBA Jam, and if I couldn’t find one, create a Kickstarter, because that game
needs to exist for PS3 or PS4. Well much to my surprise, an NBA Jam game had
been created, the On Fire edition, and with rosters updated through 2013. And
because technology is amazing, sure as shit you could download the game and be
playing it within minutes. I was dumbfounded and wildly excited. Know what I
did on a Friday night? I stayed in and played NBA Jam with my brother and for
about 2 hours, it was 1994 again. I had a great time.
Flash back to 1994. “Mom, can we
get a ride to Blockbuster?” I still remember the smell of that place. Straight
to the video games. Walk. And browse. Pick up. Read. Look. Compare. The
anticipation of renting a video game on a Friday night rivals the adult version
of being in an airport before a vacation. That game could be anything. It could
be everything. And the clock’s ticking. As soon as you leave the store, every
second you aren’t playing that game is wasted. The amount of nights I stayed up
until 3 or 4 or 5 in the morning playing video games… It was research.
Reconnaissance. And it was amazing.
I’m not sure how I feel about this
on-demand life. I’m definitely a participant. But without losing perspective.
On-demand makes it easier to avoid the outside world. Netflix a show, GrubHub
your meal, Saucey some booze, and never leave your couch. Sometimes that’s
amazing. But we’re breeding a population that expects everything to be
available. The only way they know how to discover something new is with a
search bar. Be adventurous and the reward will taste sweeter.
