I didn’t grow up in a musical family. My dad had CD’s of Abba, Paul Mauriat, Mantovani, back when CD’s were wonderful, rare things. None of my siblings collected tapes as eagerly as I did, back in high school, when I also was the resident fiddler of our stereo component system.
Pre and early 90s, I knew the format of each radio station. I always had cotton and rubbing alcohol to clean the tape heads. Nagkakaroon ako ng daga sa dibdib pag naputulan ako ng tape.
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These days, it takes minutes to get a record you want. Google helps.
Then I play the record, and put it in my mp3 player. I listen to it while in transit, but it rarely happens that the music dictates the mood. Maybe for one song, but then the ugly feet of my co-commuters would catch your attention, the grocery list I never make comes to mind, and then I’ll worry that there’s so much wasted time that I’m not doing a lot on weekends.
The new Slayer record did this to me. The new Weezer record, almost, but I did make an effort that time. These are the popular names though, and I’m sure this also happened with a hundred or so bands and artists that shot their works through my inattentive ears.
It is a time to re-think this: I should put the music layer of my life-timeline, even in short bursts, upfront. This is when I can say, in finality, if the experience bored or excited me. Experience? Yes. If it makes you want to stab a unicorn, or zen out in a circle of hell, that’s potent music.
On that note, maybe I should load some more dance club music to ignore for my work commute.
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When you look at places unexpected, and when you’re supposed guilty-pleasure listening isn’t part of your shame list anymore, that’s when you know when music has bored you.
Tags: personal