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The Death Of A Disco Dancer

Brian —  April 3, 2014

There is no way to sound like I’m not one of the Grumpy Old Geeks to make this post, but really. Every song I could possibly want to listen to, on tap, for nothing – or next to nothing, if you don’t want to hear an ad now and then. I used to drive from record store to record store to find the latest release or an ep with an extra track, or a special remix, flirt with the cute girl working the counter. Music was special… not just special, music was everything. Nothing else mattered, at all – or at least, nothing wasn’t seen through the prism of the music I liked, and the music you liked, and how that all fit together.

Now it means nothing. It’s great for me, because I can just bring up whatever I want at any time, and I’m old, and all the things that mean so much to me have already been recorded and I’ve lived through that, talked about it with friends, traded rarities, gone to the shows, bought the t-shirts and gone home so many years ago.

But a big part of what made music special was the chase, the not having everything on tap, the not knowing what this artist that meant so much to you was thinking every second. That’s all gone. And no one growing up today has that. I can’t believe that any Miley song will ever mean the same to the girls growing up now that Tiffany did then. Or that 30 Seconds to Mars or Imagine Dragons will ever be Depeche Mode or the Cure or the Smiths. They fucking can’t, beyond the fact that they suck.

The more we gain, the more we lose. And I think we’ve lost more than we’ve gained.