If music and I were married, we’d be on the rocks. I’m cheating on music with podcasts and, unfortunately, there’s no marriage counselor for this sort of thing. You want proof? Throughout 2024, I listened to 23,220 minutes of podcasts and 11,893 minutes of music. My fifteen-year-old self would be crushed. In high school, I adored music. It all started with CDs. Opening up the zippered, nylon CD wallet or a splintered jewel case used to be my every day; sliding the CD into the player was a portal to feeling. And, as an adolescent with plenty of strong feelings, this was my favorite outlet. 

Recently, my wife’s phone broke. As a nurse, she needs to be on call occasionally—which means she needs a functional phone to be notified if she needs to come in to work. Because it was irrevocably broken, the reasonable option was for her to use my phone instead. This was fine, and I drove about forty minutes to go see Robocop with a friend completely phone-less. No ETA update texts, no skipping ads on a podcast episode, no scrambling to find the right song at red lights, and no “traffic ahead” notifications. It felt…right. To rely solely on the garage-sale CDs I’ve collected was a commitment to finitude. I hadn’t felt that way about listening to music in years. Yes, I could change the CD, but I only had four CDs. Like sinking into a hot tub, I let out a metaphorical sigh of relief. 

Music makes me feel, but it also helps me think. I wrote the outline to this article you’re reading right now in my head while listening to Aphex Twin’s lyricless album Classics. I wouldn’t have listened to forty minutes straight of relentless, aggressive, darkly beautiful Aphex Twin beats if I had listened on Spotify. And yet, it was easy to commit to it because of my limited options.

My uncle once told me a story about a time when he was driving down from Alaska to Michigan and his car broke down in Canada. It just so happened that a friend lived nearby and let him stay at his place for a day or two while his car was getting fixed. While the friend was away, my uncle had nothing to do except wait. The friend’s only available entertainment was one VHS tape: Groundhog Day. So, for a day or two, he rewatched Groundhog Day. Over. And over. And over. I always thought this story rocked because, obviously, it mirrors the experience of the main character—but moreover it demonstrates how often we find bizarre and memorable experiences if we’re presented with limited options.

If I turn on Netflix, I’m greeted with thousands of options, so I end up spending more time scrolling trying to decide what to watch than actually watching something. In my opinion, that’s why comforting shows like Suits, Friends, Seinfeld, The Office, or Sex and the City have seen such an incredible spike in popularity. Similarly, my top artists on Spotify for the last few years have consistently included Radiohead and Bo Burnham. (Inside and In Rainbows are my comfort albums. I say that with pride.) It felt like an accomplishment to kick The National off my top five and buoy Mk.Gee to my number one artist in 2024—but I know that’s because I find his music comforting, endlessly repeatable, and I took the time and money to go to his concert. 

Orson Welles reportedly said that “the enemy of art is the absence of limitations.” But how often do we embrace that philosophy with our lives? By this logic, in order to live artfully, we should welcome limitations. Maybe life is like listening to a CD in your car or going to a concert. I can’t change the song very easily, I have to spend money on it, and I’m going to try to enjoy it. Whenever I’ve had endless options, I end up going nowhere. 

Even though I won’t be quitting Spotify, I’ve recently fallen in love with this quote from James Cameron: “When we go to the movies we make a deal with ourselves to have undivided attention for a couple of hours. It’s about immersing yourself…choosing to commit to that ahead of time.” Nowadays, if I’m feeling healthy, I try to capture that spirit by listening to an album on my record player, pondering the movie Perfect Days, going for a run without my phone, or sitting down to watch a movie with a bunch of people in a dimly lit room.

1 Comment

  1. Ian Curtis

    Physical media 4ever

    Reply

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