I have a very large music collection now at my fingertips. Sure, this vast collection, one that almost seems comprehensive at times, is at yours, too; we all received it last summer. Since moving from a permanent spot and now being in more of a transient mode, my musical collection is entirely digital. Of course I miss the tangible aura of physical media, but for now, placing needle on wax isn’t available to me. Spotify exponentially grew my soundscapes; please note my collection prior to this service was rather impressive; if not that, definitely eclectic. My shuffle transitions still make me smirk today. Since my laptop doesn’t consist of every song and record done by everybody, I have fallen — hard know — for this service. Though my HDD is rather complete to my liking, I almost on a daily basis realize what wasn’t transferred into my digital universe. Today’s epiphany…
struck when I was pedaling briskly on two wheels. Out of the corner of my eye, I witness a laser-focused older woman stopped in her Corolla. She was simply at an intersection waiting for her opening; though why would I focus on her longer than a glance? A surgical mask graced her face. Yes, you think of SARS when you witness this in public; I recollect how brilliant those first two Clinic albums were, and how they’re lacking from my HDD. Clinic, a quartet outta Liverpool, were always photographed wearing surgical masks; rumored to perform live wearing the same garb, too.
Enter Spotify and a chance to welcome me back to that spooked out punk, meets fuzzy where did that sound come from rock….
I want to thank Molly Mask for making my collection that much better today: