Life Without Music
When I was younger, those years when I was always stoned and thought I was in a movie, life had a soundtrack. There were no iPods back then, so the music came from cheap transistor radios, or someone's phonograph. I particularly loved live music, and enjoyed going to clubs in New York to listen to jazz or folk. But I liked all genres and listened to music all the time. As I got older, the music began to fade. When I lived in rural Mexico, Honduras, or Afghanistan, I didn't have a radio and the local music, while pleasant enough, was pretty much meaningless to me. And for the past couple of decades, when I was in my fifties and sixties, I'd turn on the radio, or later, when I got the computer, Pandora, and hear somebody singing "baby, baby," which obviously had nothing to do with me or my life, so I'd turn it off.
There were occasional delights, sometimes when Rossi would post a song here or somebody would call my attention to a song, and when I discovered something I could enjoy listening to, I'd play it over and over and over until I really didn't want to hear it any more. Yesterday, I unfollowed somebody on Twitter because they kept posting links to songs and it just seemed to be cluttering up my timeline when I wanted to keep up with events in Palestine and Canada and many other places.
I can't say "the day the music died," for me, but my life is mostly silent.
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