I’ve had the same Thelonious Monk album in my cd player for over a month. Our house’s last remaining cd players sits atop the refrigerator, a dusty three-cd changer that was all the rage in the early nineties. I spend a great deal of my time in the kitchen and usually listen to NPR or a podcast of “Democracy Now” as I cook. However, lately it’s Thelonious Monk. Each time I listen I get more and more from it.
I listen to music constantly, but for some reason this is the first time in a long time that I really feel I’m listening. I’ve gained such enjoyment from eight beautifully orchestrated tracks.
This all makes me wonder why I have hundreds of albums; 40 gigs of music, meticulously catalogued on a back-up hard-drive. I’ve probably spent over a hundred hours uploading albums, labeling info-less tracks, and cursing the false-gods of Apple. All that time, when I could have been listening.