The Best Of the Greatest Hits…

Elvis Presley and Costello, Hank Williams Sr., Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath, Simon and Garfunkel, Stevie Wonder, Queen, Van Morrison, The Who, Crosby Stills & Nash, The Ramones, The Clash, Jefferson Airplane, The Mama’s and The Papa’s, CCR, Fleetwod Mac, Joni Mitchell, Bowie, Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, The Doors, Bob Marley, Al Green, Funkadelic, The Carpenters, Aerosmith, Meat Loaf, U2, The New York Dolls, Peter Frampton, Blondie, Cat Stevens, Boston, The Allman Brothers, Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, Marvin Gaye, Elton, Dylan, Clapton, Springsteen, Floyd, Cher, Nick Drake, Curtis Mayfield, Jackson Browne, Carole King, Iggy Pop and The Stooges, The Velvet Underground, Cheap Trick, The Eagles, Bad Company, Patti Smith, The Steve Miller Band, Airsupply, Kiss, Supertramp, Van Halen, Dolly Parton, and John Cougar Mellencamp before he lost the Cougar.  These were the ‘Best Of’ my childhood in the mid-to-late seventies.  They were the stories, tunes, expressions, and concepts that defined my parent’s generation and shaped a musical melody within my soul. 

I just got my promo order from work – Warner Music Group – and there is no denying that while my mother’s generation, neatly filed in the form of vinyl under my vintage record player, has passed its lighter on to my generation.  The music, stories, experiences, and tunes that compiled the growing pains of my generation have graduated into yet another dying format of music – the compact disc – in the form of a greatest hits album.  The Stone Temple Pilots, Pearl Jam, Nirvana, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Madonna, Michael Jackson, R.E.M., Metallica, the Beastie Boys, Soundgarden, Counting Crows, Oasis, Green Day, the Goo Goo Dolls, Alice in Chains, LL Cool J, Weezer, the Cranberries, Notorious BIG, Live, The Pixies, PJ Harvey, Liz Phair, Prince, Bon Jovi, Duran Duran, Depeche Mode, Pavement, Wilco, The Flaming Lips, Guns ‘n Roses, Def Leppard, Run DMC, AC/DC, Whitney Houston, INXS, The Bangles, Cyndi Lauper, The Cure, the Go Go’s, Wham!, the Talking Heads, Poison, the B-52’s, Motley Crue, Janet Jackson, Eurythmics, Billy Idol, Salt-n-Pepa, A Flock of Seagulls, Culture Club, Boy George, Paula Abdul, Joan Jett, Rick James, Lionel Ritchie, Tone-Loc, The Pretenders, NKOTB, and good lord Bobby Brown.  These are the musical melodies that are supposed to strike a chord in my child (the one I do not have) and perhaps the last physical form of a musical collection (known as an album) that will exist in the world. 

One-offs in a unarchived format with messages of a generation of self-entitled tones.  A greatest hits of the best of digital delusion living on some type of portable drive somewhere that merely pays my salary….that’s the download on a new generation’s legacy. 

I think I’ll lay on my shag rug, beside the records I love, listening to a CD of my youth, under the photographs developed from real film that hang above the Royal typewriter, while I read a book.

Diffident Diary/DigiSphere/I Call Bullshit/Life Times/Media Marvels/On A Serious Note/The Prop Arsenal


Flash Drive To The Soul.

Do people have tangible photo albums anymore, or are we all images in soft copy?  Snapshots of online sharing within social networks of people that probably would never actually be in a photograph with me anyway?  Optimized discovery at every view, and I recall the excitement of physical discovery itself, ah yes relic rembrance of the nostalgic kind. 

Everything at our fingertips, and I feel like a hypocrite for wishing my record player had a remote.  Nonetheless, my record can play from Side A to Side B in a linear listen and I even get up to flip it to the other side, but yet I could never listen, fully, to a digital album.  (By ‘record’ I mean vinyl, yes dinosaurs of music). I don’t lay on my rug, staring up at the ceiling and daydream of future experiences, and listen to an album from start to finish with an iPod.  I most certainly don’t print out the artwork and put it on my walls. 

Maybe something happened to my earnest filing of memories and dreams, and therein lies the issue?    Photo albums in the bookshelf, books from authors dedicated to me in pencil from friends along the way, music collections that imprinted the soul, and napkins of philosophy and dreams crumpled into boxes; all digitized and flash drived.

Storage, but none of it spends enough time in the soul.  It has become too easy to hit file, save, and connect to a USB that I’m afraid of losing  the simple aesthetic of my real life memory.  Unable to file away with a song and no image to thumb through to prove this moment exists, and let’s face it no blog is sacred. 

My journals used to contain writing, the deep kind, and each year represented in its own journal.  I’ve banged too many keyboards to remember how to write, so my years now piggyback off a single journal.  Three years of life tucked away in one college-ruled leather bound book, not even memorably expressed to exist individually.  Everything condensed to gigabytes and shared into forgotten drives, stored on a flash drive small enough to lose. 

You’ll never hear someone say they will grab their flash drive, iPod, or Kindle in the case of a fire, but they used to say photo albums, journals, and keepsakes.  Then again if you barely have enough time to jump from a burning house in time to save your life, at least your eBooks, music, photos, and documents will all be safely stored online.

Re-learning The Computer

I broke down, an iBreakdown if you will. Since my wife and my homeowner’s dream was put on hold, we decided to console ourselves with 16GB iPhone’s. I’m feeling much better, thank you.

An Insomniac’s Nightly Responsibility

Most nights it’s all the same; dinner, tv show, ruminations of working out or not working out, bargaining about working out in the morning, settling on writing instead which almost never results in novel revisions and always results in blogging.  I’m convinced that blogging is worse than a speed addict with Mini Thins.

You typically spend your days binging on information, entertainment, and psuedo meaningful content so that you can purge it into the blogosphere.  Before you know it you’re running around like a junky trying to find the next posting fix.  Let’s not forget to add the tags and send the trackbacks so that Google, your portal dealer, can be at your beck andcall to  feed your addiction.

Then what happens after you press ‘publish’ on WordPress?   It’s over, start again, a vicious cycle of addiction.  You’ll update when you should be sleeping, on the bus to work on your Smartphone, while in the bathroom, at lunch, at work, out with friends, anytime and anywhere you can.  You become the coke fiend at the bar with the revolving bathroom door except you’re a blogger in front of too many screens!

Note to self: get some Ambien.

Note to kids: do not try Ambien at home, or for that matter at school, on a school bus, while reading this blog..just don’t even learn how to pronounce the word…and if you do just leave me out of it, kapeesh!

Digital Boom

Since I work in the Digital Space, I’m finding partnerships hitting the digisphere quicker than Demi & Ashton tweet.   Whether it’s Twitter w/ Microsoft or Google or YouTube w/ Universal Music, I’m pretty sure anyone in digital has on their poker face.  I tried to link the ‘YouTube w/ Universal Music’ but WordPress wouldn’t link it so I can only assume Universal has also restricted the rights on linking their name to any site that won’t be making them money like they are restricting Music Videos to those brands that in essence launched their bread & butter to the world.

Fun Fact:  Aug. 1st 1981, a newly formed cable network called MTV played the first Music Video, The Buggles ‘Video Killed The Radio Star’ (Island Records–parent label is Universal Music Group).

Music Vault: Doug Martsch of Built to Spill (by yours truly)

“I definitely have always considered myself a songwriter. My musicianship is just barely enough and usually not enough to pull off the song.”  Read Full Piece.


Did You Know?

No Joke, this is downtown of my hometown.

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