hidden tracks & tactile memories

It’s easy to mock the person who (gasp) still owns CDs. Who dusts off records and can’t bring themselves to throw away custom cassettes. It’s unfashionable to hold on to these things. One might as well stamp luddite on one’s forehead. 

No one was looking, I was thinking of you

Digital music is easy and endless. Point, click, play. It won’t skip or warble when you listen to your favourite songs too many times. In fact it will compile a convenient list telling you which ones you listen to the most. Which will shock you when you find your tastes aren’t as refined as you would like to believe.

Silence here I am / Here I am silent

It’s convenient. But it’s not special. It’s not crafting sense memories. Days of laying on the floor reading liner notes and rolling on your back to see the world in an off kilter way. The instant panic of watching shiny black laces hang like spaghetti out of the mouth of your stereo.

And I shouldn’t be here without permission I shouldn’t be here

And the hidden track. The love letters your favourite artists tucked in a back pocket just for you. Getting to the end of an album and realizing it’s not over. The smug satisfaction you got when other people didn’t know about it.

Oh pretty baby, now that I found you, stay.

Now it’s skip, shuffle, rinse, repeat. Nothing is secret. Or special. Or hidden.

And kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall but you go on…