A short essay on why FM radio will outlive the iPod and the MP3.
In order to adequately and coherently illustrate my point I will need to utilise an example. Let's say, Radiohead's masterful Creep.
Imagine, if you will, the following situation:
I'm sitting behind my computer doing whatever and decide it's time for some aural stimulation. A few flicks of the wrist later I'm browsing through the folders containing my music; moments later I find Radiohead's Creep. I double-click the file, my harddrive thinks about it for a millisecond or two, and an instant later the intro of Creep is drifting out of my speakers, filling the room like water fills the lungs of a drowning man. Delightful, utterly delightful. So delightful, in fact, that I will cease whatever it is I'm doing to peacefully enjoy the majestic misery that is Radiohead's breakthrough single. Chances that I'll mimic that guitar riff on my air-guitar are reasonably good.
Now imagine, again if you will, the following situation:
I'm sitting behind that same computer doing that same whatever and decide it's time for some aural stimulation. I grab the remote, and turn on the stereo that's across the room. Soft music drifts through the air, encapsulating me completely. I continue doing whatever. Some time later my head snaps up and cocks to the left, mouth open to improve my hearing, eyes squinting. Is that...? Grab the remote, turn up the volume, and yes, it is. The ominously gentle first chords of Creep resonate in my mind as if Jonny Greenwood is plucking strings directly attached to my brain. The sheer surprise of the song makes me drop whatever it is I am doing, close my eyes and swivel my chair so that I am facing the stereo speakers. The song captures me, owns me, takes me away. My breathing slows down as I prepare to lip-sync Thom Yorke's haunting lyrics. I feel the riff in my chest, my mind, my toes, as if it is the sound of time itself stepping on the brake. After the song ends I stay seated, quickly turn the stereo off and bask in the aftermath of genius. Slow moments later I open my eyes slowly to see if the world has not dissolved. It has not. Life continues.
That's why.
Imagine, if you will, the following situation:
I'm sitting behind my computer doing whatever and decide it's time for some aural stimulation. A few flicks of the wrist later I'm browsing through the folders containing my music; moments later I find Radiohead's Creep. I double-click the file, my harddrive thinks about it for a millisecond or two, and an instant later the intro of Creep is drifting out of my speakers, filling the room like water fills the lungs of a drowning man. Delightful, utterly delightful. So delightful, in fact, that I will cease whatever it is I'm doing to peacefully enjoy the majestic misery that is Radiohead's breakthrough single. Chances that I'll mimic that guitar riff on my air-guitar are reasonably good.
Now imagine, again if you will, the following situation:
I'm sitting behind that same computer doing that same whatever and decide it's time for some aural stimulation. I grab the remote, and turn on the stereo that's across the room. Soft music drifts through the air, encapsulating me completely. I continue doing whatever. Some time later my head snaps up and cocks to the left, mouth open to improve my hearing, eyes squinting. Is that...? Grab the remote, turn up the volume, and yes, it is. The ominously gentle first chords of Creep resonate in my mind as if Jonny Greenwood is plucking strings directly attached to my brain. The sheer surprise of the song makes me drop whatever it is I am doing, close my eyes and swivel my chair so that I am facing the stereo speakers. The song captures me, owns me, takes me away. My breathing slows down as I prepare to lip-sync Thom Yorke's haunting lyrics. I feel the riff in my chest, my mind, my toes, as if it is the sound of time itself stepping on the brake. After the song ends I stay seated, quickly turn the stereo off and bask in the aftermath of genius. Slow moments later I open my eyes slowly to see if the world has not dissolved. It has not. Life continues.
That's why.
1 Comments:
Beautifully put. I wholeheartedly agree.
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