? Between friends, we often discuss when we fell in love with live music, music criticism, the album form or specific bands. While I think of it often, I rarely discuss how I came to love meeting a work of musical genius for the first time. It feels gauche to love discovery of new art as much as you love the art itself; it sounds like an accusation that the music in one’s existing Rolodex will simply never be satisfactory, despite the care and labor that went into it.
I didn’t. But that was okay: enter Spotify. My college radio station was fairly lax about what its individual DJs could play, save for curse words and ads per FCC compliance. To play what you wanted to play andwhat you wanted to play, realistically, you needed a Spotify Premium subscription, and I didn’t think twice about it. Spotify felt like such an easy way to collect all the songs I bookmarked in YouTube playlists, Tumblr reblogs and in the caverns of my memory into easy-to-catalog mixes.
Obviously, in 2020, everything changed. In January of that year, I vowed to get back into the music writing game after leaving it behind in college, where I’d contributed to the radio station’s in-house blog. My friend started a new site where I could try my hand at responding to albums with paragraphs of the written word.
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