Things Really were Different Back Then

Show most people in my generation the pics below and they will tell you what album this is from a distance with ease (well, the cool kids from my generation anyway!).

At the risk of sounding like an old nostalgic, obsolete guy who just doesn't 'get it', let me tell you about a huge difference in experiencing music that my kids have with what I experienced when I was their age:

They get a music recommendation from a friend; they open another tab on their device and bring up a song or video or whatever; they listen while multitasking; they like it; they branch out and find other similar songs.  Cool.  Very cool - it's all there, just a click away.  Easily accessible and always available. 

When I was maybe 13 or 14, one of my friends (sorry guys, I can't remember which one of you!) introduced me to Pink Floyd.  The next time I was at The Mall, I bought the album below:

The paper insert was inside the shrink wrap because the album was only identified in tiny letters on the spine

I went into my room, closed the door, peeled off the shrink wrap and the record was revealed as a double album.  With art.  With artistically crafted lyric sheets.  I felt like I had just won the lottery.  I put the first album on and played the entire double album through in one sitting, alone, in my semi-dark bedroom reading the lyric sheets over and over.  It was intense.  It was cathartic.  It was enlightening.  It was like going to concert with no crowds to bother me.  It was like watching a movie, reading a book, and listening to great songs all at once.  

I'm not saying instant, easy access has ruined The Experience.  But I am saying it was different.

P.S. Yes, I still have most of my teenage records but no longer have a record player.  My kids will have to deal with those records after I'm dead because even if I never use them again there is no way in hell I'm parting with them!  (for the record (see what I did there?), my collection includes two Bob Dylan albums (Blonde on Blonde and Highway 61 Revisited) from my father who carefully pulled them out of the bottom of a drawer when I was sixteen and handed them to me in a way that let me know they were sacred.  Don't worry, Dad - they're still safe!