Until the early 2000s, music had a timeless aspect for me. I lived miles down a dirt road, almost completely isolated from the outside world with rare interactions with people outside of my family, no television, no internet, fleeting moments of FM radio on low—ear stuck to the speaker, hoping no one flung my door open suddenly. All other music was borrowed from the library, under parental supervision, and went through an approval process before I could listen to it. (Classical and Christian music from 1994 and older always passed the test!) This meant that I would hear a song in the grocery store and have no idea if it was 50 years old or the latest hit. It was without reference point, time-less. When I look back on this part of my life, it has almost a dreamlike quality: the structurelessness of it, the unknowns, the questions that couldn’t be asked.
fast car
fast car
fast car
Until the early 2000s, music had a timeless aspect for me. I lived miles down a dirt road, almost completely isolated from the outside world with rare interactions with people outside of my family, no television, no internet, fleeting moments of FM radio on low—ear stuck to the speaker, hoping no one flung my door open suddenly. All other music was borrowed from the library, under parental supervision, and went through an approval process before I could listen to it. (Classical and Christian music from 1994 and older always passed the test!) This meant that I would hear a song in the grocery store and have no idea if it was 50 years old or the latest hit. It was without reference point, time-less. When I look back on this part of my life, it has almost a dreamlike quality: the structurelessness of it, the unknowns, the questions that couldn’t be asked.