iJoined the iPod army
Last week I inherited an iPod. After a few quick operation lessons from my coworker, I was off to join the iPod army of the five boroughs of New York City. On my first commute I became absorbed in turning the "wheel" and browsing through the extensive music collection at my fingertips— Everything from Justin Timberlake to Philip Glass oh my! Suddenly I realized that I had accidentally boarded a G train and was sucked 4 stops down the line into the bowels of Brooklyn. I was 45 minutes late to work.
On my evening maiden commute the same day I learned the art of navigating the subway platform with a personalized soundtrack following me at every step. For the first time, I noticed all the like-minded, white-earbudded individuals in every nook of the F train. It was like an initiation into a not-so-secret soundtrack-of-life society. I left my work behind at 23rd street with The Album Leaf escorting me home. Everything began to fit into the beats in my ears— the woman nodding to sleep across from me, people bumping off eachother as they streamed out of the train, a three-year-old getting spanked at the corner of the Gowanus Houses and my block.
The last few days my iPod has turned into a portable M. Ward player. I've become completely obsessed with his latest album, Transistor Radio. Sometimes it seems that albums are like mini-relationships. Often the most affecting ones don't catch your attention at first. Then suddenly you are thinking about them all the time and humming the intro to your favorite track at work. They make you see moments of your day in a completely new light and accompany you right before you go to sleep. Then eventually the tracks that don't seem as sympathetic begin to get under your skin and you realize you've overplayed the album, longing for the days when you first gleaned the lyrics from a new chorus.
For now, M. Ward is coming with me everywhere in this city. As Pitchfork wrote—"Heaven knows you don't build cred or a reputation as a trend-breaker boosting a guy like M. Ward to the rafters with acclaim, because he's not one of those musicians who bothers with belonging to a movement or a trend. He's just going on with that beautifully flawed voice of his (a high, hollow tenor with a fringe of grit) spinning melodies that remind you that, though you're weary of the world, you're not alone."
For now I'm still in the honeymoon period.
On my evening maiden commute the same day I learned the art of navigating the subway platform with a personalized soundtrack following me at every step. For the first time, I noticed all the like-minded, white-earbudded individuals in every nook of the F train. It was like an initiation into a not-so-secret soundtrack-of-life society. I left my work behind at 23rd street with The Album Leaf escorting me home. Everything began to fit into the beats in my ears— the woman nodding to sleep across from me, people bumping off eachother as they streamed out of the train, a three-year-old getting spanked at the corner of the Gowanus Houses and my block.
The last few days my iPod has turned into a portable M. Ward player. I've become completely obsessed with his latest album, Transistor Radio. Sometimes it seems that albums are like mini-relationships. Often the most affecting ones don't catch your attention at first. Then suddenly you are thinking about them all the time and humming the intro to your favorite track at work. They make you see moments of your day in a completely new light and accompany you right before you go to sleep. Then eventually the tracks that don't seem as sympathetic begin to get under your skin and you realize you've overplayed the album, longing for the days when you first gleaned the lyrics from a new chorus.
For now, M. Ward is coming with me everywhere in this city. As Pitchfork wrote—"Heaven knows you don't build cred or a reputation as a trend-breaker boosting a guy like M. Ward to the rafters with acclaim, because he's not one of those musicians who bothers with belonging to a movement or a trend. He's just going on with that beautifully flawed voice of his (a high, hollow tenor with a fringe of grit) spinning melodies that remind you that, though you're weary of the world, you're not alone."
For now I'm still in the honeymoon period.
posted by Rebecca at 8:56 AM
2 Comments:
ipods are great. though i feel like they make you sick of all your music much more quickly than you would get otherwise, from sheer constant availability.
can you imagine what swimmeets must be like now with ipods? i have a distinct memory of sitting with you, listening to my yellow SPORTS walkman with the double earphone jack that was all the rage. i might be wrong, but i'd put money on it that we were listening to Mr. Big: "i'm the one who wants to be with you, deep inside i know you feel it too, waited on the line of [WAITED ON THAT LINE] just to be the one to be with you."
towson state, i miss you.
you should take advantage of the "shuffle" feature. it randomly mixes and plays everything, and i swear, i alway discover music i didn't even know i had. plus, with a click of the wheel you can skip bad song. iWelcome you to the iPod army ;)
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