Nanopleasure

My friend John gave me an early Christmas present yesterday, a brand new Ipod Nano. Now...I have oft posted of my affinity for music and my cravings for stereo gear, but I don't believe I actually ever expressed a desire for a portable MP3 player. The whole idea was anathema to me then, and now my thoughts might just as well be carved into stone and worshipped in a Greek church as a relic of divine truth.

This type of musical reproduction ABSOLUTELY SUCKS!

John was so good to give it to me, and I really appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gift; but the thing sounds like absolute shit. To think that an entire generation of kids are getting their music solely in this manner makes me shudder for the future of recorded song. Really. Obviously, users of these devices don't actually care for what the music sounds like anymore. For the most part, they can't give a shit about what it has to say either, because these interminable devices simply reduce music to background noise. Something to blare in your head while you do something, or worse, multiple somethings else.

I have a very, very modest stereo system by Audiophile standards...roughly $15,000 invested over many years of upgrade and trading. But it never fails to make the hair on my arms stand up. It can open the wonders of opera and orchestral music, point out the ridiculous, repetitive absurdity of hip-hop, or convert you to acapella or Gregorian chant. It can make you cry by bringing the sheer beauty of a composition to your ears. It can also peel the paint off the wall with the likes of Thin Lizzy or Deftones. You simply cannot do something else while it plays. The idea is sacrilegious, and the things you would miss immense.

What will future recordings sound like when my generation...apparently the last to savor the sound of the music...passes on to the HI-FI swap shop in the sky? Probably a droning variable pitch hum punctuated with reminders of emails to return, groceries to get, and who won last nights game. 24/7 background-input-shit muzak with neither artistry nor intent. Blame not the artists, but the delivery mechanism.