What’s in your entertainment center? Stacks of scuffed polystyrene jewel cases? Haphazard piles of lightly scratched CDs?
What about your closet? A trove of yesteryear media? A bookshelf’s worth of jumbo nylon-mesh storage cases harboring hundreds of discs and wrinkled liner notes?
The last time you visited a used record shop Star Trek: The Next Generation was probably still airing new episodes. Now everything you listen to lives on iTunes and Amazon or Spotify, Pandora and Rdio. When Elvis belts “Lord almighty, I feel my temperature rising,” he’s piped off a capacious mini-slab of solid state memory instead of through a laser gliding over a whirling polycarbonate circle. Nowadays you just summon a groove by speaking into your phone like Jean-Luc Picard asking the Enterprise for a little Ravel or Debussy. You are the next generation.
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