Every time I get into one of my cars, the same thing happens–one of life’s petty little annoyances. It’s quiet, and I want to turn on the radio. Decades of instinct and logic have trained me that in such situations I should click on the power.
But instead, when I do that now, I turn the system off. Frustrating!
The reason this happens is because the power actually was on, but the input selection was turned to AUX or USB. When a Warnock child drives one of the cars (we’re good Americans and now have a bunch of vehicles), they always immediately plug in their phones and listen to their playlists.
Like many other aspects of modern life, they have embraced selection over serendipity: They pick exactly what they listen to.
If I say this makes me sad, you’ll pick on me in a generational way. But I’ll say it anyway: It makes me sad.
I recently needed to have a conversation with a wise person, my colleague Prof. Robert Watts. I sent him an email, and then he called me. I missed the call and called him back. When he answered, we laughed about this: There we were, old-timers exchanging phone calls.
He said he tells his students about the days when your phone would ring, your cord-tethered land line, and you had no idea who was calling. If you picked up–and we often did–there was sometimes a surprise person on the other end.
Now, you only pick up (or not) when you recognize the call.
You only listen to the song you want.
I know personal digital curating, sometimes called narrowcasting, isn’t new: We read only what we want, listen to news that reifies our beliefs, etc.
Radio listening is a gentler example, and I wonder what my kids abandon by seldom trying the radio.
My pandemic work pattern for the past year and a half, since I was home, included tuning in Friday afternoons to WXPN 88.5’s Funky Friday.
What discoveries! I gained a new perspective on The Spinners: How did I forget how great “The Rubberband Man” and “Games People Play” are? Do these songs, in fact, deserve a spot in my now bloated top 100 songs?
Locked into my playlists, would I have come across other Funky Friday gems, like the amazing “The Numbers Game” by Thievery Corporation?
Browsing other stations in my car, would I have developed a late-in-the-game interest in The Killers? How would I have ever stumbled across “Watch The Girl Destroy Me” by Possum Dixon?
It’s not always a win. I hung in listening to 102.9 WMGK’s Philly 500 over Memorial Day Weekend only to reach the appalling conclusion: A Peter Frampton song at the top. “Who are these voters?” I seethed.
Still, though, I got something out of it (at the least, it gave me a way to work toward a conclusion here). And with “Stairway to Heaven” at #2, the list reinforced the wisdom I displayed long ago when I made Led Zeppelin IV my first vinyl purchase at the Berlin (NJ) Farmer’s Market for $2 in about 1980.
Sure, I have my playlist. It’s my all-time favorite songs. It started as a top 100. Now it’s a top 200. Maybe I should freeze it in time, so nothing gets added.
On my list, nothing will supplant the mighty Zeppelin. My days of taking random calls from wacky old friends are likely over too. But if I don’t scan through the stations occasionally, that top 100/200 will remain frozen in time, and I suppose I will too.
Tags: virtual children by Scott Warnock by Scott Warnock
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