When I was a teenager, I’d eat, breathe, sleep, sweat, and piss a new cassette tape from a band I was into for weeks. I’d carry it with me on the go and play it on my Walkman, and when I got home I’d pop it into the stereo and crank it up.
I suppose it’s the extremely short attention span I’ve cultivated over the years, but I don’t even listen to albums as a whole anymore. And I hate that about myself. When’s the last time I listened to Led Zeppelin III all the way through? Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality? Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of the Moon? I can’t even remember.
I even have a turntable and a sizable collection of vinyl, but I don’t play it. It’s a whole “thing” to hook it up and I don’t ever feel like fucking with it. I’ve got a ton of CDs as well.
And yet here I am listening to all of the songs I love as well as introducing myself to new artists song by song.
That changes now. I’m currently listening to Alice Cooper’s Lace and Whiskey, which was released just a couple of days before I was born in May of 1977.
I’m a moderate fan of Alice. I’m more so a fan of him as a personality and a fan of his body of work and presence in music as a whole than I am any individual album or song. I’ve never before listened to this album, and that’s why I chose it.
I’m approaching the final track, and I’ve really enjoyed the experience. I’d forgotten the joys of hearing songs woven together into a cohesive full-length work, just letting the music play and enjoying it. Shame on me. I should’ve known better.