Music keeps me feeling alive, keeps nudging me into the world. I listen to mixtapes from old friends and playlists from newer ones. I spent an entire week listening to nothing except a banged-up Maxell C-90 of Nikki Sudden rarities a friend made me in 1987. (It turns out I've been underrating "Wedding Hotel" all these years.) I listen to my scratchy old Fairport Convention vinyl and savor their Celtic doom-drone, as Richard Thompson and Sandy Denny sing "Meet on the Ledge." (Plague, famine, pestilence -- the ambient hum of the Irish psyche.) But when I listen to old music, new music, bad music, I'm dreaming of crowds. Tiny crowds in sleazy bars. Gigantic stadiums in the sun. DIY caves. Glittery dance floors. Karaoke rooms. Wherever there's a cluster of music fans who couldn't talk themselves out of showing up.
-- Rob Sheffield, "Life Without Live"
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