Don't Let Southern Rock Die

A while ago, I downloaded (god bless iTunes) The Black Crowes' "Southern Harmony and Musical Companion." It had been a while since I'd listened to the Crowes, but I was beginning to realize that their songs would come to me occasionally, unbidden, like the memory of a great meal. And damn, was it worth it: the album is huge, mature, and full of soul. (Right now Chris Robinson is caterwauling in the background.) I overlooked SHMC when it first came out; I was young, and the album was too far beyond "Shake Your Moneymaker" for me to grasp its formidable strength. That first album had been my soundtrack for an otherwise dismal senior year of high school. As someone who had little nuance in his emotional life, I couldn't grasp the more nuanced second album. But I'm grasping it now, baby.

And speaking of grasping, I want to acknowledge Apple Computer's near-total mastery over me. Each new product they release inspires me to drool like a fat, hungry baby. This summer I bought the new iPod with the color display, and I love it. Each trek across campus is occupied with music (The Shout Out Louds, Bright Eyes) or Podcasts (On The Media, this really terrible Steelers podcast). Then came the Nano. Gurgle. Then came the Video iPod. Glub.

I spent an afternoon pondering the Video iPod upgrade (my wife--ever supportive of even the stupidest whim--offered to make it my Christmas present) until I realized that I wasn't that interested in spending 2 bucks to watch a video on a 4.5' screen, no matter how good that Fatboy Slim video with Christopher Walken is. I don't commute via public transit, which means I generally have something to do with my eyes. And, as my wife later suggested, we can always believe that music expands us and makes us fuller, richer people, but it's hard to believe that you grow much by watching reruns of "desperate Housewives."

Cheers.