I feel as if I've written about my sister brining home The Violent Femmes back in 1984-85 and just hearing that band made me happy. I was way into Prince at that point, still am, actually. But it was the word, "fuck" that lit up my eyes. It was so bad in 1985....84....still kinda bad now? At least in front of students. Prince opened up the f-word to me in 1982 with the 1999 album, his eye spinning around the spindle. His bare ass on the record sleeve, neon surrounding it. "C'mon baby, let's fuck..."
But, it was this daring thing back then to even use the word. I also listened to Minor Threat later, in those days, 86' to be exact, when I got my first Powell and Peralta board. I think they were still a a band then and I used my allowance money to order both the board and that iconic shirt of Minor Threat sitting on a porch. I didn't get what "I don't fuck" meant at that point. I was 12 and didn't get "fucking" in that way. Now I do.
Spotify. Man, God bless it. Without it, I'd probably be "fucking" all over town. Those late nights without hindrance til' the morning. That's when it is odd. I haven't "fucked" since her, my Favorite Librarian, as it is too raw to even get there. That is where Spotify is amazing. I can go back and listen to albums I loved all the time while fucking my brains out. I can relive old shit where she has no say. That is the gorgeous thing about it. It rehabilitates yourself and makes you remember a time you probably had forgotten.
The Spotify syndrome to another extent is that we "follow" each other on that random social/quasi/medium that it is. I need to drop her. She needs to drop me, but it is the last bit of anything we have to connect each other to anything. So, here I sit on a night she didn't play anything. ANYTHING. And the last song she played was one of our favorites by Band of Horses. It played at our wedding a little over a year ago.
What to do.....
Funny how long it took to me to address the Spotify Syndrome. Maybe that is why it failed.