When I last heard some album, some hundred-thirty plus months ago, I was a different person. We change daily, monthly, and yearly, like the Ship of Theseus, physically and mentally rebuilding ourselves after every crack in our hull or respite at shore. This album is the same. I still remember every twist and turn, yet unlike some moments of nostalgia that whisk us away to a fancier time, this was just a mundane time travel.
It has a humble aesthetic.
I listened to its first half on the drive into work. The hit single that inspired me to buy it all those years ago, once potent with energy, now fades into the saturation of its contemporaries and is obscured by better bands. If that hit single burned itself into my memories in some particular way that I recalled during my mundane drive, then I might consider keeping it, else it has no real purpose being in my collection besides having once meant enough to want to own.
It is readily available to hear online.
With some of the things I’ve donated or will soon sell, I will often think about how difficult it might be to re-acquire if I ever wanted to listen to this or that again. That consideration is an important part of the downsizing process. That consideration usually happens while I’m looking over the packaging, listening to the music, or if it’s not as immediate- while doing something unrelated.
It is easily replaceable.
While this exact CD, purchased from somewhere for some price, could never be retrieved once donated or sold, an equal replacement is just a five-minute browse of an online auction site or enough browses through enough bargain bins. I want to send it off with proper respects by listening to it all the way through “one last time,” which is a morbid way of saying it, but truthfully it’s already dead to me.
It no longer has any powder keg potential.
I haven’t said its name nor will imply its album cover because it is one but hundreds that clutter my collection. They are the CDs I always skip when I look over my collection before driving somewhere. They represent a particular me that isn’t really worth keeping. I’ll keep the better versions of myself – the ones that overcame a brave encounter, or tried – not the ones that might have had trouble with an algebra exam or once bit into a mundane donut just outside a coffee shop in an upscale business complex.
It would make for a boring essay.
By itself, I couldn’t write a review about it. I have written about how it rings hollow for me, as hundreds of other things have. Is that the cynicism of having heard thousands of albums, been to hundreds of shows, and heard this album too many times all those months ago? Or is it me facing an uncomfortable truth?
Change is the only reliable force. What was once exciting is now just another day.
|Sources: My personal (and in regards to the mundanity of experiences in life, professional) experiences.|
|Inspirations: The album in question isn’t by Judas Priest.|
|Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.|
|Photo: I saw Judas Priest recently and was bored. I gave them three songs to impress upon me a notion that they’re the sort of band I could dig more deeply into, but after the third song, I admitted to myself that I can’t enjoy everything and left.|
|Written On: July 1st [24 minutes, mobile]|
|Last Edited: July 2nd [Minor edits, otherwise, first draft; final draft for the Internet.]|