Just how visceral is rock ‘n’ roll meant to be?
2017 was a miserable year. Why you may ask? Because here I am, making a freaking listicle. Laugh it up fuzzballs.
When the music talks, the body responds.
Zero. Nothing. Nada. That’s how much it costs to listen to a nigh-unlimited music streaming service: zilch with a dollar sign. “GET SPOTIFY FREE” blares across the cover photo of the website. Clearly, Spotify appeals to the willingness to pay nothing for unlimited music access. But does this cost truly reflect the value of music? It’s not a secret anymore that if you can’t identify the product, than you are the product. In this information economy, behavioral information still holds …
It’s no secret that genres have been increasingly more muddled as time has gone on: just look at the names. Between underground rap, electropop, and alternative rock, the single word genre hardly seems to exist anymore.
Two-seconds. That’s all it takes. Two-seconds and then the needles drops, kisses and reveals what’s about to happen. Two seconds and the guitar kicks in, and every montage of “a young man going to wear the nation’s colours in a foreign land” runs, screaming through my brain.
It may seem inconsequential to some, but I love every moment I listen to a 4/4 beat that sizes me up, strips me bare and totally nails my shit: