This comic is completely true. I mean, not the part about my tapes literally talking to me, but perhaps figuratively. I mean, I couldn’t listen to a tape if I wanted to, yet still I have plenty of them packed up in the garage. I can’t throw them out. Yes, I binged and purged, got rid of about half of them. But still, those seminal tapes, the albums of my youth, the mixtapes I listened to over and over again… how can I just throw them away?
The shame is that now I can love an album and not even know what the cover art looks like. Something is definitely lost there. Not “owning” your music anymore… it’s hard to put a finger on it, it’s easy to just chalk it all up to the ol’ “things were better in my day” thing, but still, I think there’s something to it. Something missing.