pop | Bill Chance

I’m sitting in my living room, in my comfy recliner, drinking my morning coffee and trying not to watch any YouTube videos (I’m addicted). So I’m listening to music. Instead of Spotify, I’m listening to my own CDs – ripped into digital format and stored on a server.

I upgraded my desktop – installing Linux on my son’s old gaming PC. Then I took my old Linux machine, wiped it, and installed Ubuntu server on it – using it as a headless server on my home network. The most useful thing I’ve done so far is installed Jellyfin on it. That lets me keep digital movies and music on the server, then consume them from any device in my house.

There are hundreds of music CDs on there – over the years, I ripped most of my collection into MP3s and now store the digital files there. I know that most of these are available on Spotify but there is so much there, like drinking from a firehose, that it is hard to find anything to listen to. These old CDs are pre-curated by myself and arranged in a familiar, useful format.

So there.

At any rate, I’m listening right now to an album from Sergio Mendes and Brasil ‘66. I love this shit. It is so much better than ANYTHING being recorded right now. A smooth concoction of latin jazz, just sophisticated enough to transcend elevator music, yet not so challenging to interrupt my morning coffee.

So there.

Brasil ‘66…. I remember them when they first came out – they were on all the TV shows. I was only nine, but I remember.

2023-1966 = 57. This music is from fifty seven years ago. Since I remember it, it doesn’t seem that long ago. I’m sure some of this music is still being played on the radio – on “oldies” stations – on adult contemporary – maybe even on some cutting-edge independent radio. It’s so good it can still be played for itself – not historically, not ironically… shit, I’m listening to it right now.

Fifty seven years old. I was born in ‘57. Music this old, when I was born, would have been recorded in 1900. The gap between 1966, which I remember, and now is the same as between my birth and two turns of the century ago.

That doesn’t feel right. Think about 1900 – did they even have recorded music then? What the hell? I mean, in 1966 nobody thought about having music on a computer and streaming through the house, but that’s only a difference in convenience. I could easily have a turntable and listen to a 1966 album – lots of people I know do – I imagine that some Brasil ‘66 albums are still being pressed and still will be fifty seven years from now – at least in some form.

My mind reels. I feel the flow of time, the death of possibility, the terror of eternity.

Better finish my coffee and get some errands done.

There are some really cool places in the Bishop Arts District. One of them is The Soda Gallery. It’s the place where you can hang out… and it gives the phrase “pop art” a new double meaning.

It’s a little art gallery and it’s a soda shop… it’s both.

So you can go inside and make a selection from their extensive collection of soft drinks – 30 kinds of root beer, Dublin Doctor Pepper, Nesbitt’s, Ramune (the Japanese stuff with the marble), and so on and so forth. They have a nice little table out on the sidewalk and I watched some groups buying sodas and sitting there drinking them. What a nice idea! I am so down on alcohol right now – it’s cool to find another option for social interaction other than booze or coffee.

And inside they do have art displayed on the walls. They had some really good stuff – screenprints of superheroes or comic book panels and other examples of local pop art.

I wish this place was in my neighborhood – but I’ll go visit when I can.