The Record Epiphany

For someone who spends as much time thinking, talking, and writing about music, I’m remarkably apprehensive about it (actually, maybe this isn’t remarkable at all). Maybe this is indicative of anyone who tries to analyze music critically – and I use the term critically very loosely – but my first instinct in listening to new music is to automatically dislike it. Maybe it’s a knee-jerk reaction to dealing with over-stimulation/over-saturation, a defense mechanism resulting from the information glut. Maybe apprehension is a fashion in which I attempt to project critical awareness, or credibility, or perhaps it is some trait that’s expected of veteran music listeners. Honestly, I’m too busy trying to dislike music that I often forget that I actually like music.

I’m not exactly sure where my apprehension stems from, but I do know that it’s become a gut instinct. Whenever confronted with new trends in music, I automatically write them off; I seem to believe that I can almost forecast their impending irrelevance. This is why I almost exclusively like to examine music retrospectively – I feel like most of my observations on new music are fatally flawed. Actually, my biases are generally why I try to stay away from stating any definitive opinions on music; I am far too used to having my opinions swayed over time.

But good records cannot be denied; there will always be a moment when you get music. Good songs, or good records, always find their way onto your playlist – it’s manifest destiny. You’ll find yourself repeatedly putting on written-off records in the background more frequently, or humming along a song in the shower, and then eventually, you’ll start hearing that record everywhere. And the moment you actually realize that you actually like a record is the moment that you’ve reached your Record Epiphany.

Record Epiphanies occur most frequently when you’re bumbling around with your headphones on. Record Epiphanies can blindside you, and there’s no precise formula dictating when they will occur, but from personal experience, they tend to occur during the most mundane moments in your life. They’ll infrequently occur prior to moments of significance; rather, they’ll occur when you’re loading up a shopping cart full of sour cream and onion dip; when you’re buying economy-sized tubs of mayonnaise you know you’ll finish promptly; when you’re purchasing condoms to give the illusion that you’re having sex regularly.

And Record Epiphanies, particularly when they occur with headphones, are immediately identifiable. When you finally connect with a record, bedroom dancing makes a public appearance: you’ll be passing the mic, stage-diving into display stands, dancing like no one’s watching, winking at pets chained outside of stores. Record epiphanies are glorious moments of unbridled enthusiasm; once you’ve finally achieved that kind of connection with an album, that album has, in all likelihood, entered your personal canon.

And record epiphanies occur to everyone all the time – simply scan the commuters on the transit system for further evidence. You’ll find commuters discovering that Bob Dylan isn’t just the music of their parents’ generation; discovering that Robert Johnson probably literally sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads; that Pinkerton is a good record; that Hall and Oates’ homoeroticism actually does make them a better band; that Christian rock rocks; discovering that Hoobastank’s ‘The Reason’ is the second greatest rock n’ roll song of our generation following Lifehouse’s ‘Hanging by a Moment’; that LFO’s ‘Summer Girls’ straddles the line between coherence and stream-of-consciousness that puts Virginia Woolf to shame (I mean, look at how ashen she appears in the picture to the left); and that ‘Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)’ actually has a harder riff than most Sabbath songs.

In case you’re having difficulty identifying Record Epiphanies in motion, look no further than the Ellen Degeneres Show. Ellen's studio audience might be the most strikingly authentic collection of people I've ever encountered; and their unbridled enthusiasm (both for Ellen's undeniable magnetism and song) both awes and terrifies. And, in case you were wondering, this is precisely how most appear whilst experiencing a Record Epiphany.

Now, while Record Epiphanies are liberating, one should also approach them with caution. The next time you encounter a headphone-Epiphany in public, always be aware that most by-standers probably feel like Zach Galifianakis awkwardly situated in the middle of Ellen's studio audience.