My writing recently has been taken to the extreme. Not necessarily in a political sense, but more so in length. While it feels a bit odd to complain about length, the issue begins when I write about a topic… And cannot stop, filling the page with ideas and ruminations. Again, complaints aside, writing too much is a nice problem to have (to some degree), but when I would like to output more frequently, therein lies the obstacle.
I’ve written in a previous post about the chaos of the city, and how disconnection is vital for mental survival. While my oasis of Prospect Park was the center of attention during this time, I wanted to focus on another facet I simply forget to rely on so steadily. A piece of technology I’ve come to love like my own child.
I’m talking simply, about the Apple iPod.
Ever since I bought my first iPod back in Sophomore/Junior year of high school (whilst purchasing a CD of Interpol’s debut album ‘Turn On The Bright Lights’), the music player has become my life blood. Every piece of music I’ve ever owned, be it CD, downloaded (pirated), or bought through Bandcamp, is on my current iPod. It’s the one device I would be happily buried with, though my preference for post-death ceremonies is cremation, with my ashes turned into death vinyl, or shot into the night sky through fireworks.
Over the past 20 years, I’ve gone through 4 or 5 iPods, each one stored away gently in a box under my bed, in memoriam to the lives lived while I owned them. When Apple discontinued the device back in 2016, my heart ached. Everything about the player waxes nostalgic for an earlier, or be it, simpler time. The news of the discontinuation led to panicked inflation for selling the device everywhere, especially eBay, making me sweat for my future iPod purchases. Thankfully the storm has calmed, and you can now still find the final 7th gen models for around ~$200, refurbished.
There have been rivals to the iPod (remember Microsoft’s Zune?) and a few products have been released since it’s quietus as contenders, but they’re either too clunky or too expensive to match the iPod.
The first three…
While I (unfortunately) won’t take this post to condemn streaming services and the vice grip they have on struggling musicians (despite their deceptive ploys of ‘accessibility’ for users & musicians alike), the iPod grants me disconnection from an otherwise portal to, well, everything. Even if I’m listening to music through the Bandcamp app, I’m still on my phone, dialed in to the heartbeat of the digital world. Like many of us, there’s a tendency for myself to peruse the open internet without forethought. Immediately after choosing a song/album, any other app, or the news, or whatever, is a nefarious ‘siren song’ to continue with eyes glued to the screen.
With my iPod, there’s freedom from the internet, social media, and the feeling of constant connection therein forth. My phone will still be somewhere on my person, but the knee jerk impulse to check my phone has dampened. Through the iPod, I can take in the scenery around me, and more importantly, really revel in whatever song I’m currently listening to, as the two coalesce into a beautiful movement. My mind feels free, a touch lighter, and a sense of grounding overcomes me.
Plus, holy shit, my phone is just limited by the music available to me. Sure, if you have Spotify or Apple Music, you can find pretty much any song known to humankind… But how do you know what to look for other than thinking of a band, or scrolling through playlists? A vacuum is created when using those services, and they tend to keep you from branching out from the music you already listen to on a daily basis (to some degree). With the iPod, everything I have is dialed up right there on a screen in front of me. There’s nothing more satisfying than scrolling through my music library using the iPod ‘click wheel’, and deciding ‘hey, today I’m gonna just listen to bands who start with the letter E’.
The current one!
On an astonishingly beautiful Brooklyn day, I decided to break from my normal routine, the lure of disconnection paving the path forward. Thoughts of water and light breezes tempted my senses, and so I trekked from Park Slope to Brooklyn Bridge Park, my iPod in hand.
Out in the world, with Mother
Knowing my cyclical battle with resistance and surrender when it comes to directions via my phone, I was determined to find my way using solely my sense of direction. While I know the area fairly well, the thrill of getting ‘lost’, in all means of the sense, is almost lost on us as a society now. When given directions from whatever map app you may use, one tends to stick to the route provided, rather than veering off course, or taking a different way, just for the fun of it.
Though this may come across a bit woo-woo, sometimes a certain direction, or street, beckons to be journeyed - and it’s in these moments, I typically find something quite interesting along the way, even if breaking up monotony is the resulting goal. In doing so, my attention is focused on my surroundings, rather than whatever might be on my screen.
Was shocked to find this powered on after a quick charge… No music on it though :(
Sliding my phone in my back pocket, I traversed the outer boundaries of Prospect Park park, meandering through the north side of Park Slope, over & into Carroll Gardens, keeping straight towards the Piers. Feeling nostalgic, my music choices leaned heavier towards bands I hadn’t listened to since high school/college, and simultaneously whose music lives exclusively on my iPod from being ripped from cd decades prior. While the world around me changed exponentially second to second with every step, the feeling of being disconnected encapsulated an ability to ‘breathe’ in the scenery gloriously abounded around me, unobstructed and with fervor.
Along the way I decided to stop into Swallow cafe, a local coffee shop off Atlantic Ave, known for their delectable chai latte, made in house (side note - decent chai is incredibly difficult to find in the NYC area for some reason. The majority of coffee shops slap together some haphazard concoction using a cloyingly sweet concentrate, or god forbid, an artificial powder, and charge upwards of $6 for the drink. A disappointment for the ages.
After ordering, I attempted to pay using my phone, but the process was more intuitive than expected. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket ended in finagling & dancing the objects in my full hands like an amateur juggler. Once I finally danced the phone into my left hand, the barista remarked in an aghast voice “Oh my god. Is that… An iPod?”. I laughed with a touch of embarrassment - I knew full well the ridiculousness of being seen with an antiqued device, while simultaneously feeling like my age had skyrocketed in the eyes of this person.
Here I am, showing my age
Between my bouts of nervous chuckling, I acknowledged her question with a “yes”, and the barista was both in shock and awe. They laughed about how they haven’t seen one since “easily high school”, and they were in disbelief, yet excited, to see one in public.
Suddenly, something clicked. My original nerves melted away, as did a wall around my vulnerability. I asked the barista if they wanted to see the iPod, and their face lit up with elation. Handing the iPod over, they scrolled through all the artists with excitement, experiencing nostalgia in its purest form.
As they messed around with the iPod, letting out little ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s, showing it off to their co-worker, I meandered down a desired path of connection. I waxed poetic about how the iPod gives me a sense of freedom from being so tapped into the current world, there’s a sense of healthy disassociation/separation from my phone. The barista nodded in complete agreement, their eyes still locked on the device itself. For them, playing with the iPod was like a direct link to their past - who knows what kind of emotions it may have conjured up.
“Where in the world are you purchasing iPods?!” the barista asked, passing the iPod back my way. Like most of my purchases, I explained, the holy grail of eBay has become my road map to materialism, iPods included. If my search for the material doesn’t exist on eBay in some form or another, sometimes I believe it may have never existed in the first place. While I’ve tried other services for more specific items, like clothes or vinyl records, eBay will always be the reigning digital champ.
While my chai was being finished, the barista was curious as to where I was purchasing music, especially now in this age of streaming, or if the music was all older? My golden ticket was brought on a silver platter, as I slyly threw a few jabs at egregious streaming services, simultaneously repping Bandcamp. You know the spiel. They absolutely agreed, being a musician themselves, noting how the notion of ‘owning’ your music is homogeneous with how we consume all entertainment these days. Hopefully the above chatter came across more sincere, than obnoxious, as the memory is now translated on to the screen.
As the aroma of spices filled the immediate vicinity, my chai latte was placed on the counter, and I thanked the barista for the laughs/discourse (and chai, of course).
The whole experience lasted only a few minutes, but it was quite memorable. The walk through Brooklyn, and everything after, served as a reminder to disconnect more often, and how even the smallest experiences can etch such impactful memories in this lonely, yet vibrant, city.
My all time existential song
Without attempting to stray into woo-woo territory once again, the belief of your mood/energy, expelled outwards, determining how your day, be it life, may be carved, rings very true in this instance. For myself, disconnection from the weight of certain aspects of life is a necessity for my mood and yearning for lightness - both, I recognize, are complete privileges.
However you find yourself disconnecting, I hope the process brings you as much joy as my iPod brings me. Just remember your ABCDs - Always Be Carrying a Dongle - because the iPod battery is short lived.
Until next time, Cornelius
PS: While compiling/writing this post, I enjoyed the companionship of the singer Anaiis (more specifically her album, this is no longer a dream), this article on using animal’s superior navigation skills to guide ourselves, and the word ‘noctivagant’ (one who wanders the night).