OK, I should know more about Brian Eno other than that he makes non-normal music (this is a good thing, by the way). Just got his Music for Airports, which rumor assures me is a classic.
Tis an ambient set of music, chilly and slow, with a real piano coupled with electronic effects. It would improve my own travel significantly if this were actually played in airports.
My own ears, bless them, are dragging me out of the rock hell they’ve been in for thirty years and more. OK, not hell. But it took me to now to see how what I’ve listened to for decades becomes a rut, from having listened to it repeatedly.
When I was young, music was a weapon. When I was young, music had a point — not just an “object of an activity,” but a point like in the business end of an arrow, travelling fast. A point, like the last part of a knife that slipped through the thing sliced. We were the edge of change and our parents hated us for it. Music was an armed camp with dawn just ten minutes off.
Now I listen to music composed a quarter of a century ago. The new edges were being forged long before the old ones dulled.
white pebble 