I am sixteen again, driving home Sunday evening and listening to The Adventure Club with Josh. As soon as I get home, I run to my room, shut the door, and turn up my radio to make sure that I don’t miss the next new band that I will be obsessed with.
I haven’t been home for ten months (let’s make it easier on ourselves and just call it a year.), and I haven’t listened to the Adventure Club in twice as long. Hearing these kooky voices that would never be played on a regular radio format makes me immensely happy. All I can do is smile and lay on my bed like a lovesick teenager.
Nothing gets close to the rush of excitement I feel when I hear a song by a band that I’ve never heard, and it’s actually good. People will always try and get me to like their new favorite thing, and sometimes I’ll tag along, but there’s nothing like finding it myself. It’s my own discovery. I found the buried treasure. I get to bask in the glory when I give my friends a cd and say, “Here, listen to this. It will change your life.” Yeah, that sounds really pompous, but whatever. Good music can change your life. When I no longer believe this, that’s when I will have been robbed of my youthful spirit. Then I’ll start going to Denny’s for the early bird special and voting republican.
Driving home and listening to the music of my adolescence played on the radio threw me under a wave of nostalgia. For that evening, my car was a time machine and my radio was the flux-capacitor.
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