So. Social media and digital subscription services. Despite one’s attempts to avoid and not use them (I myself am anti-Twitter), both have infiltrated our lives to a point of being as common as a daily physical newspaper, which, ironically, 24 hour-a-day news-hungry public notwithstanding, has disappeared from some of the most lucrative of journalistic markets. When I mention a television program or a movie to my mother on the telephone and she’s like, “Hmm…didn’t see it. I’ll just Hulu it” one knows the Digital Age has crept into the lives of even some of its most (at one time) staunch critics. When my mom starts verbing website names? Right. You just know it (you go, mom).

For the most part, barring those addicted to porn or, even sadder, obese children, overly-round from hours in front of their laptops and iPads instead of running and jumping in the green green grass, the quest for information and entertainment has been positively simplified (exponentially) from 20 years ago. Anyone out there remember microfiche? The absolute DEVIL. Enough said. I do, however, find myself looking back at the days of hoarding music magazines, the extra-curricular side of print media utilization, with fondness. There is just something about the smell of a new magazine that’s warming. And it’s not like music nerds back in the day had a choice. It was either you read magazines (and listened to radio, sometimes) or not know what the hell was going on. I get sentimental about those days. Call me old fashioned. Probably wouldn’t be the first time. But I digress.

Recently, the chain of events which led me to my most recent obsession, band-wise, is the perfect example of how social media and online music (with a sprinkling of radio for good measure) works its recipe of magic. Indulge me.

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