Yesterday’s Revolution

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Yesterday’s Revolution

My daughter is getting into vinyl,
And I wonder why,
She can’t have much nostalgia
For its world of middle-fi.
It ended long before she even started,
Dead and gone,
Revived by boomer hairshirts
Who cannot accept the world moves on.

She’s far too young for this old man’s hobby,
Far too poor for these rich man’s toys,
She never had to twiddle knobs
To boost the signal, damp the noise.
She never had the pops and crackles
From the deep-down dirt that rocks her records as they roll –
She never had to live with scratches,
Etched across her far-too-fragile sheened and spiralled soul.

Give me digital to feed me,
Give me digital to save,
Give me megabytes of songs
To last me to my grave.
She’ll find out in her own time,
And till then, let’s let have her thing –
To swing the arm into the secret vault
That makes the diamonds sing.

My teenage self would envy all her
Easy access to her tunes,
With soundwaves at her fingertips
For filling busy afternoons –
And not just playing them, but finding them,
No matter how obscure.
And yet, she wants to give it up
For the world of the analogue-pure.

But maybe she’s cosplaying other lives,
With second-hand vinyl bought-up cheap –
I’d gladly give her my old forty-fives,
But I long since chucked the useless heap.
Music shouldn’t need kid gloves,
To tiptoe past, afraid to jive, to keep her groove on track.
Let each girl play the songs she loves
In beautiful fidelity, unshattered by shellack.

Give me digital to sing to,
Give me digital romance,
Give me cold hard ones and ohs
On which the lasers dance.
She’ll find out in her own time,
And till then, let’s let her have her bliss –
To open up the gatefold gates
Of needle-drop and gentle hiss.

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