Getting hooked on Spotify

You must have heard about Spotify. The digital streaming music service that most users run as a hand-phone app. If you have not, then you might be better off staying out. Especially if you are a big music fan, like me. Because it is insanely addictive and you will be enslaved by it.

In the old days, slaves are people deprived of their basic human rights, chained and trapped in a life of servitude against their will. In this modern day and age, you would not think there will be slaves. But slavery never ended with the arrival of modern times. With technology, many of us become slaves of another sort and a newer form.

My kids and a friend had urged me for some time to subscribe to the Spotify app. Like most things new I would typically be slow to start. I finally relented and installed the app onto my iPhone but left it idling there. Just a week ago, I decided to test out the app. There was a one month free trial, so why not? Well, in no time I got hooked.

The app plunged me into what appears to be a bottomless ocean of music and songs.  For a music fan like me, it is a wickedly sumptuous musical wonderland. Old and near-forgotten artistes and singers that captivated my hearing during those heady teeny-bopper days of yore came back to life. I re-discovered Albert Hammond, with hits like “Free Electric Band” and “I’m a Train” and the folksy Mamas and the Papas of a past hippy generation and maybe a million more. It got me all awash in endless waves of nostalgia and Spotify quickly became an addiction. I was hooked in seeking out different music styles and genres, downloading the ones that might be worthy companion for my long car commutes or jogging routines, where wifi is unavailable. Before I realised, I was burning up just about all my free time on this new-found obsession. Searching, listening and adding to my playlist and repeating the process ad nauseam. I even bought a Bluetooth speaker to pare with my hand-phone so the music streaming through can overflow into my bedroom, the private space I once shared with my beloved Jenny. 

Well, you can kind of guess that if Jenny is still my bedroom companion, this would not be possible. No, she was not adverse to music.  Who would be? But peace and quiet in our bedroom had always been the norm and Jenny would not have put up with raucous invasion of any sort in her private chambers. But alas, much as I wish it not to be the case, I am now the sole occupant, free to do as I wish and free to pursue my new found obsession. Uninhibited.

But if I could hear her now, I am sure she would understand and even be supportive. Struggling with grief and the pain of missing her each day, perhaps Spotify is one of my best saving discoveries. It has opened up a new dimension of distraction, even as the music does not sound as uplifting and exhilarating as before. In the old carefree days, when my senses were not as clouded by anguish and loss.

Jenny knew how much I enjoy music. Her main complaint would be that I always play them too loud. “Are you trying to wake up the dead?” She would prefer that I turn the volume a few notches lower.  

So while this might sound like shameless product endorsement, I will continue feeding my Spotify addiction for some time. Perhaps until the novelty wears off, which is not anytime so soon. There is still an endless list of music to check out.  They flood my senses and drown my sensibilities. And I need that daily fix.