When you lose a dog
"Dry your eyes for Madame Joy." (or Finding Astral Weeks on the Way to the Rainbow Bridge) I sometimes worry that, at my age, music no longer imprints on me. At least not the way it did back when , when albums could creep up and attach themselves forever to my emotional core, sometimes multiple times a year. The obscene portability and ubiquitousness of streaming-on-demand has made life-soundtracking just another ritual of the mundane. But that's a rant that I won't get into