How we find what we like has changed. Not so long ago, to determine whether we enjoyed a specific musical group or movie, we did our own homework.

We didn’t go online to see what others thought of the newest music album by a popular artist or latest film by a favorite actor. There was no such thing as online. I’d doubt we’d have gone there if there had been.

We’d give a record album or film a try on our own.

Society hasn’t always relied on the reviews of millions of others to tell us if something was worth including in our life. We found that out for ourselves.

In fairness, we did have one way to decide if we liked the latest song by The Beatles, Merle Haggard, or Glenn Campbell.

We listened to the radio.

Today, people get on the Internet to sample new music. But in my estimation, there is no better way to hear and decide what you like than by letting your favorite radio station unveil the latest offering from your favorite band or solo artist.

If you liked the newest single, you could roll the dice and buy their latest album.

In the 1960s, a grocery store was located four blocks from my home on Beech Street in Ashdown, Arkansas. Back then, small town grocery stores offered a little bit of everything. I guess that represented the last vestiges of the old general store.

Near the entrance of the store there were a couple of tall, spinning racks. One held comic books, which were 12-cents each, and the other had 45 rpm records.

I’d listen to my favorite radio station, and if a particular song had become an earworm and was stuck in my head, I’d look for it in the rack at the store.

I didn’t rely on someone else’s review or recommendation to tell me if I liked it. I made up my own mind.

After I’d taken the 45 home and listened to it, if I decided it was worth some of my lawn mowing money, I’d look for the whole album by that artist the next time my family was at Woolworth’s.

Those who weren’t around then have really missed out on the experience of unwrapping the cellophane from a 33 1/3 rpm record, and, for the first time, placing it onto the platter of the turntable.

Lifting the tone arm up and then lightly placing it down into the grooves of a new piece of vinyl was a great feeling. The suspense of hearing the other songs that the artist deemed worthy of going with that single you’d heard on the radio was truly something special.

The light crackle of a record will never be satisfactorily replaced by the absolute sterile sound of today’s digital recordings. It’s just not the same.

That’s also true for the rolling crackles of motion picture film. Sitting in a theater with others, or in a car with family or friends at a drive-in, you knew an experience was coming. You alone would decide whether you liked it.

This was before people worried about cholesterol, fat, trans fats, etc. The only thing we worried about was whether we had enough money to experience the movie, and whether we enjoyed ourselves.

Some of my fondest memories at the movies include sitting in the backseat of my parents 1960 model Buick and peering over the front seat and through the windshield to watch Fantastic Voyage.

I was in my pajamas eating popcorn and drinking a Dr. Pepper, watching people drive a space ship-type craft around the inside of a man’s body.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

The movies were generally a once-a-week excursion for our family. My dad worked swing shift, so we didn’t see him often during the week. But Sundays was another story.

After church, we’d go to Luby’s and then to a movie. Jeremiah Johnson, True Grit, The Cowboys, Bonnie and Clyde, and The Poseidon Adventure are just a few of the movies we took in as a family.

Often, after we got home, either I’d put on the latest album I’d bought, or my dad would play one of his. If it was one of mine, I’d have to play it in my room. Dad was not a Three Dog Night fan.

Listening to his albums was always my preference. That was something we did together. It’s why today I still listen to Buddy Holly, The Ink Spots, Jerry Reed, and others from his era.

Today, kids and adults isolate themselves on their electronic devices. Their heads are buried in their phones or iPads.

You can’t experience something together, separately.

It’s also impossible to make up your own mind when you’re letting other people do it for you.

Instead of on demand, try in person. Be present. Gather your family and friends and go to a theater. Dig out the old turntable and vinyl. Look each other in the eye.

Making up your own mind of what you like, even in a group, is much better than reading reviews.

And do it in your pajamas while eating popcorn in the backseat of a Buick.

At least once.

 

©2024 John Moore

John’s books, Puns for Groan People and Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, are available on his website TheCountryWriter.com, where you can also send him a message.