Picture this: I’m six years old, basking in the warm Southern California sun, delivering my not-so-humble rendition of “Dance: Ten; Looks: Three” from A Chorus Line. Admittedly, I had no clue what the song truly meant, but the music, the essence of the show, and its blend of humor and longing fueled my performance. My mom was somewhere in the house, but I didn’t need her to cue up a record; I had the thrill of real, stunning music pouring from the speakers, creating an immersive surround sound experience that filled both my living room and imagination.
What’s notably missing from this memory? A glaring computer screen. I didn’t have to navigate through an endless iTunes playlist, desperately searching for “What I Did for Love” or “One.” The music flowed effortlessly—not from a tinny laptop speaker, but from a vibrant source that added life and warmth to my surroundings.
Recently, I experienced a moment of frustration. I wanted to share a song called “More” from the Dick Tracy soundtrack. My mom and I had cherished that CD on long car rides, making memories as we drove past the Hollywood Bowl, lost in our own world of musical bliss. My child, eager for “more” of something (I can’t quite recall what), became my target for a playful tease of “More! More! More!”
But then reality hit. Our tiny boombox had died a year ago, leaving my beloved Dick Tracy CD trapped in its jewel case, silent and neglected. I was not about to throw it onto my computer and navigate the chaotic labyrinth of iTunes. Artists? Genres? Playlists? I was losing my grip, and just like that, my child’s interest waned as she was drawn to a YouTube video. Oh, look, a red notification on Facebook—what could it be? I needed to focus on the music, yet there we were, both ensnared by distraction.
“Not this time!” I declared defiantly. “We’re not buying a stereo right now; it’s not the right time for expenses.” My husband, ever the voice of reason, could sense my impending purchase.
“Yes, we are!” I yelled, my excitement bubbling over. It was a modest CD player, but it had speakers—real speakers! With dials for tuning and volume! Pure beauty in simplicity.
Here’s the kicker: the very inconvenience of our new stereo captivated my three-year-old. We had danced and listened to music before, but something about the arrival of this stereo sparked her interest like never before. Now, she could pick a CD from the shelf, press the “open” button, and gently place it in the player. She watched in awe as the disc spun to life, and when she hit “play,” she sat there enchanted, lost in the music.
It wasn’t just about the sound quality; it was the tangible connection. The stereo had one purpose: to create music. Unlike a computer, it didn’t bombard her with notifications, videos, or photos. When one CD ended, she could simply swap it out for another. The effort involved became part of the joy.
Since we welcomed the CD player into our lives, music has become a background to our activities. Today, we chose Charlie Parker while drawing, listening to the rain and thunder outside. When we play board games, the tunes of Stevie Wonder and Madonna make even the longest rounds of Candyland feel like a breeze.
And when we dance? We’re free, lost only to the rhythm and the sounds of the world outside—no screens to disrupt our bliss. Technology isn’t draining the life from our art; it’s enhancing it.
This morning, we played the entire Dick Tracy soundtrack, savoring each song, including the slow ones. Finally, I shared “More” with my little one, and we reveled in the lyrics that spoke of yearning and desire.
Each possession you possess
Helps your spirits to soar
That’s what’s soothing about excess
Never settle for something less
Something’s better than nothing, yes!
But nothing’s better than more, more, more
Except all, all, all
Except once you have it all
You may find all else a bore.
That though things are bliss
There’s one thing you miss
And that’s more!
And there it is—the enchanting magic of the stereo. When we listen without the distraction of sight, we’re drawn into a world of imagination and sound. There’s always more to explore, waiting just beyond the speakers, unobstructed by the glaring light of a screen.
We spent a mere $50 on that stereo, but what we’ve gained is priceless. Because when it comes to music and memories, nothing’s better than more.