Tiny Listens #17 (Live - Lightning Crashes)
Live - Lightning Crashes
Once a week Tiny Listens sends out suggestions for things to listen to — music, podcasts and what-not. No particular genre, style or format, just something to enrich your day.
TINY LISTENS 0017 • June 9, 2024
Live - Lightning Crashes
Nostalgia is a beast.
A sepia-toned blanket that distorts our perception of the past—transforming a mundane into magnificent. Prosaic into profound. An old mixtape, unearthed from a dusty drawer, can summon a rush of emotion so intense it feels like whiplash. One minute you're standing in a grocery store, the next back in your teenage bedroom—headphones on, heart thrumming with adolescent angst. This kaleidoscopic reverie isn't just about longing for a simpler time—it's about the strange alchemy of memory, where even the bad days somehow glisten with a nostalgic sheen.
60, no 90, no 120 songs that explain the 90s. I have slowly worked my way through the majority of the 120 Songs That Explain the 90s podcast.
The paradox of nostalgia is that it’s both a salve and a trap, a way to connect with our younger selves while simultaneously highlighting how much we've changed. A trickster.
A reoccurring aside throughout the podcast is defining “the most 90s song”, “the most 90s year” of all the 90s. It seems 1994 is the most 90s. I can’t argue.
Nostalgia, then, is not just a yearning for the past but a recognition of the continuous, often messy, journey of self-discovery. It's weird, wonderful, and undeniably human.
If 1994 is the most 90s year of the decade, then I put forward Lightning Crashes as the most 90s song. I am not taking questions.
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