Boredom, MP3 Players, and the Unfilled Interval
I heard that honestav song, "iphone killed the mp3," and it got me thinking.
First, about "Video Killed the Radio Star." There's something funny about MTV eventually becoming part of the world somebody misses.
Apparently every future gets a turn being the good old days. But mostly I've been thinking about the MP3 players. I see it with Olivia and people around her age. The interest in old iPods, cameras, physical music. And it goes beyond collecting some obsolete thing because it looks cool. There's a whole world of people rebuilding iPods, replacing parts, adding newer capabilities while keeping the thing recognizably an iPod.
People really love that little click wheel.
We put an entire civilization behind a touchscreen, and people are like, "Okay, but I liked the wheel."
Fair.
I've written about this retro thing before, but I'm starting to wonder whether nostalgia explains as much of it as we think. When I see an old beige computer, I have memories attached to it. I was there. I remember when that thing was exciting.
Olivia doesn't remember using MySpace. She never did. So whatever appeals to her about it has to involve something other than remembering her own experience. Maybe some of these older things offer an experience she's discovering for the first time. And maybe we keep calling that nostalgia because that's what it would be for us.
When nothing was happening yet
I've always chased technology. I was the kid programming everybody's digital watch and fixing the blinking 12:00 on the VCR. I'm still that kid, except now I'm 52 and there are more screens.
Give me the Star Trek future. Beam me the fuck up.
I also occasionally need to go camping. I don't find those things contradictory. Sometimes I want all the capability. Sometimes I want some space. And I wonder whether that's part of what people are finding in these devices.
We used to encounter that space whether we wanted it or not. We called it boredom. You wanted to do something. You didn't know what. So eventually you went looking. Through a drawer, around the neighborhood, inside something you probably shouldn't have taken apart. Sometimes nothing came of it. Sometimes you found a thing that became your thing.
Being bored while scrolling feels different to me. You're dissatisfied, but occupied. There's always another thing arriving. Maybe one is restless boredom and the other is pacified boredom. I don't know. But I remember that restless part. Wanting something to happen and having to figure out what I could do about it.
Now we can have an algorithm fill that interval before we've spent much time in it.
Maybe the extra steps were part of it
An MP3 player used to be a little project. You figured out the device, found the music, learned how to get it onto the thing, and decided what belonged together. You messed with it. Developed preferences. Made something for a friend.
Some of that was a pain in the ass. But I wonder how much of it helped turn "I like music" into an actual interest you practiced.
Now the player, the collection, and a lot of the discovery process fit inside an app. That's amazing. I use it. I'm hardly about to cancel technological progress because I miss managing folders. Still, when you compress that much of an activity, do you lose something around the edges?
You get the song faster. Maybe you spend less time figuring out why you chose it. And when the music player is also your inbox, camera, workplace, and infinite entertainment machine, it's incredibly easy to leave one interest before you've spent much time with it.
A separate player gives music its own object. You pick it up, and that's what you're doing.
Maybe that's enough to explain some of the appeal.
My tiny memory card
I do something with photography that might be related. I keep a 512 MB card around and occasionally put it in my DSLR while shooting RAW.
Yes, megabytes. It fills up fast.
Then I see another picture I want, and I have to delete something.
Which one? Is this new picture worth it? Did I need the last three? Should I wait for something better?
I found this exercise online years ago. I didn't invent it, but I've kept doing it because I like how it makes me pay attention. I have to think about the photographs while I'm taking them, instead of leaving all the choosing for later.
It's a ridiculous situation when you think about it. I own a highly capable camera and deliberately give it almost no room to work. I'm engineering a limitation because I enjoy what happens when I work within it.
Like the lines in a coloring book. Sometimes having something to work against helps you get involved. Maybe the click wheel, the separate camera, the finite collection—maybe some of that does something similar. Gives the experience a shape. Leaves a few decisions for you.
I'm not sure that's what everyone buying an old iPod is looking for. Some people probably just like the damn iPod. But I suspect there's more going on than a generation borrowing our memories. Maybe they're finding room to make their own. And maybe that's what I'm reaching for when I go camping, or put an absurdly small card in a perfectly good camera.
A little space where the next thing hasn't already been supplied.
We used to call it boredom. I'm starting to wonder what else was happening in there.
Rich Washburn is a technologist, strategist, and Founder & Chief AI Architect of ARIA AI Labs, working at the intersection of AI, infrastructure, communications, and capital. He also serves as Managing Partner and Chief AI Officer at Eliakim Capital.
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