For my thirty-third birthday, my husband pre-ordered "The Barsuk Years," the Death Cab for Cutie vinyl box set. "That way you’ll only have the good ones," he said.
He said "good ones" with an uptick in his voice, almost as if he was asking a question. Neither of us can tell how much of the gift, or any part of it, is a joke. I opened up the box, and I laughed. I love these records. Or: I loved these records?
It's a time in music—or a time in music for me?—when the definition of Good Music has never been murkier. Are these the good ones? The idea of "good [...]