![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.rocktownhall.com\/blogs\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/12\/PEPPERMINT-45-PIC-COV-300x293.jpg\" "\\"PEPPERMINT-45-PIC-COV\\"")
<\/p>\n[audio:http:\/\/www.rocktownhall.com\/blogs\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/12\/03-Peppermint-Lump1.mp3|titles=Angie, “Peppermint Lump”]\n<\/p>\n[audio:http:\/\/www.rocktownhall.com\/blogs\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/12\/03-Peppermint-Lump1.mp3|titles=Angie, “Peppermint Lump”]\n
Here’s a thought I had while walking the dog this morning:\u00a0 the Internet, as wonderful as it is, has really fucked up the process of loving rock and roll. Like some gloriously bad drug, it’s made the process of finding stuff so easy and instantly rewarding that it’s put another important human experience — the process of seeking — to sleep. And that process of seeking was one of the things that put the world of recorded music up on a pedestal; that gave rock its mystery — its Godhood.<\/p>\n
Please recognize that I was only walking my dog five minutes ago, so I can’t claim to have properly beard-stroked and pipe-tamped my way through this one. That’s your cue to chime in and help me.<\/p>\n
The genesis of this thought-bomb occurred last night, as I was driving home. I had the wonderfully eclectic and entertaining Stiff Generation<\/em> CD in the stereo, and was bouncing about between tracks, when the player alighted on “Peppermint Lump,” as performed by Frisbie<\/strong>. (I found this out later; I’d long since lost the CD cover — another side effect of the digital age that’s demythologized rock and roll.)\u00a0 Anyhow, as I tooled down the byways of northern Virginia, I thought to myself: “Man, that sure sounds like a Pete Townshend song. But what on Earth would he have been doing on the Stiff label?”<\/p>\n I got home, and popped open the laptop. About 60 seconds later, I had my answer — and<\/em> a YouTube “audio”<\/a> of the original track in question. This was satisfying at a certain level, but at another, it really bugged me. It was so easy!<\/p>