We got a radio for Christmas. It’s also a flashlight, a compass, and can emit an SOS signal, which is quite loud and terrifying. I love it (not the SOS-signal).

I’ve already written about how where our music comes from changes how we listen before, and I've written about single purpose devices before (I know, this isn’t exactly a single purpose device, but it’s not a computer). But yesterday I found myself enamoured with this little device, both in its brickish nature, its colour, and the sounds coming out of it.

I dialled in a station for some jazz music while I made some recipes from a friend's website. I was teleported a 3/4 of a century back in time, making recipes from four generations ago and listening to music that I had no control over.

I still cannot quite describe the phenomenon I'm experiencing where I feel this strong relief to not have to choose the music that I'm listening to. The radio is either on, off, or on a different station. Maybe I'm getting nostalgic, but there's something here, and I appreciate it. Simplicity.

I found a new artist last night — a beautiful spoken word piece over piano. I was drawing at the table, when it came on the radio. The house has settled and only a few lights were still on. I put down my pen and just listened. I want to know why my relationship with this track is different, I want to understand it, because I want more like it. But this is maybe just the start.

Learn to Swim II.