Some winter evenings, after I shake my cane at the children making snowmen and return to my bedsitter for a soothing cup of weak tea, I wonder if I'm growing old.
Surely not. I still listen to new music. I don't believe a golden age passed some time around 2003. I don't inform youngsters, in a shaking voice, of the good old days of Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, and Presidents of the United States of America. In fact, a lot of what I listened to as a teenager seems pretty dull to me now.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I've moved on and 102.1 hasn't. Still, I can't shake the feeling that, though bands may not have been 'better', the mix on 102.1 may have been: more bands, weirder bands, more variety. Maybe I should go put on my feather booties and take a nap. Wake me for my soaps.
N.B. Alan Cross is, indeed, the man. However, every last fascinating show is available for streaming online, so why should I bother with the Edge?