I have an old mp3 player. There, I said it, I’m not ashamed. That much. It’s a brick of a thing made by Dell. It actually has 15 GB of space, but weighs as much as a Kenworth transaxle and looks like it was designed by an engineer, and not by a designer. It still works, despite one incident where severe static arced from my finger onto the play button and the screen text went upside-down and backwards. The lady at Dell tech support was baffled, and I could only read tracks by holding it upside-down to a mirror, like I was deciphering DaVinci journals.
My album list is eclectic like the international arrivals hall at Charles De Gaulle is eclectic. I’ve got everything from French Rap (MC Solaar’s Cinquieme As is fantastic) to soothing piano (Arthur Rubenstein rep-rah-zents! on 19 Chopin Nocturnes). But one I always go back to when I’m feeling stressed or pissed off is Soul Glo, from Coming to America. You gotta feel the soul when the singer takes a deep breath before absolutely owning that first high note. Come on people, just let your SOUL GLOW!