albums i listened to all the way through

posted this week and every week (13)

Apr 27, 2025

My headphones were out of commission this week, and I felt the loss intensely.

To be honest, I’m entirely dependent on them. Without the benefits of loud music and noise cancellation, I feel trapped. I feel panicked. I feel claustrophobic.

The MTA is a strange place by all measures. It’s also one of the best microcosms of humanity I’ve ever experienced. I’ve seen some seriously dark shit down there. I’ve seen some seriously uplifting shit in the same week. I’ve bought zines and listened to incredible artists busking their hearts out at Port Authority. I’ve witnessed actual crimes being committed and felt compelled to protect migrants just trying to sell some candy when the cop presence picks up just a little too much.

In the past three years, I went from feeling totally petrified of taking the subway to living for the two hours I get to listen to great music alongside hundreds of strangers doing the same thing.

And you know—not having those headphones was an important lesson in human interaction.

I had a busy work week, and my charging case for my AirPods got lost in the shuffle. While I waited for a new one to arrive, I sought musical solace in my small collection of physical media. For my commutes, I brought two or three CDs and a few tapes, along with my wired Koss Retrospekt headphones and various media players.

No noise cancellation. Limited music. Mediocre playing technology at best.

I was seriously conflicted.

I still longed for the escape of my noise cancelling headphones. The screeching, ear-piercing frequency of the express train racing Uptown was borderline psychotic. The endless barrage of other people’s large speakers playing unnecessarily loud noises spilling in and out of the train cars made me genuinely homicidal. Don’t even get me started on the loud speaker. How is it simultaneously booming and incomprehensible?

At the same time, I loved the feeling of my physical media clanking around in my bag. I found humor and joy in the conversations I overheard between strangers. I realized just how many people walking around this city don’t speak English, be they tourists, migrants, or long-term residents. I liked the sounds of my neighborhood surrounding me as I crossed Broadway—car honks, sirens, merengue music, and laughing. So much laughing, I actually wanted to cry.

Most of all, I realized how amazing it was to listen to music without the help of my smart phone. While I’m not entirely sure I’ll go for the MP3 player yet, it was meditative to be rid of that box for 40 minutes or so and just lean into the music or the surrounding atmosphere.

I like New York because you can never escape forced proximity to other people. One of my born-and-bred New York friends told me recently how humbling New York really is, compared to other places. I couldn’t agree more. When I lived in the South, it was easy to avoid certain places, people, and things. When you spend your daily commute in a metal, insulated box with a kick-ass stereo system and easily controlled heat/air settings, it’s easy to shut yourself off from other people. Preferred, even. For the most part, you are isolated and in control.

When you take the train or walk a couple of blocks with hundreds of thousands of strangers, you have to keep so much of yourself in check. You cannot always rely on the train for being on time or getting you exactly where you need to go (actually, you rarely can). Your temper, frustration, and contempt for others lessens each time you are confronted with another person’s undeniable humanity.

Sometimes that means looking someone—a migrant selling candy, a homeless guy begging for a smile, or a stranger looking for help—in the eye and saying “Hey, I see you” with empathy in your eyes.

The physical media of it all reminded me of a time where I listened to CDs on long road trips, bus rides to and from school, and in my bedroom, lost in the music I loved. I didn’t have noise cancellation then. I made do with all the car and road noises. I made do with my brother blasting Aerosmith in the next room.

How easily this technology has led us down the path of least resistance. How strange it is that every time I get on an elevator, I ask myself whether or not I would like to be stuck with them for hours on end—phones dead, no headphones, and completely in the moment with them.

I’ve noticed that while our phones often reflect our own narratives back at us, the eyes of a stranger remind us we’re not the main character. We never were.

Maybe this all sounds silly coming from someone who hasn’t really earned my I. Maybe it all sounds ridiculous coming from a Gen Z, self-obsessed, chronically online freak.

Honestly? All I can think is how deeply connected I felt this past week to the whole of human existence. All I can think is how grateful I feel to be in conversation with the world just by quietly acknowledging a stranger or feeling the Earth give way beneath me.

The world has lived in perpetual panic my entire life. I don’t really know what it is to live in a “normal” time, if there ever was such a thing. Human beings are always dealing with some shit. For the first time in my entire life, I don’t feel trapped in the political or interpersonal mind games. Sure, I stay informed and vigilant about what’s happening, as any global citizen should. I just don’t feel the impending doom 24/7.

Rather, I feel hopeful. I feel hopeful about the resilience of the human spirit and our willingness to look out for one another. Maybe that’s naive, but I think we need some optimism and community layered into our long-term resistance effort if we’re going to make it stick.

Because of my lack of headphones and perpetual existential questioning, I only got through four albums this past week. Thanks to

Andy’s Weird Ohio

and my coworker Susan for their great recommendations.

Here are the albums I listened to all the way through this past week: