hurly_burly | (no subject)

So, I'm sorting through my CD collection today, for the purposes of transferring it onto the computer and thus rescuing it from dusty, scratched-to-buggery oblivion. It is making me all nostalgic, and also raises some interesting questions:
Why on earth do I own a copy of the Romper Stomper soundrack?
Where has my beloved copy of Heather Nova's Oyster gone?
Who gave me all these pirated Concrete Bonde CDs, and why did they not think to label them?
Why do we own three copies of the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack?
Who did I lend the Cat Empire's self-titled first album to?

And most importantly, why do I always nd up with a teetering pile of CD cases with no discs in them, and a correspondingly large (but, and this is the key point, not matching) pile of discs with no cases?

It's amazing how music can carry with it such strong sensory memories, isn't it? I'm listening to the Doors, and I can almost taste the cheap bourbon and clove cigarettes...I bet if I played Concrete Blonde's Vampire Song I would smell rosemary and thriftshop clothes.

EDIT: I also appear to have lost, in record time, my Florence + the Machine CD :(

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Argh, most of my favourite cds from the early days are just plain gone: broken, misplaced and generally abused. Our collective cd collection (mostly the dude's) has gone through several incarnations. Now they are mostly retired as we are become evil pirates and victims of the (i)pod people. I still have my Best of the Doors, but it refuses to play 'The End', woe!

D: Oh noes! My Best of the Doors lost its second disc somewhere along the way, but

not_an_elf has an identical copy so all is well. My Backetball Diaries soundtrack will not play 'People Who Died', which is a source of great consternation. CD collection will be officially retired as soon as I can get this recalcitrant bloody computer to recognise my MP3 player. Grr.