Radio studios used to house vast libraries of vinyl 33-1/3 RPM records, whose shallow, delicate grooves stored arrangements of voices and instruments in precious acoustic tracks. Archived melody and poetry of ambitious musicians lived in these studios, in records all lined up next to each other in vertical symmetry. These musical neighbors all waited patiently for their moment of release to radio’s air waves. These were the fruits—vinyl or even CD’s—of musical dreamweavers.
Not so much any more. Today, Nashville’s Acme Radio’s entire musical library of digital recordings might fill a portable drive not much larger than a ubiquitous cell phone. Technology seems to push both musical storage and musical performers in a quick-change-is-good lifestyle.
In today’s ephemeral digital world, the names and faces of celebrities struggle to briefly stay relevant. Soon the parade moves on to an ever-newer performer, whose fame may be destined to dissolve even faster.
Well-earned achievements may pass quickly in this flash-to-flame life. Deep within, some of us may long for that which lasts longer than a spectacular but fleeting solar eclipse.
The thing that stands out in contrast in this fleeting world is something that stands firm, maintains excellence, and speaks truth. A voice that cries in the wilderness might just set our hearts aright one more time.