According to my Last.fm, I’ve listened to The Magnetic Fields 200 times so far this week. And it’s only Tuesday.

According to a tally I’ve been keeping, I’ve seen roughly 364 shows so far in my life. 31 of those where They Might Be Giants shows alone, who I still cannot seem to tire of seeing. I have in my possession tickets to go see Radiohead this August. I also have tickets to go see Wilco, King Crimson, Ween, Andrew WK, and, once again, They Might Be Giants, in the upcoming weeks and months.

Every inch of dresser, table top, and often floor space in my room is covered in CDs, vinyls, dorky music DVDs like a documentary about the Theremin or that Jandek documentary (which is amazing), mix tapes, and those dumb sampler CDs that most people get handed and throw out immediately. I can’t seem to part with any of it.

I’d trade my bass for my ukulele any day.

I feel like this is maybe starting to sound arrogant. Not my intention. I’m just trying to convey that music is the only thing worth my time. Don’t get me wrong... I have amazing friends and a wonderful, supportive family who I love spending time with. I also love roller coasters, long car trips, and late-night 7-eleven Slurpee runs. But almost every night before I go to bed, I sit in front of my computer or my record player and listen through at least one album. Often several. Whether it be something I’ve never heard before or something I’ve heard a thousand times, and whether it be Steve Reich or Justin Timberlake or Hella or Jay-Z, something about this listening process satisfies some deep, primitive need that I can’t really begin to describe or understand.

After all that listening, I pick up my ukulele for an hour and play a bunch of Magnetic Fields songs. Yeah. I really love The Magnetic Fields.

We’ve been talking a lot around here about how we are in one of the worst musical periods in history, from both artistic and business perspectives. This may be true, but in a way, I still feel like my generation is incredibly fortunate. We have direct, free access to music by virtually any artist that has ever existed, no matter how big or small. You can go on Last.fm and listen to all of Weezer’s Pinkerton for free. Same with Blink-182’s Enema of the State. And Primus’ Sailing the Seas of Cheese. That’s unbelievable. And you should. Those albums all changed my life. As music lovers and consumers we’re obligated to take advantage of these unprecedented opportunities. Go check out something you’ve never heard before and get excited about it. Who knows how long this freedom will last?

So anyway, I play bass in Wheatus. I really don’t like to think of myself as a bass player, though. I feel like my job description should be doing everything I can to make Wheatus songs sound as good as possible and Wheatus shows as entertaining as possible. The notes on my instrument are just a small part of a greater song... a greater good. That’s what we’re all about in this band. I love it. And I love every member of this band, past and present. And I’m privileged to be a part of this experience, this greater good, with them and with you. Bye bye.