Stephen Mejias

Lately, when I’ve been hungry for some good, uncomplicated, headshaking, soul-lifting songwriting, the kind that drops from the summer sky like a sudden shower and leaves a rainbow in its wake, I’ve turned to Slave Ambient, the sophomore release from The War On Drugs.

Recorded over the last four years in front man Adam Granduciel’s home studio in Philadelphia, Jeff Ziegler’s Uniform Recording, and Echo Mountain in Asheville, NC, the album is a drive to the ocean, windows down, head back, shades on. Acoustic and electric guitars, synthesizers, drums, and Granduciel’s voice, rambling and drifting and howling, together recalling heat waves, long days, Bruce Springsteen, Bryan Adams, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Okay, read this: The Decade in Music: The Way We Listen Now, from NPR’s “All Things Considered.”

Remember when my living room looked like this? Cozy, comforting, warm, functional, and tidy. Not bad at all.

I should have known by the looks in their shining eyes. When people told me that I'd probably enjoy it, that it was probably a good idea for me to go, they were being coy. But never mind: No words could have prepared me for the enormity of the event, for the knee-weakening prospect of innumerable treasures. And so, on Saturday morning, when I decided to go to the WFMU Record Fair, I was entirely, woefully, indubitably unprepared. I am reminded of my first Consumer Electronics Show. You can't know what it's like until you've been. And only after it's over can you pretend to prepare for the following year. I will begin pretending to prepare for next year's event today—taking for granted that next year will exist—but, until then, I'm left wanting a do-over, wondering why didn't anybody tell me it would be like this, while nevertheless enjoying the few treasures I did come home with.