Last year, I listened to Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality at least 150 times. I say “at least” because I started keeping track when I noticed that I was listening to the album two or three times a day some days, then lost track when I accepted that the album, as it was in years past and will be in years future, was the star by which I navigated my life. There are other Sabbath records, maybe better Sabbath records, but none which better adapt to the texture of my emotions. So I listen to it, over and over again, hoping to better understand it and better understand myself at the same time.
Songs and how they ruin me.
Songs and how they ruin me.
Songs and how they ruin me.
Last year, I listened to Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality at least 150 times. I say “at least” because I started keeping track when I noticed that I was listening to the album two or three times a day some days, then lost track when I accepted that the album, as it was in years past and will be in years future, was the star by which I navigated my life. There are other Sabbath records, maybe better Sabbath records, but none which better adapt to the texture of my emotions. So I listen to it, over and over again, hoping to better understand it and better understand myself at the same time.