Today, in spontaneous intergenerational rituals involving ancient musical gear, my three-year-old is blasting Frank Zappa’s Uncle Meat on his late great-grandma’s old CD player. The album was ripped for me by my dad maybe two decades ago, with homemade printed booklet and all.

Besides the nostalgia power of this thought-provoking moment, it’s a massive improvement over the usually unavoidable sanity-destroying farm animals names and sound CD, even if the general vibe is rather close.

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