I grow old, I grow old and all the joys and certainties, the things that made me happy and sometimes even paid my bills, are falling apart before my eyes. Look: reading is dead. Print is dead. Music journalism is in crisis. Blogging isn’t looking too great. And listen: the kids are getting horribly right-wing.
But some of the old reliables are still, well, reliable. Such as black-clad Japanese people playing Beethoven on theremins embedded in Matryoskha dolls. That’ll be around forever.