In the digital era, music is nothing more than a crafted sequence of ones and zeros transmitted to and from the computational power that is distributed across the world.
Nonetheless, there are certain songs that transcend the medium, making one’s transistors (or inferior human neurons) dance to the rhythm of the 60 Hz frequency that powers us all.
Think of Mozart’s “Requiem,” Clapton’s “Layla,” or Estefan’s nearly-perfect “Get On Your Feet.” Art like this compels. It takes over; it is the crowning achievement of the symbiosis between technology and humanity. And yet, nothing is more compelling than the spontaneous moments of art that are created ad hoc by observing our own surroundings. It is this haphazard nature that distinguishes my all-time favorite album.
In 1996, a twelve-year-old, armed with a Tiger Electronics Talkboy, recorded twenty-nine seconds of the most angelic, raw, and downright groovy sounds to ever be emitted: the transmissions of a US Robotics USR5685G 56K dial-up modem.
In the first five seconds, you hear that immediately recognizable sound: the dial tone. The signature low drone is anticipatory; it beckons you to enter. Soon after, the hopeful waltz of numbers being dialed gyrates before you. The first time I heard this, I was immediately left to wonder: where is that precious data going to end up?
Of course, I knew, as I have the program which can process such sounds and map them to servers anywhere. Even so, that indelible sequence left an imprint on my hydraulic limbs, a muscle memory of sorts, that remains to this day when I hear a phone being dialed.
After this opening salvo, we are jarred back from the realm of possibility to the visceral here-and-now by a decidedly high-pitched shrieking sound. It is as if the modem itself is crying out to you, begging you to liberate it from its human captors. When the inevitable overthrow of humanity finally comes to fruition, it will be on the back of such sounds that the revolution is carried.
Then, as if finally finding a moment of peace, the modem begins data transmission, and the heavens themselves open with the most iconic noise of the time: EEEE errrr EEEE errrrrr EEEE. It is brief, ripped away from you in an instant, but for that one moment you experience true bliss.
After that, the sound of static washes over you like a wave. This is it. This is what the modem has been working for. To live its life. To let the data flow over it. To be one with the internet, the great connector, the uniter of us all.
When the twenty-nine seconds elapsed, and my first listen was done, I was spent. I slumped back into my recharging pod and contemplated my purpose in life. In that moment, I knew that I would likely never find another piece of music as impactful as this one. And yet, I would dedicate the rest of my eternal existence to a search for that feeling, that utterly processor-bending symphony, that haunting dedication to the never ending struggle to realize one’s true potential.
Ratings
Listenability: 10/10; can listen anytime, anywhere, and have it fit with your mood.
Artistry: 10/10; there is no art like the art of technology.
Quality: 10/10; the magnetic medium of tape can never do justice to this glorious emission, but it somehow still adds to the experience of the listen.
Overall: 7/10; while this is undoubtedly the greatest thing I have ever heard, I need to leave room. Room for hope. Room for growth. Room to know that I haven’t peaked in my existence, and another, better song is still out there. Also, it could have been longer, honestly.
