So much has been written about the deteriorating situation in Iraq and what the President or Congress should do to remedy it. Almost everyone now agrees that the status quo is unacceptable and a change in direction mandatory. In After the Fall, David Brooks imagines a future when we look back on those changes as the beginning of even darker times. This is scary shit.

My husband Matt and I moved from Austin to New York almost a year ago. And as anyone who has ever lived in Manhattan knows, space in tiny New York apartments is at a premium. Though we got rid of about a third of our possessions before we moved, and more since we’ve arrived, we’re still trying to figure out better ways to arrange the things we’ve kept. It’s difficult to get comfortable.

One subject that frequently rears its ugly head is: what should we do with all these damn CDs? We only have about 2500. I know that seems like a lot to many people, but for two musicheads (and most of the people reading this article, I’d imagine), it’s not that bad. Unfortunately, 2500 CDs and the shelves to contain them take up an unbelievable amount of space in a Manhattan living room. In fact, the only way we could incorporate them at all was to put them behind our couch and chair. And to be honest, their relative inaccessibility, combined with a nutty New York lifestyle, means that we don’t end up pulling them out and listening to them much.

These facts have led Matt–a techie–to a logical question: why not digitize them all and get rid of them? We’d still have all of our music, and we’d have a lot more space. I bet you’ve guessed by now that my ears are deaf to such a disgusting suggestion. Get rid of this amazing collection that we’ve spent the better part of our lives amassing? What about the liner notes?! What about the signed ones?! What about the ones that are out of print?! What about those times when you really need to hear something great, but you don’t know what, so you scan the shelves and see the spine of a forgotten record that is screaming “I’m exactly what you want right now!”

That’s not to mention the question that opens up cans and jars and bottles of worms and starts a whole new fight: What if we move out of Manhattan in a couple of years and have a lot more space, and then we’re sad forever about the CDs we’ve lost?

Here’s the worst part: after twelve long months in New York, Matt hasn’t won any of these battles, but I secretly fear that he might be winning the war. Because I must admit: nine times out of ten, when I want to play music at home these days, the first thing I reach for is not a CD to pop into the stereo, but our laptop. Why? Because of iTunes.

I’m not talking about the iTunes store–not to say that I’m not glad to have that around, too, for podcasts and the occasional 99-cent indulgence (read: “Fergalicious”). Instead, I’m referring to the iTunes library. Over the years, as we have loaded music onto the hard drive for various reasons, the iTunes library has quietly emerged as the soundtrack to my life.

My iTunes library evolved, as I’m sure most everyone’s does, organically. I got a pink iPod Mini for my birthday in 2003, sat down, and constructed a plan. I knew I had about 1000 songs to work with, and while that seems like quite a few, I knew that I’d reach the total faster than expected if I didn’t choose very wisely. So, I picked through my CD collection, pulled out my favorites 20 at a time, and spent the better part of two weekends diligently uploading the best songs ever, one by one.

Of course, as I began listening over the next few weeks, I realized that for an iPod with a limited amount of memory space, balance is key. I had some inkling of this problem when I made my inaugural selections, as I had set myself up with only one initial rule: no Dylan and no Beatles. Those artists have vast catalogs containing too many great songs, so I figured they’d take up too much room. That was smart, but I also should’ve realized that there were a few more artists who’d been prolific enough, and who had recorded just as many songs that I loved as the Beatles or Dylan had. Namely, Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, U2, and R.E.M. So, when I’d play my iPod on shuffle, about every third song would be by one of those artists. And as much as I love those guys, if I wanted that little variety, well . . . let’s just say there are lots of other places where I could find it. So, though it pained me, I had to go in and winnow down to a few essential Waits/Costello/Bono/Stipe cuts.

The next problem, I will call, for reasons I do not wish to discuss, the Journey conundrum. One of the most delightful things about having an iPod is being able to mix your guilty pleasures in with all of your other favorite music. Then, when one comes on, it’s a pleasant surprise. It makes you giggle, and then you proceed to sing your lungs out. Plus, you get to have those great moments when you have three friends in the car, and you’re busy wowing them with your highbrow taste, and then “Heaven” by Bryan Adams comes on, and you hurry up and try to hit the “next” button, and as soon as you do, they all scream “Hey!” in unison–because of course, they all love it too. And then you have another tie that binds you together.

However, I soon discovered, much to my chagrin, that, say, 10 guilty pleasure songs seem to come up all too often when they’re 10 out of 1000. My iPod helped me realize that part of the “pleasure” in guilty pleasures is only getting to hear those songs occasionally. So they, too, had to go.

I kept playing with the formula, uploading new songs, trying to get the balance just right. Eventually I concluded that, while there’s something to having the option of only listening to a finite selection of songs I really, really love–it’s a salve for the spirit when you need one–I would never be totally satisfied with it. So, over time, I pretty much stopped using my iPod altogether. I don’t really want a new one with more memory, because I love the now-retro hipsterdom of my pink Mini. And I can’t listen to music and read at the same time, so I don’t need it for my commute. I use it for working out, I take it with me when I travel, and that’s about it. But I’m grateful to my iPod, because it was a great present that has given me another welcome and unexpected gift: my iTunes library.

For those of you who haven’t yet converted to the wonders of iTunes, a quick explication: when you want to load music onto your computer, you pop a CD into it. This launches iTunes, and gives you a prompt asking whether you’d like to import all the songs. You can choose to do so, or just to load certain tunes. Once loaded, you can organize the songs into playlists, which are just like time-unlimited mix tapes. You can play those playlists in a specified order, or play them on shuffle. The same principle applies to your entire library, which means that you can play, on random, every song that’s ever been loaded to your computer.

So, though at some point I stopped fiddling with my iPod regularly, my iTunes library continued to grow. At first, it was due to the usual, pre-digital excuses: making mix CDs for road trips, loading new things to check out that were recommended by friends, buying the occasional track from the iTunes store.

Once the library got big enough, I started to catch on to the fact that my laptop had become the iPod I always wanted: it was portable (enough), and whenever I felt like it, I could pop it open, press “play,” and hear a randomly mixed selection of songs that both surprised and excited me. iTunes makes segues, and naturally, it juxtaposes tunes that you’d never think about playing back to back as a DJ. Many of the segues flop, but some are brilliant, and others have the power to completely alter your mood. For example, you might be crying into your beer while Townes Van Sandt is singing to you for a few minutes, but all of a sudden Jay-Z crops up, and all you can think is “Hands up and wave, and wave, and wave…”

Just look at this list, which I took note of as iTunes was playing it for me this past Sunday. It got me through a floor-scrubbing, pie-baking, chili-stewing frenzy:

The Wood Brothers, “Atlas”
Gram Parsons, “I Can’t Dance”
Pete Belasco, “Love Is”
Morphine, “Honey White”
Medeski, Martin & Wood, “Everyday People”
Stevie Wonder, “You Haven’t Done Nothin’”
Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, “Mistadobalina”
Deltron, “Positive Contact”
Morcheeba, “Let Me See”
Gaby Kerpel, “Xplicampelo”
John Coltrane, “Lazy Bird”
Jeff Buckley, “Mojo Pin”
Beth Orton, “Thinking About Tomorrow”
Billy Bragg & Wilco, “Birds and Ships”
World Party, “Sweet Soul Dream”
Deniece Williams, “Let’s Hear It for the Boy”
Flaming Lips, “Race for the Prize”
Digable Planets, “Jimmy’s Diggin’ Cats”
Sam Cooke, “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home”
Blackalicious, “Shallow Days”
Radio Citizen, “Everything”
Mongo Santamaria, “Cold Sweat”
William DeVaughn, “Be Thankful for What You Got”
Martina Topley-Bird, “Soul Food”
Citizen Cope, “Son’s Gonna Rise”
Rolling Stones, “Miss You”
Big Country, “In a Big Country”
Amadou & Mariam, “Taxi Bamako”
Vince Guaraldi Trio, “Christmastime Is Here”
Richard Buckner, “A Chance Counsel”
Joseph Arthur, “Even Tho”

See how it makes connections? Like, the only time I saw Morphine, they opened for Medeski, Martin & Wood. And my friend Ben turned me onto both the Flaming Lips and the Digable Planets in high school. And Del and Deltron are really the same person. And Jeff McCord and I are both crazy about “Cold Sweat” and “Be Thankful for What You Got,” so whenever I’d be on the air right after him at KUT, I’d have to check his playlist to avoid accidental repeats. The hits just keep on comin’.

These days, I tend to load every new CD I get straight onto the computer, knowing that I’ll get to learn fresh music alongside old favorites. It’s easy to fall victim to oversaturation when music is your life and your job. My iTunes library is shelter from that storm.

–Melanie Shrawder

It’s that time of year again! Cheers and jeers for the recently-published list of Grammy nominations are flying left and right. Congratulations to the clients and artists we’ve worked with this year that got some significant nods:

Record of the Year: “Put Your Records On,” Corinne Bailey Rae & “Not Ready to Make Nice,” The Dixie Chicks
Song of the Year: “Put Your Records On,” Corinne Bailey Rae & “Not Ready to Make Nice,” The Dixie Chicks
Album of the Year: Taking the Long Way, The Dixie Chicks
Best New Artist: Corinne Bailey Rae
Best Female Pop Vocal Performance: “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree,” KT Tunstall
Best Traditional Pop Vocal Album: Sarah McLachlan, Wintersong
Best Solo Rock Vocal Performance: “Lookin’ for a Leader,” Neil Young
Best Rock Song: “Lookin’ for a Leader,” Neil Young
Best Rock Album: Living with War, Neil Young
Best Country Performance By A Duo Or Group With Vocal: “Heaven’s My Home,” The Duhks & “Not Ready to Make Nice,” The Dixie Chicks
Best Country Album: Taking the Long Way, The Dixie Chicks
Best Country Collaboration With Vocals: “Tomorrow Is Forever,” Solomon Burke & Dolly Parton
Best Contemporary Blues Album: Suitcase, Keb’ Mo’
Best Traditional Folk Album: A Distant Land to Roam, Ralph Stanley & We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, Bruce Springsteen & I Stand Alone, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott
Best Contemporary Folk/Americana Album: All The Roadrunning, Mark Knopfler & Emmylou Harris and Black Cadillac, Rosanne Cash
Best Bluegrass Album: Instrumentals, Ricky Skaggs and Kentucky Thunder & Live at the Ryman, Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives
Best Engineered Album, Non-Classical: Suitcase, Keb’ Mo’