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Whenever I enter a record store I am always drawn to the magnets situated on the albums of every artist that I idolize or have a strong personal biased towards. This means that after I file through the section of 'New Music' I will automatically direct myself towards the letter and shelf positioning of each artist I thoroughly scanned through on my last visit. Its hard to put a finger on, but its a hypnotization. No matter how aware I am that there will be no new discovery or untouched album under any of these names, like its an exciting responsibility I adhere to the practice each and every time. This resultingly means first hitting 'A' with my most adored musician 'Adams, Ryan'. His music creates life inside me and brings my head places the sober world won't allow, I owe so much of my musicianship to that one man. Anyway, behind his tagged name, nothing I haven't heard 84,000 times. Next up, 'Badly Drawn Boy' and so on and so forth. This is one of the few places in life where I fall into complete comfort and lose track of time. In a recored store I discover time endless, as I uncover album after album of music that needs space to be heard and appreciated thoroughly. Simultaneously, I become antsy and endure a thrashing heartbeat, anticipating all the new sounds that I will uncover and discover in a short period of time. But, it becomes overwhelming, enter the nerves on which albums to choose and which I must leave behind for the time being. I sense disappointment in questioning wrong selections and harping on the belief I'm missing out in what I left behind. God, I can't break the sense of urgency in needing to hear it all at once and NOW. Music is life. Anyway, the record shop is one place where I walk out feeling shallow or guilty if I'm empty handed, so I pick up 'Amy Millan's' solo debut effort and we strut back into reality.