He tilts his head the other way, turning his dark brown eyes on the many albums. He takes one of them out, carefully brushing the plastic cover free of imaginary specks of dust. It's a redistributed recording of the Andrews Sisters. Snazzed up and cleaned up, but it's still an old record. Old technology, but old only ever means bad if you make that distinction, and he very much doesn't.

"Take this one, for instance. Not only do you have the three very charming ladies threading melodies with each other, you have aaaall the other musicians with their instruments and their hearts thump-thumping to the beat. It gets a bit...jumbled."