I couldn’t sleep last night, so I did what most of us do: reached for my phone, shoved in my wireless earbuds, and opened YouTube Music. The plan was simple – listen to something calming and drift off. Instead, I fell down a rabbit hole of endless scrolling, half-baked recommendations, and far, far too many choices.
I didn’t fancy hearing Sabrina Carpenter’s Man’s Best Friend or Haim’s I Quit for the millionth time. I wanted to feel nostalgic. But nostalgia and streaming don’t really mix. Sure, the fact that I can instantly access almost every song ever recorded is incredible. But when I tried to pick something specific, it became work. Searching for the right album, skipping through half-remembered tracks, and batting away algorithmic nudges that felt more like adverts than advice.
At one point, the app pushed me towards a “curated” playlist that seemed to know me better than I knew myself (but in the wrong way). Yes, I’ve played a lot of indie pop lately, but that doesn’t mean I want more of the same. Sometimes I just want the thrill of surprise…
That’s what I miss most about the iPod.
I recently listened to Adam Buxton’s podcast with Kate Nash, where she reminisced about the MySpace era: “It was kids running everything. No one from the industry was in charge. There was no algorithm. People weren’t finding stuff because a label pumped 50 grand into a campaign – they were finding it because other kids liked it and put it on their profile.”
As one of those kids, I remember it well. Discovering new music back then felt organic and personal. The iPod was part of that magic. It wasn’t a window into an infinite jukebox powered by invisible maths – it was completely created by you. You dragged your songs across in iTunes. You built playlists. You pressed shuffle and lived with whatever came up, whether it was a track you adored or something you’d forgotten about entirely.
And let’s be honest, there was something deeply satisfying about the tactile click of that iconic wheel. Flicking through your library on a glass touchscreen just doesn’t compare.
Streaming services will tell you they’ve democratised music. In reality, they’ve also created a kind of digital noise. Everything’s available all the time, which paradoxically makes it harder to choose.
The joy of a finite library – whether on an iPod or a stack of CDs – was that it forced you to live with your music. You really got to know it. You gave albums a chance, even the tracks you weren’t sure about, because they were already in your collection. Now, one tap and you’re on to something else.
The iPod, but modern
I could, of course, dig out my old iPod. But ideally, I’d like something modern: USB-C charging, Bluetooth, a bit more storage, maybe even lossless audio support. Nothing too fancy. Just a dedicated music player that isn’t constantly trying to upsell me, interrupt me, or algorithmically nudge me towards whatever “hot new track” the industry wants to push this week.
Surely there’s a market out there? Vinyl sales are still booming, cassettes made a weird comeback, and physical media in general seems to be enjoying a revival. Why not a new iPod for the streaming-weary?
In the latest season of Only Murders in the Building, Christoph Waltz’s character, tech billionaire Bash Steed, says: “In the right hands, technology should keep the past alive, preserved.” It struck a chord. Because that’s exactly what a new iPod could be – a way to preserve not just your music collection, but a way of experiencing music that feels increasingly lost.
Streaming isn’t going anywhere, and that’s fine. But I think there’s space for something slower, more deliberate, and more personal. An iPod for the 2020s.
And honestly? After another restless night of scrolling through endless digital noise, I’m more convinced than ever. Apple, if you’re listening: bring back the iPod.
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