The Soft Glow of Burning Filament

Before the advent of liquid crystal displays and non-tactile momentary push switches, the face of home stereo was backlit by soft glowing incandescent light and comprised of banks of sweeping dials, fine tuned to deliver bits of information in its purest analog form. Heavy tuning knobs let you know that with the turn of your wrist, you were affecting some kind of change inside the innards of the walnut encased beast that sat before you. It felt good to use. It wasn't an appliance, it was a masterful creation, an amalgum of thousands of intricate parts that worked in unison to accomplish the singular goal of providing you entertainment. Fuck all these digitally tuned disposable heaps of plastic covered in blinking LEDs and LCD displays. They just don't nurture the same primal comfort of stereo receivers of yore. There is simply something about heated filaments that harkens back to the soft amber glow of dying embers. Campfire trapped in glass. You can keep your harsh, unapologetic beams of digitally conjured photons, I'll be over here fiddlin' with these dials. Analog4Life, son! You think this is a fucking game? Arf, arf, arf arf! (that is a DMX bark and you will go back and read the last lines of this treatise against LED in the raspy voice of DMX).