Well . . . in a way, you ARE talking about nostalgia: The frustration-turned-sweetness of a memory that, at the time you were a boy wracking your brain over that fragment of a song that you knew you had heard but no one else seemed to know, coming to seem, after a while, like a dream, or like a legend. And I say "sweetness" because, after all, you hung on to the memory of that--the search as well as the fragment--all this time. As Emily noted down-thread in her quoting the Phaedrus, the ability to write, preserve and access information makes (collective/communal/tribal) memory less necessary, and there's a sadness in that fact. And, politically, a danger (though, as your posts on the moonlight-and-magnolias reading of the Secession make clear, nostalgia can be dangerous, too).I'm enormously grateful to the 'Nets for providing me access to music I otherwise literally never would have known existed, much less heard, even here on our pretty-good NPR station. (And not just jazz or alt-folk or ambient, but music from West Africa, fado from Portugal, etc., etc., etc.) But I have yet to feel nostalgia over a successful Google search. I still have clearer memories of trying to explain to pop-loving high school kids what Little Feat sounded like as I clutched Waiting for Columbus to my chest after just having spent waaay too much money for it but glad I had.
A short documentary about Bruce Riley, an artist who paints abstract wonders with poured resin