Alexa Is My Collective Unconscious

“Frank, Would You Like to Hear Your Most Common Alexa Request?”

I grew up in the Great Plains which defined my sense of distance. All activities were a 45 minute drive, and my car was the intimate space of a horny, music-loving teenager. I keep a prodigious collection of otherwise useless cassette tapes (and certain, other items) in storage as a contingency against the real possibility that cognitive decline will make me question whether it all actually happened.

When I moved to upstate New York in 1990, all activities were a 20 minute drive, but my car remained my sanctuary. CDs replaced cassettes, and Amazon Music replaced CDs.

When Amazon Echo Auto was released in 2019, I was an early adopter. Since then I have driven the highways and byways of the Eastern Great Lakes, calling out a stream of musical whims with instant gratification.

In this way, Alexa for Auto became my collective unconscious. Alexa played whatever song, album, book, or podcast drifted past the gossamer transom of my subconscious. I developed set lists and genres for city driving, highway driving, bean burrito lunches, and coffee breaks.

Recently, while performing a software update, Alexa asked, “Frank, would you like to hear your most frequent Alexa request?”

I honestly had no idea. Did I wish to know?

“Yes,” I said, my voice catching.

Scott Lofaro, 1961.

Alexa’s soothing alto replied, “Your most common request is ‘play music by the Bill Evans Trio.’”

At once, I remembered everything. Amazon Music’s catalogue is deep but without programming instinct. Requests for music by artist always follow the same series of albums, so I was constantly returning to the West Village, June 1961, the site of jazz’s most legendary recording.

We first hear Evans explaining to an ambivalent, murmuring crowd that (to accommodate recording) there will be two 30 minute sets. Plates and glasses are collected.

Bassist Scott Lafaro can be heard behind Evans, noodling and tuning. I choke back a tear as I know, of course, Lofaro tragically died in a car accident eleven days after the Village Vanguard performance (Route 20 near Canandaigua, New York. I probably drove past the accident site listening to his music).

The greatest jazz trio in history then breaks out with “Gloria’s Step” written by Lofaro for the girlfriend he loved so deeply he said he could recognize the sound of her footfalls in a city of millions.

“Alexa. How many times have I requested Bill Evans Trio?”

(Pause)

“You have requested music by the Bill Evans Trio 237 times.”

Is that too many? Not enough?

I won’t ask. I don’t think she knows either.