Attention Sirius Radio: Do Not Do This

Dear Sirius Radio,

First off, thanks. All the 24-hour music channels. No censors. No commercials. No static. It’s amazing.

As we say deep in the mountains of my native southwest Virginia, I don’t know from nothing when it comes to technology. The satellite stuff is way beyond the pale of my aging brain that creaks more than it calculates. And don’t even try to explain streaming.

All I know is that once upon a time when traveling, I had to turn the radio dial to find stations that play the Stones, the Allmans, the Doors, Dylan, and Led Zeppelin.

Now I don’t have to do that any more. A push of the button takes me to you guys, and away from the local sports talk guy who starts a good game but can’t quit yapping about his male-pattern baldness.

But I do have one problem, Sirius Radio.

Sometimes you don’t play the exact record. I need for you to play the exact record.

News flash. I have Asperger’s. This means I am programmed to focus only on me. I don’t care about you, and I especially don’t care that you are growing bald. I embrace habits, rituals, the tried, the true, the same-old, same-old. New is confusing, especially technology. If something is streaming, I’m programed to believe it’s lava.

There’s more. On file in my gray matter are album versions of hundreds of rock ’n’ roll songs. I know exactly how they sound from the first chord progression to the last.

What this means, Sirius Radio, is that I want to hear the version of John Fogerty’s “Proud Mary” that he recorded in 1969. I do not want to hear a concert version of the tune, even if it’s performed by Creedence Clearwater Revival. I do not want to hear another artist’s rendition.

You guys recently opened a channel dedicated to the Beatles. Great. What’s not great is your habit of playing songs that differ from the ones in my memory banks.

I’ll use “Get Back” as an example. You play a version that sounds like the musicians are tuning their instruments. Do not do this. You play a version of Paul crooning it as a solo act. Do not do this. Play the exact record.

You guys mess up the most when it comes to the Grateful Dead. You inform me that “Friend of the Devil” is next on the playlist. I let out an “Oh, boy” and crank the volume, only to discover you’re giving me a muddied version recorded in 1979 by an audio crew too buzzed to find their gear and who had to borrow at the last minute from the local elementary school. Do not do this. Play the exact record.

The world is already a complex place for Aspies. We get ready to eat lunch at noon and then it’s moved back 10 minutes. We get told only Bill and Jack are attending the 3 p.m. production meeting, but come to find out Sally, Stu and Stephen have also been invited.

Don’t churn our waters, Sirius Radio. We find peace in the exact record. We find order in the exact record. We count on “Dark Side of the Moon” sounding the same today as it will on the day the music doesn’t play because an itchy trigger finger has blown up the world.

Just follow one simple rule and I’ll be happy.

Don’t do new.

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