There was a time when listening to music required intention. If I wanted to hear a new release, I had to go find it at a store, pay for it and hold it in my hands. I remember walking into Amoeba Music back when it was still on Sunset Boulevard, spending hours flipping through CDs and vinyl. I bought my first UGK CD there, my first Big K.R.I.T. CD and my first Devin the Dude CD, and each purchase felt like a direct investment in the artists who shaped my taste. The receipt was

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