The peaceful sleep of retirement. It beacons a youthful culture, sown up by dreams of striking it rich and living off the royalties. Once it was oil, then it was jewels and ore, now it’s internet start-ups. As far as music is concerned, retirement is akin to losing massive touring revenue. I mean, Mick Jagger’s gotta pay upkeep for all those model girlfriends. So it’s a shame to see Alex Cobb laying to rest Taiga Remains. Whether this moment also implies planting his hypnotic drones six feet under is a concern because that lucrative stadium tour when he’s well into his Sixties seems so far away and who knows if we’ll have the money to pay for the front row. Is this truly the music that will span a new generation of Yuppies? Unlikely, for it is far too contemplative and real. When one chases money, they find that they are insecure in what they accumulate. It’s lifestyle fulfillment that becomes nightmarish to maintain. The nightmare of Cobb is that strengthened by inspiration, he must put down Taiga Remains to pursue his new muse. So we bid adieu with a golden parachute of his best cassette-based work now on a rotund vinyl disc. It’s no $40 million pile o’ cash or even an inscribed watch but Taiga Remains is clearly too old for this shit. Thankfully we are not, as this last bit of mellow gold helps the rest of us slog through the daily grind of thankless peers, endless jobs, and tireless commitment to not being like those money hungry tycoons who can’t wait to throw away millions for a moment in the lap of luxury. As Cobb entails within this last (revisited) breath, there is no price for a memory and a happy ending. And a good recording on tape sounds just as warm and low key on vinyl.