This past Father's Day I took my wife to see Jack Johnson, who is, against all odds and all algorithms, still touring. We navigated our way past full lot upon full lot until we found our spot. We followed the herd through the gates. By the time he ambled on stage - no pyrotechnics, no dancers, just a man and a guitar - the whole arena had become one animal, breathing in time. ... I looked around and noticed something: half that crowd hadn't been born when Jack Johnson got famous. They'd shown up anyway. Not because some app told them to, but for the same reason their parents did twenty years back: a fellow being completely, unhurried himself, singing about surf, love, family and simplicity in a way no machine ever could and no machine ever will. We've been starving ourselves of it, I think, and only just now noticing the hunger. Funny enough, it feels like the kids who grew up inside the screen are starting to turn their backs on it ... maybe, maybe they're even leading the charge…
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