I had a sudden difficulty in reconciling the reality of the live recording with the titchy little sliver of glossy technology on which it was being played. I actually stopped, took the Nano out of my pocket and looked at it for a bit. The sleekness, the ice-black sheen, the clever wheel control, the small, yet perfectly-formed colour screen. The cheery little Apple logo.
And suddenly it all seemed a bit sacrilegious. I mean. Taking an experience like that concert, and digitising it, squeezing it down into such a tiny modern device, and playing it over little bullet earphones. While wandering down a hill in Bristol, carrying Somerfield shopping bags back to my little flat. A breathtaking, revolutionary piece of music history downsized, reduced to the mundane.
Thing is, rock music, good rock music absolutely isn't slick, glossy, small and high-tech. It's not about sunny days and doing your shopping. It's a rambling, ramshackle monster, capricious and uncontrollable. It's different every time you play it. It's about jumping around in a big audience, sharing a common experience. It's about dancing so hard that you can't move properly the next morning, about a noise so loud that your ears are still ringing two days later. It's big.
And I'm not sure it fits on an iPod.