If I can recall correctly, it was a Saturday morning. I was up late the night before, so getting up early that morning wasn’t going to happen.

I had fallen asleep the night before letting the chaotic rhythm of the local hip-hop radio station carry me off into dreamland, and being a native of north Texas, 97.9 FM The Beat was the true source when it came to the latest—but not always the greatest—in rap music. The slow, distorted resonance of Houston artist Paul Wall awoke me from my slumber. As my senses, one after another, began to awaken with the rest of my body I mumbled the words to a tune I knew all too well. It was at that moment that a bad taste formed in my mouth, as though I had taken a bite out of bitter fruit. The fact that I knew this song, even while I was still half asleep, had begun to piss me off. Something about being able to hit every syllable, with the same diction as the man on the airwaves, did not sit right with me. As I finished the last bar with Paul Wall in unison, I realized what it was that bothered me about this song on this particular Saturday morning and blurted it out in frustration: “I literally heard this song twice in my sleep! All they do is repeat the same sh** on a different day!”

I rolled my eyes, rolled out of bed and grabbed my phone. As expected, I had quite a few missed text messages (I wasn’t the epitome of popularity in high school, but I had homies here and there). One particular message that stood out to me was from a close friend of mine who was an avid fan of music. He had texted me in all caps, raving on and on about a hilarious video he had seen the night before on the Internet. The most peculiar part of his message, however, was the last sentence which read, “Go check the vid out on YouTube when you get a chance man."

I reached for the nob on the radio and turned the volume down two levels.

You-what? I was looking at the message as though it was in another language. Without hesitation, I headed downstairs to my dad’s office and logged on to what was at the time the fastest browser on the market, Internet Explorer. I stuck with what I knew and headed to the almighty search engine with the colorful logo, Google, and typed in the enigmatic website name. Within seconds, a plethora of suggestions were drawn up (come on, you know you love that quick response time), with the main website being the first choice. Upon entering the site, I truly was lost. Videos on the left, videos on the right, it was like a virtual zoo and someone let all the animals out. My focus fixated towards the middle of the screen. There was a video, posted by a user with a really weird name, titled “A Tribe Called Quest Electric Relaxation full song." If anyone out there remembers the hilarious and wild antics of Shawn and Marlon Wayans on their situational sitcom "The Wayans Bros," it was impossible not to nod your head to that silky smooth opening which utilized the instrumental to the Tribe’s famous hip hop ballad. Could this be it, could this be the song that I enjoyed so much as a child watching Shawn and Marlon fumble throw hair-brained get rich quick schemes? I moved my mouse over to the video.

I could still hear the blaring voice of the radio DJ, so I went upstairs and turned the radio down two more levels.

As I sat back into my father’s black leather office chair, I clicked on the video and waited patiently. When the new page came up, a video began to play in front of me. The most important and fulfilling aspect of this new and exciting experience, however, was that there was music, unlike what was being heard on the radio at the time, playing for free right in front of me. I looked at the screen and smiled, enthralled and ecstatic at this new discovery. But wait, there’s more!

Looking to the right of the screen, I noticed what seemed like suggestions for more music, similar to what I was currently listening to. Needless to say, I spent what felt like hours clicking on videos and jamming out to my favorite music. Finally, there was a way for me to listen to what I wanted to listen to when I wanted to listen to it. No longer would I have to sit by the boombox and pray that the DJ put on a cut that suited me. No longer would I be forced to listen to the current and overplayed rap music on the radio.

With YouTube, I could listen to whatever I wanted to. Rap, rock, jazz, and even classical music. A virtual music library sat before me, with almost any song literally a few keystrokes away. I could actually feel my musical knowledge base widen by the minute as I went from one video suggestion to the next. The radio had received its first loss with the birth of this website called, YouTube. While waiting for one of the videos to load, the silence drew my ears to the music still playing upstairs in my room. “Maaaan please,” I said to myself as I got out of my dad's chair and ran upstairs. This time, I didn’t turn the radio down, I just turned it off.