The Day Disco Died It is 12:15 in Washington D.C., a Monday, the day after an earthquake in Italy, and I'm listening to "I Feel Love," the song Bryan Ferry said would change music for good. In Afghanistan a Marine sergeant tweets about boredom and generators from a gritty keyboard in Combat Outpost Marjah. I conjure up the unrelenting sand he describes in 140 characters while a new Barnard BA strategizes her type of rekindling and a poli-sci grad at Liberty types up an op/ed on Romney and values, and stories get made this way, then taken down. Just as quickly, the imprint of one a ghost in the other, the way Harvard links two opponents, the way a fracture is also a seam. Songs about rivers inflect an Italian art revolution against austerity, or we're forces multiplied both in the streets of Chicago or in the alliances of nations. Or we once listened to a soundtrack in falsetto that sounded like the end of the past and also the future as...