Let’s be honest: the compact disc is basically dead. Not in a dramatic, memorial-service kind of way—but more like a quiet retirement that nobody talks about. Streaming took over, downloads dwindled, and suddenly the shiny little discs we once proudly stacked in car visors and living room shelves became, well… drink coasters.

I say that with love. As a musician who came up in the era when having physical albums was the mark of being “official,” I still have boxes of my CDs sitting quietly in the garage, waiting for their next act. And I’ve found it—sort of.

These days, I’ve embraced the afterlife of the compact disc with a mix of humor and nostalgia. When I perform and tell stories—about Armenian village music, about tradition, about the quirks of carrying a kanun through TSA—I often end my sets by giving away CDs. Not for sale, not for profit, just as a little keepsake. A musical bonus. A conversation starter. Something for people to tuck into their bags or pop into the one remaining CD player in their 2006 Camry (you know who you are).

And yes, I’ve joked that they make great drink coasters. A little glossy, a little reflective, and they do hold a cold glass of bourbon quite well. But truthfully, there’s something lovely about handing someone a piece of music they can hold—artwork, liner notes, and all. It’s tactile. It’s nostalgic. It’s personal.

The digital world is convenient, but a CD still feels like a gift. So if you ever catch me live, don’t be surprised if I slip you one. It might not spin in your car, but it’ll still carry the story.

Long live the coaster. Long live the music.