How not to continue a letter

I've been emailing a new prospective sweetie this week (Em, he passes the no-stupid-name requirement!). He asked me about music, and this is what tumbled out through my fingers:
I'm excited that you mentioned Cream. I'm always amazed at how many people have never heard of them, for whom Eric Clapton's career began with his accoustic sets in the nineties. Blind Faith is almost the same lineup as Cream but with a completely different kind of vocals. They're one of my favorites - good sunny day driving music. I have a soft spot for the music my played when I was growing up, stuff like early Beatles, late sixties rock, a bit of CSNY-era country rock, and the fabulous New Wave of pop/art music that was peaking when I was in first grade. (Look! I made a list again.) I tend to keep a record player around somewhere because every so often I want to break out the family-childhood-remembered-well-loved records and, for example, hear the *pop* in the third line of Neil Young's "Comes A Time." Why do I like those albums, beyond sentimental value? My taste is all over the place, from one-in-six-billion performers (Clapton, say) to music that sounds homemade (Neil Young again). I sing a little, and I like songs that weave through complex harmonies. I like music I can dance to. I like lyrics that are literate, and express nice chewy ideas. (Look! More list. Be careful what you wish for. . .)

As a kid I was up on current music, but that got a lot harder sometime in my late teens when Rolling Stone magazine suddenly became insipid (did I change, or did the magazine?) To be honest, if I'm ready to listen to something new, I'm much more likely to go back and immerse myself in some masterwork of music (Coltrane or the Ramones) than to spend time developing a taste for the New Hot Thing. That's a big part of what Rolling Stone used to do and doesn't anymore: make me think about music over a fifty-year continuum.
First of all, I didn't send the poor guy this big ol monologue - I'm having a nice conversation with him and don't want to bore him until he goes away.

Second, you guys who know me might notice that the closest I get to classical music is Coltrane. *Shrug* I did mention I was flirting with someone I barely know.

Third, this is what I put in my email message:

I just accidentally wrote a big ol' hulking monologue about music. It starts out: "I'm excited that you mentioned Cream." It goes on and on and on. I'll send it if you give me explicit permission to talk your ear off, otherwise I'll try to observe the conventions of small-talk (eg, no monologuing).
Haven't heard back yet.

see, i can never resist a good maven monologue, but it's kind of you to give him the choice. :)
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