Crusty Demons of Dirt: When Gen-X Took Flight and Never Looked Back

By Ian Primmer

Before GoPros, before energy-drink deals, before social-media stunts and clickbait “fails,” there were the Crusty Demons of Dirt — a band of maniacs who didn’t just ride; they launched. If you grew up Gen-X, you remember it. Those grainy VHS tapes passed around like underground contraband, covered in dust, duct tape, and fire. Each one was a mixtape of speed, punk rock, blood, and glory. The Crusty Demons weren’t just motocross riders. They were a movement — a cultural combustion engine that redefined what “extreme” meant. They didn’t have sponsors, hashtags, or choreographers. They had balls, dirt, and soundtrack albums loud enough to rattle the gods of safety.

Born from Chaos

The Crusty saga started in the mid-’90s, when Jon Freeman and Dana Nicholson of Freeride Entertainment decided to film what motocross really looked like — not the sanitized, family-friendly ESPN clips, but the wild-eyed desert rides and bone-snapping wipeouts that no one else would touch. They strapped cameras to bikes, hung out of helicopters, and cranked Pennywise and Metallica until the footage felt alive. It wasn’t just a video. It was a sermon for the reckless. Every crash, every burn, every impossible jump became a statement: We’re not here to survive. We’re here to live. The first Crusty Demons of Dirt dropped in 1995 and detonated across skate shops, video stores, and garages everywhere. Within months, it was a cult. Within a year, it was a religion.

The Soundtrack of Adrenaline

You can’t talk about Crusty without talking about the sound. The music was the gasoline. The Offspring. Sublime. Metallica. NOFX. It wasn’t background noise — it was the manifesto. Crusty didn’t just showcase motocross — it fused two worlds that were never supposed to meet: punk-rock attitude and high-octane adrenaline. That combination shaped everything from Freestyle Motocross (FMX) to the look of early action-sports video games. The fast cuts, the soundtracks, the chaos — all of it traces back to Crusty.

The Church of Adrenaline

To the fans, Crusty was proof that we didn’t need permission. We didn’t need perfect hair, million-dollar gear, or safe contracts.
We needed a bike, a buddy, a ramp, and some guts. The Crusty riders — names like Seth Enslow, Carey Hart, and Mike Metzger — were the new rock stars. Covered in dirt, blood, and duct tape, they were the anti-MTV heroes. They weren’t chasing medals. They were chasing moments. Moments where gravity bowed out and instinct took over.

Legacy in the Dust

Nearly thirty years later, Crusty Demons still tour the world with live stunt shows, keeping that renegade DNA alive. You can find them on streaming services now, but nothing compares to holding one of those old tapes in your hands — stickers peeling, label smudged, rewound a hundred times. For a generation raised on DIY rebellion, Crusty Demons was more than dirt and danger — it was philosophy. It said: “We don’t fear the fall, because falling means we flew.” And maybe that’s why it still matters.
Because the world polished the edges off everything else, but Crusty stayed raw.

💥 The CommonX Take

Crusty Demons of Dirt wasn’t a film series — it was a time capsule. A reminder that Gen-X didn’t need filters or validation. We had throttle, distortion, and attitude. They built something from nothing — just like the garage bands, backyard skateboarders, and late-night dreamers that defined our era. And in that sense, Crusty Demons wasn’t just about motocross…
It was about life without training wheels.

🎸 “The Sound of Clarity: Johnny Ceravolo’s Road from Reverb to Redemption”

Johnny Ceravolo and his band playing live.

🎸 “The Sound of Clarity: Johnny Ceravolo’s Road from Reverb to Redemption”

(By Ian Primmer Co-host, of CommonX)

Some people chase fame. Others chase peace. Johnny Ceravolo chased both — and in doing so, found clarity that most people spend a lifetime looking for. When Johnny talks about his life, he doesn’t sound like a rock star. He sounds like someone who survived it. “I got sober in 2006,” he says, almost matter-of-factly. But behind those words is a lifetime of noise — the kind that comes from chasing everything except yourself.

In 2007, fresh in recovery, Johnny got the call of a lifetime — to join the 80s hitmakers When In Rome, best known for “The Promise.” For a decade, he toured and recorded with them, playing the songs that once defined an era. The lights, the travel, the soundchecks — it was the dream. But it was also the test. Sobriety gave Johnny a new relationship with the music — one rooted in appreciation rather than escape. He began to see the songs not as a stage for chaos, but as a space for clarity and connection.
That shift — from chasing the noise to truly hearing it — became the throughline of his creative life.

🎛️ The Engineer’s Ear

After a decade on the road, Johnny traded tour buses for mixing boards. He joined Warner Brothers as an audio engineer, bringing his musician’s ear to the screen. He laughs when you ask him what he’s worked on. “The most popular thing is Ted Lasso,” he says, almost like he’s talking about someone else’s success. But the truth is, his fingerprints are on soundtracks and scenes that millions of people have felt without even realizing who helped make them sound right. Johnny’s career at Warner Brothers reflects both gratitude and grit. He’s the kind of guy who’ll tell you luck played a part — but the truth is, it’s his work ethic that built the foundation. Years behind the console taught him how to listen again — to the mix, to the people around him, and to himself. That discipline — the kind that comes from falling and rebuilding — led him to a new kind of stage.

Johnny playing live on stage.

🎤 The Next Chapter: Stand-Up and Sobriety

Most people would’ve stopped there — rock band, big studio, Hollywood credits. But Johnny? He’s still evolving.
A year ago, he stepped into a new arena: stand-up comedy.

Comedy, at its core, isn’t that different from music. It’s timing, tone, rhythm, and truth. It’s honesty with a punchline.
Johnny’s version of comedy doesn’t hide behind characters or bravado — it’s vulnerability in motion. He’s preparing to film his own self-produced comedy special later this year, an achievement that mirrors his entire journey: self-built, self-aware, self-driven. For Johnny, everything else — the music, the comedy, the creativity — all branches out from one root: his sobriety.
It’s the core that anchors every project, every performance, every day. That focus hits like a lyric, because what Johnny found through recovery wasn’t just health — it was purpose.

🧭 Science Over Stigma

Johnny started his sobriety in AA, but after a few years, his perspective evolved. “I left to pursue sobriety based on science and logic,” he says. It’s not a rejection of what helped him early on — it’s an evolution. He’s now dedicated to helping others approach recovery with rationality, compassion, and honesty — no guilt, no judgment, no mysticism. That’s the real thread through all his art — truth without pretense. Music, engineering, comedy — they’re not separate chapters. They’re all part of the same album.

💬 The Heart of a Gen-Xer

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Johnny Ceravolo was a fictional character — a guy who lived three different lives but never lost himself in any of them. But he’s real — and that’s exactly why his story fits right at home on CommonX. He’s the kind of artist Gen-X was built on: humble, resilient, endlessly reinventing. Not chasing fame — just chasing meaning. He’s living proof that it’s never too late to find a new rhythm. That even after decades in the industry, the most powerful sound you can make… is clarity.

Johnny Ceravolo: From Reverb to Redemption airs soon on CommonX

🧠 Excerpt

From 80s stages to Warner Brothers studios, from recovery to comedy, Jonny Ceravolo has lived every chord of reinvention. CommonX celebrates his story of clarity and creation.

🏷️ Tags

CommonX Podcast • Johnny Ceravolo • Sobriety • Gen X • When In Rome • Ted Lasso • Stand-Up Comedy • Recovery Journey • Music & Culture • Curb Fail Productions • CommonX Originals

📂 Categories

• The X-Files

• Music & Culture

• CommonX Originals

• Resilience & Recovery

  🎸 From the Music & Culture Cluster

  “The Sound of Defiance – How Sub Pop Saved a Generation”
  → Place early in the article, after you mention When In Rome or his touring background.

  “Like the early Sub Pop bands that built the Seattle sound, Johnny’s story reminds us that the best music isn’t made for fame — it’s made for survival.”
  (link to the Sub Pop/Concrete Waves & Power Chords article)

🎸 Top 10 Underrated Grunge Tracks You Forgot You Loved (CommonX Edition)

Top 10 Underrated Grunge Tracks we forgot we loved. Brought to you by Skull Candy and CommonX.

By CommonX

Before playlists and polished pop, we had distortion, sweat, and heartache echoing from basements and bar stages. Grunge wasn’t a sound — it was a generation finally saying, “We’re not okay, and that’s okay.”

Everyone remembers Nirvana and Pearl Jam, but the underground had deeper veins — songs that hit just as hard and spoke louder in the quiet moments between chaos.

So fire up the SONOS, close your eyes, and fall back into the feedback. Here are the 10 underrated grunge anthems that still deserve to shake your soul.

⚡ 10. Screaming Trees – “Nearly Lost You” (1992)

That voice. That fuzz. That groove. The soundtrack to smoky nights and restless hearts — forever under-appreciated.

🎤 9. Mother Love Bone – “Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns” (1990)

Where it all began. Before Pearl Jam, there was MLB — poetic, tragic, and pure Seattle soul.

🔥 8. Mudhoney – “Touch Me I’m Sick” (1988)

The filthy riff that started it all. Raw, snotty, and brilliant — the sound that gave Sub Pop its swagger.

🎧 7. Temple of the Dog – “Say Hello 2 Heaven” (1991)

Chris Cornell’s voice in its purest form — grief turned into grace. A tribute that became a movement.

🌀 6. L7 – “Pretend We’re Dead” (1992)

Feminist fury meets killer hooks. L7 proved you didn’t need to smile to melt faces.

💔 5. Candlebox – “You” (1993)

Melodic, emotional, and criminally underrated. Candlebox gave grunge a pulse that could actually break hearts.

⚙️ 4. The Melvins – “Hooch” (1993)

Heavy, sludgy, hypnotic. The godfathers of doom who inspired Nirvana’s heaviest moments.

🧠 3. Soundgarden – “Room a Thousand Years Wide” (1991)

Buried behind the hits lies one of their best riffs. Cornell and Thayil made darkness sound divine.

🚀 2. Alice in Chains – “Nutshell” (1994)

If you ever doubted grunge had poetry, listen again. Layne’s voice still echoes in every lonely apartment at 2 a.m.

🦇 1. Stone Temple Pilots – “Silvergun Superman” (1994)

Overshadowed by hits like “Plush,” this deep cut is pure STP swagger — bassline grooves, velvet vocals, and a solo that burns slow.

🎧 Honorable Mentions

Nirvana – “Aneurysm” | Pearl Jam – “Release” | Hole – “Malibu” | Bush – “Cold Contagious”

🧠 Excerpt

CommonX digs deep into the Seattle sound — the forgotten grunge tracks that still roar beneath the surface. Crank it, feel it, and remember why it mattered.

written by Ian Primmer

Top 10 Shredders of All Time (CommonX Edition)By CommonX

🎸 Top 10 Shredders of All Time (CommonX Edition)

By CommonX

Before playlists and plug-ins, there were six strings, blood on the frets, and neighbors pounding on the wall. For Gen X, guitar heroes were gods — and distortion was scripture. So grab your SONOS, crank it until the drywall shakes, and salute the riff kings who taught us that feedback is freedom.

Sonos Logo partnered with CommonX

⚡ 1. Eddie Van Halen – The Architect of Awe

Two-hand tapping, harmonic squeals, and tone so warm it could melt steel. “Eruption” changed everything; every kid with a guitar chased that lightning ever since.

🎸 2. Jimi Hendrix – The Cosmic Trailblazer

He made the Stratocaster cry, laugh, and set the sky on fire. “Voodoo Child” wasn’t a song — it was a ritual.

⚡ 3. Randy Rhoads – The Classical Firestorm

Ozzy’s prodigy fused classical precision with metal fury. Every solo was a master class in melody and madness.

🎩 4. Slash – The Soul in the Smoke

Top hat, Les Paul, cigarette — instant icon. His tone drips blues and attitude; “Sweet Child O’ Mine” is eternal youth in riff form.

🎵 5. Stevie Ray Vaughan – The Texas Hurricane

Pure feel. No tricks, no filters — just emotion pouring through Fender strings. When SRV bent a note, you felt it in your bones.

⚙️ 6. Tony Iommi – The Godfather of Heavy

Fingertip injury? No problem. He invented heavy metal instead. Sabbath’s riffs are the bedrock of every down-tuned dream that followed.

⚡ 7. Kirk Hammett – The Metal Surgeon

Precision meets chaos. The wah-wah wizard of Metallica built solos that slice through stadium air like jet engines.

⚡ 8. Angus Young – The Eternal Rebel

School uniform, duck-walk, Gibson SG — pure electricity. “Back in Black” and “Highway to Hell” still sound like rebellion bottled.

🔥 9. Dimebag Darrell – The Southern Thunderstorm

Groove, grit, and guts. His Pantera riffs came with tire smoke and whiskey breath — heavy metal with a grin.

🚀 10. Steve Vai – The Alien Virtuoso

Flawless technique and fearless imagination. Vai turned shred into symphony — proof that technical mastery can still have soul.

🎧 Honorable Mentions

Joe Satriani, Nuno Bettencourt, Prince, Nancy Wilson, and Joan Jett — the undercurrent that keeps the six-string alive.

🏁 Throttle Therapy: The GOAT Never Quit (Ricky Carmichael)

Illustrated poster of motocross legend Ricky Carmichael mid-air on his dirt bike, wearing Alpinestars gear, surrounded by dust and motion blur. Bold text reads “Throttle Therapy – The GOAT Never Quit,” with Summit Racing and Alpinestars logos beside a graffiti-style CommonX tag. The artwork captures Gen-X rebellion, adrenaline, and the unstoppable spirit of speed.

By Ian Primmer - CommonX

There’s a moment every Gen-X kid remembers — the smell of two-stroke in the air, a dirt trail disappearing into the horizon, and a hand-me-down bike that rattled more than it roared. We didn’t need perfect; we needed fast. Speed wasn’t a sport — it was therapy. It was escape. It was rebellion in motion.

And nobody embodied that more than Ricky Carmichael, the man who turned motocross from a pastime into poetry — wide open, fearless, and all-in.

Ricky Carmichael at motorcrossusa.com

The GOAT of Grit

Ricky wasn’t born into fame — he built it from the ground up, throttle by throttle, crash by crash. He wasn’t chasing luxury or algorithms; he was chasing seconds. Every turn was a war zone, every fall a test of will. That’s what made him the Greatest of All Time — not just his speed, but his refusal to quit. Gen X gets that. We were raised on scraped knees and loud engines — the analog roar that told the world we were alive. While everyone else was learning to play safe, we were learning how to fly.

Carmichael didn’t just win races; he defined the culture. He was the dirt-track philosopher, proving that greatness doesn’t come from polish — it comes from persistence.

From Dirt Tracks to Driveways — The Gen-X Engine

We’re older now. The bikes might be cleaner, the garages more organized, but that itch never went away.
Every Gen-Xer still knows what “wide open” feels like.

It’s that same pulse that drives us — whether it’s building businesses, podcasts, or lives that refuse to idle.
That’s why Summit Racing and Alpinestars hit home for us. They’re not brands — they’re badges of the same rebellion that raised us.

“If you grew up fixing what you broke, you’re one of us.”

Summit Racing — the garage that built a generation. Power, precision, and performance for those who still believe speed is freedom.

Summit Racing keeps the garage sacred — the modern temple of creativity, sweat, and horsepower.
Alpinestars keeps the body safe while the spirit chases chaos.

Together, they represent the new chapter of Gen-X grit — smarter, stronger, and still addicted to the rush.

🏁 Sponsored by Summit Racing & Alpinestars

🛠️ Built for the bold. Fueled by freedom.
Shop Summit Racing
Explore Alpinestars

Alpinestars — engineered for the fearless. From dirt tracks to street legends, they keep the Gen-X spirit of motion alive.

Concrete Waves and Power Chords

Sub Pop, Tony Hawk — still inspiring the world today

Concrete Waves and Power Chords

By Ian Primmer - Cohost, CommonX

There was a time when rebellion didn’t come from a phone screen — it came from the sound of polyurethane wheels chewing through cracked concrete and a power chord screaming through a Peavey amp. The soundtrack of the 90s wasn’t choreographed or corporate. It was raw, loud, and gloriously unrefined — born from garages, burned-out warehouses, and a record label in Seattle that changed everything: Sub Pop. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and spray paint — the kind that stuck to your lungs and your memory. Every scraped knee and every snapped string meant something. You didn’t scroll for inspiration — you created it, one crash and one chord at a time. Back then, nobody was talking about going viral. You earned your audience by waking the neighborhood. You didn’t care who was listening — you cared that someone heard you. And that sound — that clash of motion and music — was everything. It was how Gen X spoke when the world wasn’t listening.

Author Ian Primmer used to wake the neighborhood with a rented Drum Set from DJ’s music in Port Orchard, WA. (Not Ian)

The Sound of Defiance

We didn’t just listen to music — we inhaled it. Those riffs and feedback loops were oxygen for every kid who didn’t fit the mold, who couldn’t afford preppy clothes or polished dreams. The noise was the message. Every distortion pedal was an act of defiance. Every garage was a stage. Every mosh pit was a therapy session no one talked about. Bands like Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Mudhoney didn’t just write songs — they wrote escape routes. They gave permission to feel broken, to question authority, to scream without explanation and then came the others: Tool with their precision chaos, Green Day with that punk edge that made you want to quit your job and start a band, Pearl Jam turning stadiums into group therapy sessions.

It wasn’t about fame — it was about the feeling. That hum of bass that hit your ribs harder than any lecture ever could. That echo of rebellion that made you believe — for just a few minutes — that the system couldn’t touch you. You didn’t need a producer or a million followers. You just needed a voice and the guts to use it. That’s what defined us. That’s what set Gen X apart. We were the first generation to realize that corporate America couldn’t commodify honesty forever.

The Streets Were Our Stage

Our culture didn’t come pre-packaged — we made it. Every cracked ramp, every sticker-bombed deck, every photocopied show flyer — that was our social media. Tony Hawk was the god we all prayed to, but our church was concrete, and our hymns came from cheap guitars turned all the way up. We didn’t talk about mental health. We lived it — through sound, motion, and scraped-up skin. Music and skateboarding weren’t hobbies; they were survival tactics for a generation that refused to sit still or shut up. When you were flying down a hill at midnight with Silverchair in your headphones and no helmet, that was freedom. It was reckless, stupid, beautiful — and it was ours. And right there in the mix — between the smell of asphalt and the static buzz of a cheap amp — was Tony Hawk. Not just a skater, but a spirit guide for every kid who believed a parking lot could be a playground and a bruise was just proof you tried. Hawk wasn’t fame; he was freedom on four wheels, soaring higher than the world said possible.

The ramps were our art galleries, our tricks our brushstrokes. And when the world didn’t understand it, we made them — one spray-painted tag at a time. Every halfpipe had a story written in Krylon. Every wall, every deck, every dingy garage door carried the mark of our generation’s graffiti gospel: make noise, make color, make something real.

Tony Hawk in 1986 tearing it up and inspiring his generation of misfits to go all out!

Sub Pop: The Label That Let Us Live Loud

Before Sub Pop, major labels told artists what to sound like. After Sub Pop, the world had to listen. Bruce Pavitt and Jonathan Poneman didn’t set out to start a revolution — they just wanted to bottle the sound of Seattle’s underbelly. But what they created was the most authentic record label of the modern age: one that ran on coffee, chaos, and community. Sub Pop gave the world a front-row seat to real. They didn’t chase trends — they documented truth. They didn’t sign acts for looks — they signed them for feel. Their offices were cluttered, their contracts were basic, their gear was borrowed — but their legacy was nuclear.
They found kids with four-track recorders and turned them into legends. They gave the outcasts a label, the misfits a megaphone, and the city of Seattle a soul.

It was never about selling records — it was about capturing lightning before the corporations bottled the thunder. Sub Pop’s logo became a badge of honor — a stamp that said, “This isn’t for everyone.” And that was the point. When Bleach dropped, when Superfuzz Bigmuff hit, when Sliver rattled through speakers across the country — you could feel the shift. The label wasn’t polished; it was powerful. It didn’t create a genre; it created a generation. And when the majors came calling, when MTV wanted a piece, when every mall brand started selling flannel — Sub Pop stayed Sub Pop. Still underground. Still imperfect. Still loud. They didn’t just distribute music. They distributed freedom.

CommonX and the Echo of the Underground

Fast-forward a few decades, and that DIY spirit’s still alive. You hear it every week when the mics fire up on CommonX. It’s not scripted, it’s not perfect — it’s raw talk from real people. Just like those garage bands, we’re making noise that matters. We might not be slinging guitars, but we’re still shredding through the same noise — the censorship, the fake trends, the endless filters. And we’re still powered by the same drive that once made a kid pick up a skateboard or a Stratocaster: the need to be heard. Because the truth is, the world doesn’t make rebels anymore. It makes algorithms. But for those of us who remember, we still feel it — that spark of distortion that said “don’t just consume — create.” Concrete waves. Power chords.
The pulse of a generation that never stopped moving forward — even when the world told us to grow up.

Graffiti-style CommonX logo on a cracked concrete wall — symbolizing the 90s Sub Pop spirit, Tony Hawk rebellion, and the raw Gen X soundtrack.

From the Underground to the Airwaves

The underground didn’t die — it just changed frequencies. It traded distortion pedals for microphones, basement shows for streaming platforms, and flyers on telephone poles for algorithms and hashtags. But the energy? The pulse? That raw, unfiltered truth? It’s still here. It lives in CommonX. Every episode, every post, every conversation we throw into the world carries that same Sub Pop DNA — the defiance of the overproduced, the rejection of the sanitized, the celebration of real.

We don’t have an A&R rep; we have a mission. To amplify voices that deserve to be heard. To talk about what others scroll past.
To cut through the digital noise with the same authenticity that once made a garage in Seattle sound like the center of the universe. CommonX was never built to trend — it was built to resonate. We don’t chase algorithms; we chase connection.
We don’t clean up the rough edges; we lean into them, because that’s where the soul lives. Like Sub Pop’s bands, we’re a mixed bag of thinkers, builders, and rebels — misfits who somehow found a frequency that makes sense together. We’re not mainstream. We’re main vein — the current running underneath all the noise. And just like that first wave of Seattle sound, we’re not here to fit in. We’re here to remind people what it feels like when something real hits — when art is dangerous again, when truth shakes walls, when you turn it up and say, “Yeah… that’s us.”

So maybe we don’t have a mosh pit anymore. Maybe we’ve swapped guitars for microphones and stages for studios. But the energy’s the same. The rebellion’s still alive. And the noise? It’s only getting louder. CommonX isn’t a podcast — it’s a movement. An analog heart beating in a digital world. A continuation of the underground spirit that refuses to fade out quietly. Because as long as there’s concrete to skate, distortion to crank, and stories to tell — Gen X will always have a sound.

Before There Were Streams, There Were Grooves

Long before podcasts filled our earbuds, there was the turntable — a ritual of sound, smell, and touch. You didn’t click play, you lowered the needle. CommonX was born from that Gen-X era — a world where mixtapes, record sleeves, and late-night radio were sacred. So maybe it’s only natural that the conversation that started in digital form now spins back to where it all began: vinyl.

The Vinyl Sessions – A CommonX Concept

The idea is simple but beautifully rebellious — press CommonX onto wax. Not as a gimmick, but as an artifact: a time capsule of the best moments, guests, and insights from Season One. Imagine Side A: Ivan Doroschuk, Sid Griffin, Cory White, Rudy Sarzo — the musical DNA of our generation. Side B: The thinkers and cultural catalysts — Gerald Horne, Meemaws, Isaac, William Becker — the voices that turned talk into truth. Each track hand-picked, mastered for warmth and grit, with the crackle that digital will never capture.

Rare Vinyl Meets Victrola and Rare Vinyl

With partners like Rare Vinyl and Victrola, the move makes sense. Rare Vinyl gives CommonX a collector’s home — a place for limited-press runs, numbered editions, and liner notes worth reading twice. Victrola connects the dots between nostalgia and now, offering turntables that look vintage but stream modern. Together, they help CommonX bridge two worlds — the analog soul of Gen-X and the digital pulse of today.

Why Vinyl?

Because Gen-X has always been about authenticity. We’re the generation that taped songs off the radio, that flipped the cassette with a pencil, that made playlists before the algorithm existed. Vinyl isn’t just retro — it’s rebellion against disposable culture.

And CommonX on vinyl is more than a record — it’s a statement:

“Before podcasts streamed, we spun records. CommonX brings it back — one groove at a time.”

The Collectible Factor

Each pressing would come with:

• A custom CommonX gatefold cover, with photography and design inspired by 90s MTV Unplugged.

• Liner notes written by Jared & Ian, telling the behind-the-mic story.

• A QR code linking to the full digital archive and bonus “Behind the Mic” episode.

• Optional autographed, numbered collector’s editions — the first podcast ever archived like a classic album.

The Next Spin

What started as a thought is now a movement.

CommonX has always been about conversation — the kind that leaves an imprint.

And what better way to make it permanent than vinyl?

If streaming is the fast lane, vinyl is the scenic route. And Gen-X has always preferred the long drive.

#CommonXPodcast #TheXFiles #GenX #VinylRevival #PodcastOnWax #RareVinyl #Victrola #GenXCulture #PodcastRevolution