Live, from my telephone

At the opening chords of “Via Chicago,” I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed my brother. A few songs later, a call went across the Freaktown, so he could rejoice in “California Stars.”
Having answered many a call only to hear what is often little more than noise, I know I’m certainly not the only one out there who has thrown an instant audio postcard.
But since when did those ubiquitous little personal communication devices get deputized into carrying a show beyond the boundaries of the club, theater or arena? And what the the hell for?
On the receiving end, the sound is usually so damn bad I can’t make out the song. But the times I have caught the melody or vocals, or whatever was enough to distinguish the song, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the few moments of faux concert-dom that broke up whatever I was doing.
Kissing the Lipless from the Shins, Hallelujah from Rufus Wainright, Pancho and Lefty from the Peacemakers and California Stars from Wilco are among the live tunes I’ve gotten via cell phone.
So I thought I’d give back.
The first couple times I felt guilty sneaking a call. Maybe it’s really not kosher... maybe the sound waves interfere with something (at Springsteen shows, they announce for everybody to turn off cell phones and pagers for just that reason - they say).
Maybe it’s supremely dorky, or selfish.
But I’ve done it and I’ll probably continue. And I’d like to hear the songs keep coming my way.