Science & Tech Quote by Randy Bachman

There’s a sly awe in Bachman’s phrasing: not “people can reach me,” but “the internet is so active,” as if the medium itself is a living organism humming with requests, opinions, and stray devotion. Coming from a career forged in one-way broadcast culture radio hits, arena shows, magazine profiles this is a musician clocking the weird inversion of modern fame. The audience doesn’t just listen anymore; it talks back, all day, from everywhere.

The key word is “indirectly.” He’s not describing intimacy; he’s describing proximity without contact. Online attention collapses distance while keeping the safest kind of separation: no backstage pass required, no awkward face-to-face, no consequences for blurting something half-formed. “Indirect” also hints at insulation on his side. The internet lets fans lob messages into the void, and it lets the artist choose which ones become real. That asymmetry is the new normal: constant access in theory, heavy filtering in practice.

There’s also a generational subtext. Bachman’s era treated musicians like remote figures; now the job includes managing a perpetual commentary track about your own legacy. For classic-rock artists in particular, the web is both revival engine and tribunal: it can resurrect deep cuts, organize nostalgia, and also freeze you into a meme of your peak. His line lands as a modest admission that culture has rewired the relationship, turning a rock star into a node in an always-on conversation he didn’t start but can’t avoid.