The Solipsism of Ennui
Here are the dark fears: the shadow realm of the midgets of mayhem, the faceless clowns, the fornicators of souls. Here gathers the poisoned waters amid crumbling walls of prison cities. Here the nameless ones wind the atomic clocks with backwards hands while selling the slaves their reassurance policies? Glib and grim, the puppets dance and follow instructions - incurious, calculating and above all efficient, yes, ever so efficient. But where is the music?
I'm sorry that we quarreled. It's just... we are such different people and... sometimes, communication can be so difficult...
Another call, another deadline. Must produce a column. One impressive in fecundity, yet not reeking with self-importance. I know there is a subject out there just waiting to be plucked by my greedy hands and shaped into doggerel prose for mass consumption. But where lies (sic) the new trend, the rising star, the hot sound, the NEXT BIG THING? And why should I care?
Holly Golightly and Youssou D'Nour shine brightly from the pages, but the children only want to talk about boy toys and big rigs. There's a place for that, but I passed by that place many eons ago.
Perusing the music pages, scanning the pages of publications, wandering aimlessly down winding threads to ever dwindling returns. I see the music industry sales have dropped another ten percent the last six months - could it be all the "free" music is killing their business, or has their insistence on treating music as a commodity (with the general public's tacit complicity) emptied the music of any meaning besides the quick and easily disposable thrill." I suspect it is both. Hard to feel sorry for the in-bred, payola-sucking, corporate creeps, but that system did produce it's share of great music and made it available (admittedly while ripping off the artists). Not that the future looks bleak - just uncertain. Times must change and we are all on the wild ride (where the consumer has efficiently removed the middleman and now rips off the artist directly). Everywhere you go - the data flows fast and music is everywhere. But where is the music?
I was wrong. I'm always wrong. But I'm not always wrong. She is wrong too. But I am sorry.
Another 87 billion for Iraq? Why not - it's all paper money anyway. Like they would have given you any. Once music was a force for change, I'm sure it still is, or can be... but where in this forsaken techno-industrial-information-age-world is it? We can build enough blooming bombs to blast ourselves to oblivion, but can we write another Brandenbug Concerto, Blue Train or Blowin' in the Wind?
Or am I just jaded? Wanting to lose my virginity again to a youthful electric charge long lost with my innocence? Or needing a quick fix of adrenaline-laced entertainment? I think I know what Kurt thought.
I wrote her an email. I bared my soul. Why hasn't she responded?
I walk along the path through the grove of trees - searching my brain for answers. A lone woman jogs by, eying me suspiciously. A man walking alone in the park during daylight hours? Something is amiss - why is he not following the proscribed behavior and be hard at work producing useless consumable items for sale at retail facilities? He must be evil. I smile my friendliest smile while fingering the knife in my pocket. We men and our sharp-pointed objects - we only have ourselves to blame for our insidious reputation.
Silence is the most painful of all sounds.
I tell myself it's only a rest between phrases, a short quiet interlude before a glorious explosion of counterpoint will flood our senses and bring us light again. The Taliban is gone in Afganistan, although not much has changed - new boss/old boss - they say the warlords have banned music again. But that is far away - WE live in a "civilized" society. So where is the music?
Levi-Strauss said writing was the means by which the masses are oppressed by those in power. Derrida disproved the ultimate validity of such an assertion, but admitted the point was interesting and worth investigation (ie: the masses CAN be oppressed by writing). Could music be controlled by the elite and used as another tool used to keep us in our place? A small group of tone-deaf accountants, blandly following orders from above, monopolizing our channels and feeding us mindless pap and vapid dance music to suck us into a pattern of romance/marriage/childbirth/home-owning/taxpaying/jobholding, etc... so that we become unthinking, zombiefied, working stiffs, propping up Dick Cheney and his gang of golden-handshake CEOs, celebrities, and other chosen ones?
No! The thought is too horrifying...
Somewhere in this dark glade there are birds, but I cannot hear them. It is as if my ears are stuffed with cotton and confused by random bursts of radio and machine noise.
Wildflowers of a luminous purple hue burst forth along the trail. Could a bouquet ablaze soften her heart?
I bend over and grasping the stalk, remove my knife. And still the question hangs in the crisp autumnal air...
Past, present & future
misguided ramblings of the MusiCurmudgeon
Stroll through the vaults of a diseased mind!
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