What if people interacted in person the way they do online?
A number of youths are sitting at a coffee shop. One of them asks,
"So, what makes good music good?" And the following
conversation is begun...
Indie Music Mike: Good music occurs when something comes out pure from the person's being, the musician's essence.
Free Market Dick: No, no, no. The goodness of music is perfectly measurable by its success, namely the amount of money it generates.
More money, better music. If they were better at what they do, more people would care. Obviously, Indie Music Mike, you're just trying
to justify your own failure to generate income doing what you enjoy.
Indie Music Mike: If that were true, Free Market Dick, then how do you account for the recognition an artist receives when he dies?
That has nothing to do with generating income.
Free Market Dick: It's a part of that market's cycle. It happens to every artist to some degree or other.
Indie Music Mike: Yes, but why does it happen more to some artists than others?
Free Market Dick: Probably just because a lot of critics suddenly make a fuss about the same thing at the same time, driving sales and
public interest.
Indie Music Mike: What about the soul, asshole?
Free Market Dick: That's Dick, Mike. Not asshole. And I'm
wholly sure that appealing to the human soul is what makes some music sell more than other music.
Religious Rod: Wait a minute! "THE human soul?" What do you mean by that? We're all just the same to you, aren't we? Just numbers on
your paper?
Free Market Dick: Look...I'm not saying that we're all the same, but I do believe we're driven by the same drives, compelled by the
same needs, and have more in common than we have different. Some artists just capture the emotions better than others!
Local Goth Guy: All of the best music is obscure, non-conformist, and
underappreciated anyway because it's too dark for most people and their bubble gum, bullshit, lovey-dovey tastes.
Joe Schmo: Look, some music is good because I enjoy it. Why does it have to be any more complicated than that?
Goth Guy: Joe Schmo knows nothing! All of you can see that, can't you? Or are you too brainwashed by your own lighthearted,
bunny-hopping, bologna-eating, propaganda.
Anarchist Andy: Both you and Joe are caught up in a cycle you can't see.
Pothead Pete: Yeah, like, I'm with Andy on all that. You dudes are caught in a cycle, man. I like music that takes me on a trip.
Anarchist Andy: Well, yeah, you're just trying to escape the reality of your life.
Free Market Dick: Hahaha! Nice quip, Andy. And so true! Andy's definitely got all your numbers.
Indie Music Mike: You are a soulless bastard. That's why you think others are soulless.
Anarchist Andy: Actually, he's right about a lot of things. Soulless, yeah, of course, but right about a lot of things.
Indie Music Mike: You're kind of an irritating smartass, Andy.
ALL (except Andy): Yeah!
Free Market Dick: Wait, wait, I want to hear more about how right I am though.
Anarchist Andy: Sure, asshole, I mean Dick. What you said about our having similar drives is all true. So is what you said about some
artists capturing common emotions more than others. What you failed to mention is that the popularity of music is largely dependant
upon market forces that have nothing to do with the soul or even the music. Investments, advertising, and bribery for radio play don't
have a damn thing to do with "the soul."
Joe Schmo: Like I said before, music is good because I enjoy it. Why does it have to be any more complicated than that? You guys are
really starting to piss me off.
Goth Guy: I like to listen to industrial music and other uncommonly dark material, because nobody else does.
Pothead Pete: I like to listen to psychedelic music, because it complements my alternative lifestyle and constant state of
drug-induced pleasure.
Religious Rod: I only like to listen to music about God, because it gives me strength to face life.
Free Market Dick: I like to listen to Britney Spears, because her music was finely crafted to appeal to something we all have in
common.
Indie Music Mike: You mean the appreciation for tits?
Anarchist Andy: Unbelievably, I really think Dick believes Britney Spears is good.
Goth Guy: That's 'cuz he's a conformist. You're all just a bunch of conformists, because you don't listen to industrial music.
Joe Schmo: Music...is good...because I enjoy it. I'm going to kill someone in a minute.
Pothead Pete (singing): One good thing about music...When it hits you, you feel no pain...
Free Market Dick (singing over Pete): Backstreet's back, all right...
Goth Guy (joins singing his own tune): Love...will tear us apart again...
Religious Rod (attempting to sing over everyone): Jesus, Jesus, Jesus...
Indie Music Mike (quietly singing his discordant tune under the others): And I'm the only one who laughs...at your jokes when they are
so bad. And your jokes...
Anarchist Andy (sings over the crowd still singing their respective favorites): What else can I say? Everyone is gay...
Joe, at this time, can no longer take it. He stands up and reaches for the nearest weapon he can find, the chair he had been sitting
in, and smashes it square across Indie Music Mike's face.
Sadly, Mike dies from this freaky attack. Indie Music Mike's last thought is a serenely happy thought that he died singing such a
great song.
Andy, Guy, and Pete all disappear to their respective holes. Once home, Pete turns on The 13 Floor Elevators and lights up a joint.
Goth Guy chain-smokes cigarettes and tells his mom how every pop artist as far back as Elvis was cruddy (and how everyone is a
conformist, especially her). And Andy writes poetry about how Americans have been brainwashed into liking everything they like and
sets it to the beat of a Cypress Hill song.
Religious Rod stays at the scene of the crime singing about Jesus, ignoring the police officers and everything else around him.
Dick calls the cops, tells the whole story, and Joe is arrested and eventually sentenced to serve 15 years in prison for murder.
THE END.
This should be a movie. I can taste the academy award now. And the
golden little bastard tastes like chicken. Wait, maybe all I'm tasting is that chicken I ate
earlier. Anyway, this was inspired in part
by this classic
post.
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