Don’t Press Record, Press Perform
Tim Exile

When I shut my eyes and hear a cello, guitar or piano, I see a forest, centuries of craft, a sublime synthesis of nature and nurture. When I do the same listening to recorded samples of air conditioner cleverly phrased into semi-rhythmic simulacra, I see plastic factories belching sour smoke, leaking obscene fluids into the water table, increasing local cancer rates of over-worked, underpaid workers bereft of safety standards.

And somehow this nosedive into infinite quantity, with corollary dearth of quality is a democraticisation of pure sound, once the domain of the dedicated few, now the realms of Reason and Ableton, where computers chatter, digi-drums hold 200 bpm for inhuman hours and geeks touch a keyboard to bring forth orchestral majesty, freeze-dried and microwaved for mass consumption… this nosedive into the unreal, cybercool, disembodied soundbite salad is progress?

Silicon and human timbre are an unholy matrimony.

Your argument is sound (!). Then half way through it seems like you went back to where you started.

Whatever the soundtrack at the first eruption of teen hormones, it becomes who you were and weaves into your later adult identity in the most curiously deep fashion.

I enjoyed your post, though I stopped being able to track you when you took a left and doubled back into electronic sheep territory. The first part really resonated however, due to your excellent writing skills. Thanks!