Finding Joy, Value, and Trust in an Artificial World
An autistic perspective
As I sometimes do when I write, I buried the lede in this article. Because I respect your time, I ask you, Dear Reader, to wade through this one with me.
Did you know that most of the music you heard out in public between the 1940s and the 1980s was a form of brainwashing? It was designed to get you to buy more things as a consumer and generate the most productive worker possible. It did not exist to be enjoyed.
Muzak
Muzak. A capitalist’s dream.
Muzak presents me with cognitive dissonance when forced to introspect. I actually kind of like it. At least some of it. Each song has a catchy hook, is well-produced, has solid orchestration, and used session musicians and classically trained individuals who were some of the best in the world. Muzak took all of the popular songs of the era and gave them a pseudo-classical arrangement mixed in with a dose of Valium, Ambien, and sometimes Ritalin thrown in for good measure when it wanted you to concentrate harder on the job.
But the best instrumentation, top orchestration, and world-class musicians are not a guaranteed formula for good music. They didn’t want to produce good music. They were producing crap, and they knew it. What they wanted was to make and produce music for consumers and workers. Strictly for that and that alone. It was designed to be a “potted palm.” Something to blend into the background and be instantly forgettable.
They had a formula to manipulate the employees to become better workers with this music blaring through the speakers, but of course, it had to be utterly subliminal if it was to succeed. No one wants a musical code breaker to storm into the boss’s office and ruin all the fun. So, they invented something as creepy as it sounds: the stimulus progression. This was based on the idea of gradually increasing the intensity and tempo of the music over a set period. The progression typically followed a 15-minute cycle. In each cycle, the music would start with slower, softer tunes and gradually build up to more upbeat and slightly louder music. Muzak was a musical, gradual wake-up alarm clock that used twelve notes with strings instead of beeps. Each song had to have an ever-so-slightly higher tempo than the preceding one. So, in a span of fifteen minutes repeating over the course of a day — day after day, here’s how they would manipulate workers:
- Start (0–3 minutes): Slow, soft, and simple instrumental music, such as a string quartet playing a gentle, melodic piece with a slow tempo, creating a calm and soothing atmosphere.
- Mild Increase (3–6 minutes): Gradual shift to a slightly faster piece, like a light piano instrumental with a bit more complexity in the melody, maintaining a relaxed and pleasant tone.
- Moderate Increase (6–9 minutes): Introduction of a piece with a medium tempo involving more instruments. For example, a jazz ensemble plays a smooth, easy-listening jazz number where the rhythm is more pronounced but not overly energetic.
- Noticeable Increase (9–12 minutes): Transition to a piece with a more upbeat tempo. A bossa nova instrumental with a rhythmic beat could be ideal, engaging but not too lively, subtly elevating the energy levels.
- Peak Intensity (12–15 minutes): Conclusion of the cycle with a piece that is more upbeat and complex than the previous ones, like an orchestral piece with a brisk tempo and a rich arrangement, offering a sense of positivity and alertness.
If you want to hear a few of these stimulus progressions, have at it.
I find a supreme irony in Muzak when it comes to the autistic point of view. Muzak was designed to avoid overstimulation in the workplace. In some ways, it caters to autistic people, which is why I suspect I like the stimulus progressions when I am in a weird mood. Weren’t these capitalist geniuses such accommodating individuals? 😉 I am so glad I was not a worker in that era. I would have either been a musical codebreaker and noticed the progressions or the music would have had its way with me.
In essence, the evil geniuses at Muzak were highly studied academics when it came to man's psychological condition at the time. They knew that all human beings go through natural minor highs and lows every day on the job —ebbs and flows, so to speak. So they took advantage of how we’re wired. Working within the construct of the stimulus progression, they induced the lead-up to the full swing of productivity, beginning with slow, quiet music occurring in a lull phase and moving towards peak intensity to offer a caffeine-like effect — the high phase. The aim was to capitalize on the naturally occurring processes of workers. In other words, they did not want fifteen minutes of peak music because that would produce sensory overload in their workers, likely leading to poorer performance. So, they artificially induced the workers’ habits of ebbing and flowing to cooccur alongside the Muzak stimulus progression.
You can see how this concept works in the present at something like a rock concert. No rock star would do 180 minutes of fast jams with no ballads. It would wear the audience out. Same principle here.
And once back in the land of Muzak, lather, rinse, repeat, all day — every day.
This brief meditation on Muzak got me wondering how much of what we appreciate in life is because people have weaponized the things we love against us. How many of these things are intentional?
The Price is Right
The Price is Right is the same way. Why do we watch a game show based on guessing how inflationary the prices of any given item are at the moment? Oh, sure, I get it. We want to vicariously root for the contestants to see how happy they are when they win a new Jeep Cherokee. But the prices of the items and the prizes on the Price is Right are there to remind us of the sweat of our brow, the amount of money we need every day to purchase the things we must have to survive. Think about that! We take pride in watching a show that reminds us how much things cost for our survival. And that’s entertainment.
I should know. I was a contestant on this show in 1997.
Love hurts
Considering how much of what we like in life is, at the same time, what we secretly want to get away from is quite humbling. Military recruiters use video games to entice people into serving our country. Our social media algorithms traffic in getting us addicted; QAnon is a never-ending fantasy choose-your-own-adventure, advergames, corporate sponsorship, etc. I’ll take “Tiger Stadium” over “Comerica Park” any day of the week! Of course, this is all quite familiar. Capitalism has always made us love the things we should hate, like tobacco, nicotine, and Muzak. But what has changed over time is the intensity of how it is all thrown in our faces.
“It’s the things we love that most destroy us,” says President Snow of Panem. Is he right?
Try a thought experiment.
You have had to pay for every meal you have ever eaten that someone has not treated you to since you have been an adult. As humans, we pay for anything we use to eat food, heat and cool our homes, fuel our cars, plumbing, etc. Anything non-informational that’s physically tangible will cost you an arm and a leg.
But what about the cost of information itself? It’s pretty much free. Does Google ever charge you? Nope. But you couldn’t live without it (try Duck-Duck Go). Your email provider doesn’t charge you either. Nor does public wifi charge you. But look at all the personal information we give them in return. We love them while we hate them.
Loyalty programs pay you money back — peanuts, but still money. But we can’t live without our credit cards. Did you love that extra legroom you got on your last flight? You probably did if you paid the money for that seat. And aren’t free software updates nice? They are, but only when they don’t phase you out of your current device, forcing you to purchase a new one against your will. There is always a catch.
So, we know many things we love are not suitable for us. Therefore, as autistic individuals, how do we build trust in an artificial, commercialized world with its trappings?
What can start building the trust?
Being with the ones we love. In relationships with people who value us. In solitude on the beach, in nature, hiking in a forest where the trees have no agenda other than to provide for photosynthesis that allows you to breathe the rich, fresh air. With our favorite pet. In a dark room with no light, meditating. With our passions (or special interests), whether the passions have a hidden societal agenda or not. We cannot avoid them; our passions give meaning to many of our lives. In other words, first, we build trust within ourselves after we take off the mask in our own company and then try to find trust in our loved ones. Then, we gently venture out, step by step, and attempt to trust others when that trust is earned.
For the autistic community, these revelations of subtle control and influence might carry profound implications. We must navigate a landscape rife with elements that masquerade as beneficial while potentially perpetuating systems of control and manipulation.
Yet, while navigating these complexities, many of us find solace and actual value in life’s genuine, unmanipulated experiences. As highlighted above, the essence of many autistic people’s existences and the core of our contentment lie in the unadorned simplicities: the meaningful relationships we nurture, the tranquility of nature, the companionship of our pets, and the liberation found in solitude and meditation. These pure moments, devoid of any external agendas, offer us a sanctuary from the orchestrated cacophony of the consumerist world.
As autistics, we need this very badly, but we need these qualities in our external spaces, too, not just inside our own hearts and minds. We need authentic and honest spaces where what is said is what is meant. We need spaces that accommodate us in the right ways, not with ulterior motives.
But most of all, we need to be able to trust.
We are all on a pilgrimage in our lives. It’s a journey. Learning to trust is a process on that journey. Trust is built on reciprocity. Given what many of us have endured throughout our lives from others, building trust in society is no small feat. So we do our best, day by day.
