You gotta get in before you get out

Don’t I look very much like a frog in my picture?

By hazzard?

Anyway come and read what I have to say today. I was straightening a paper clip the other day when the thought suddenly struck me ‘How horrible a notion is the one that has flowered and become known as The Music Industry’.

Lets take a look at that word for a moment: industry. A term that covers that enterprize of man concerned with the production of goods in order to create capital.
Does that really have anything to do with the emotion, the rarefied joy that music instills in us? The accumulated knowledge from the moment the first Cro-Magnon blew through a reed to the amusement of his primitive fellows through the goldenright years of Viennese master composers right up to when music hit its creative peak, Kid Creole and the Coconuts, is thus just as banal a product as that which comes from a door-knocker factory day after day.
But the idea has long ago gone horribly wrong. Opiate for the masses doesn’t come near to being derisory enough to categorise the dirge that is produced and disseminated among the populace like Soma from a a Brave New World.
Still, if you look back, it was the likes of Mozart and the rest who first created the idea by trying to escape the prison of patronage that bound those great men back then. They needed a way to sell their works to the people at large rather than having to rely on the whim of the Count or the Bishop or God. Little did they know that their honest efforts to enlighten the world and put crust in the mouths of their kith an kin would lead directly to the formation of the S Club Juniors. Or the Pussy Cat Dolls for that matter. Heinous women. And on that note, Rythmn and Blues music for example has long ago ceased to ressemble its origins, now it’s exclusively pointless wittering and extended note holding over reconstituted slowed down former disco tracks. The worst thing about today is that now everyone has mobile phones onto which the latest program (I refuse to call these songs) has been dowloaded and so people walk around with these things at full volume as if soundtracking their own life and identifying themselves as belonging to a certain social group, as if there were any doubt based on appearances in any case. Regared the laundrette, people must wait for their clothes to dry. Some people read a book, by some I mean, one in a thousand. The rest will stare at their phone as it plays a music video at high volume. One in a thousand cradles their head and weeps for a magnetic solar flare to disrupt all mobile phone communication forever. Remember when we used to arrange to meet each other at a specific time in the pub? Be there or be a dickhead, no texting out of it. Don’t mean to sound like a luddite but lily-livers have it easy these days.

But things are always this way, the more up to date the piece of lifestyle defining consumer technology, the scummer the bag that has it first.

I can’t believe there is now a razor with 5 blades.

That’s just overkill.

Mach 3 forever.