We all know that prejudice is a bad thing. But it can be hard to separate prejudice from life experiences. In life, if the same experience produces the same result every time, you should have a good idea of what an outcome will be. So it is with music.
There are two kinds of music. Good music and all other music. There are people who call themselves musicians or musical artists who can make mediocre music sound good and on the other hand are a larger group of people who can make good music sound bad.
Friday night I encountered people who made good music sound dismal at best. It was a duo, but the pain they were passing off as music could slay the love of music for any person whose mind was not totally wasted by imbibing too much alcohol and God knows what other kind of possibly illegal substances.
These two people, with their lame attempt at entertaining the masses, were, to my way of thinking, way beyond the boundary line of shitty. Harry Truman could play the piano. Both of the two so-called musicians on Friday night made noise on the piano. The young people and the drunk people at this concert seemed to enjoy the show so I’m quite sure the world, in addition to going to hell in a handbasket, is on a slippery slope as far as civilization is concerned. Or maybe I’m just an old curmudgeon.
The duo managed to destroy John Denver’s Country Roads and Sonny and Cher’s, I Got You Babe plus one or two other songs I recognized. Much of the music they played had crawled out of the sewer of creativity sometime after sanity was making a rapid departure from the Earth.
Fortunately, I’m not a music critic. Also, fortunately, I have NO talent when it comes to singing. If a person needs to be able to sing to go to Heaven, I’ll either have to take a massive number of singing lessons to at least master humming or make a choice between Hell, Purgatory or one of the suburbs of Dell City, Texas. None is a garden spot.
I’ll give you a few of my multitude of complaints. Just ones that really ticked me off. First, our original seats were directly in front of a LARGE Peavey speaker. Immediately I determined the evening was going to go in the toilet early. We asked to be moved and were moved to a corner of the venue. Unfortunately, it was the corner furthest from the door and therefore blocking an easy escape. We dodged a multitude of painful bullets by sneaking out, on the pretense of going to the bathroom, after a bit over an hour.
The second complaint is that the two, so called musicians, were microphone eaters. Meaning to me they yelled into the microphone which seemed to be attached to their lips so therefore they became un-understandable. They charged for special requests and some of the other people actually kicked out more money for a request after already wasting thirty bucks on the so-called concert.
The quality of the entertainment was about three floors below the basement and an evening spent trying to make Hitler laugh after he had spent the afternoon drinking Tequila. An unusual historical note here; Hitler didn’t like to drink Tequila because he said it made him mean.
The decibel level of the music being played is unknown at this time, but it was close to that of hearing a bushel basket or two full of cats being run through an industrial sized blender. Tortuous.
It’s Monday morning as I write this and my headache from Friday evening has abated and I’m listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons which is what I believe music should sound like. Vivaldi’s music is soothing and helps my mind relax.
Somewhere out in our Galaxy there may be intelligent life listening to a broadcast of a Vivaldi concert that was aired in the 1930s and those beings must think something close to; What a glorious and stunning place Earth must be that they can produce music so beautiful.
Once much of the music of the last forty years, like heavy metal, Rap and the screaming I heard on Friday night reaches those beings they will reconsider their opinion of our lovely blue ball. If those beings have the ability to traverse the space between their planet and Earth, and therefore smarter and more civilized than us, we are toast.
But for me, at this moment, I am watching a few snowflakes drift out of the sky while listening to Vivaldi’s Spring for a second time today, and that pleases me. I guess my prejudice is showing.
Arian is a short story contributor to the Sentinel & Rural News. Arian has written two full-length thrillers which have received critical and popular acclaim. Arian lives in Bruce, WI, with his charming wife, Arlene.Profile
The Sentinel & Rural News covers the news and events of Clark County and southern Taylor County, as well as regional news that affects those areas.