I’m sitting in my lounge, Chester‘s dozing in his plush furry ‘dog bed’, purring noisily and happily, and I’m thinking about posting again here, on having painted my tool caddy.
Anne, our next door neighbour is, it seems, in her lounge, the other side of a lamentably thin partition wall. And she’s listening to some awful pop dreck. No idea who it is, but it’s alternating shouty raps with primary coloured auto-tuned fem-vocs.
It’s not awfully loud thank goodness. But it’s audible to me. Which is a real pity! It’s so obvious, predictable, mainstream. To me it’s brainless, heartless, but most damningly of all, soul-less. As a rationalist who’s not religious the turn my language took there is intriguing!
Anyway, returning to the, ahem… ‘music’, the yin and yang of it. The Yin or female component seems narcissistic in a look at me I’m a Barbie princess way, whilst the Yang is narcissistic in an hyper-aggressive shouty way. Neither are attractive to me.
But I suppose I’m not the intended target market. But those two words, target market, sum it up for me. This is not art to enrich the life of the soul (at least not as I understand such things), so to speak, but product to help lobotomise the drones, and keep the capitalist machine ticking over.
Right… a phone call from a drum pupil’s parent has just interrupted my musings. With that finished and out of the way, I’m suddenly and very happily conscious that the music next door has stopped. What bliss!