Everywhere I go I am inundated by loud, machine music. Almost all the environments that I frequent – supermarkets, fabric stores, sushi restaurants . . . broadcast it to their customers. Unaware of the irony of trying to sell or feed us something healthy, organic or whatever while pummeling our ears and bodies with inorganic and unhealthy sounds; the managers of these environments don’t even question what they are doing. Even at my temporary homes, I often can hear it through the walls. Some of our roommates haved played it often while working. To me it resembles the repetitive sounds coming from a factory manufacturing automobiles or computer parts or chocolate bars or . . .
People love dancing to it, or so they say. They claim to feel free, creative, expressive. Why don’t you dance to a metronome. It’s the same thing.
I shut this “music” out with a internal shout of “NO!” I distrust the psychic messages subliminally encoded in the digital format of this unfeeling trash. I’d rather dance to the emotional fluctuations of my music, or the vicissitudes of the pounding surf, or the varying trickle of water in a mountain cave, or a bird singing it’s morning reverie on a delicate branch. At least I’m in touch with a life force, something real, something passionate.
This machine music intended or not is for brainwashing you and turning you all into machines.