Music wired into the slums to replace it. Music to dope the youthful protestor. Music to torture the independent thinker. This is the totalitarian arrangement of the modern state conjoining industrialists and politicians in their malevolent conspiracy to bring everything under this domination. And the musicians beat their brass cymbals louder and louder to cover the faint shrieks of the victims as they are dropped into the pot of fire.
Music gets louder and louder, and musicians forget to listen as they turn up to eleven.
He has little respect for the artificial amplification of today's popular music, piped in and taken for granted the more it is heard everywhere our culture spreads, with the listener having no power to shut it out. On the other hand, in the past and in cultures closer to the making of the things that they use, music is something intricately bound between a player and what she plays. I burst my breast, striving to give vent to sighs, And to express my yearning for my home. He who abides far away from home Is ever longing for the day of return. In concert with weeping and rejoicing.