With the dawning of a new millennium, we have been sucked into the digital age. Technology has increased exponentially in regards to everything ranging from medical science to disaster engineering. With this new light, we should be able to produce great things. In theory, that is.
At the turn of the 20th century, music has been launched into the future at interstellar overdrive. With the creation of the two-track Ampex recording device and electronic instruments, musicians could transpire their emotions with ease. From the jazz styles of Dizzy Gillespie and the blues riffs of Muddy Waters comes this terrifying euphony, referred to as rock 'n' roll.
"You ain’t nothin' but a hound dog," wails Elvis "The King" Presley's voice on the radio, as four teenagers pull into a drive-in on a Friday night. Presley held the affections of the people and the eyes of the media in the hefty palms of his Memphis hands. This was primarily because of his sound and deep Southern drawl, but also because there was not enough competition in the air.
Today, there is so much congestion in the atmosphere due to the hot air that the rich and famous are spewing. Artists like the Black Eyed Peas, and some Disney actors who are given a guitar and put in a studio are just entertainers. The term "musician" would not suit that of a certain Kardashian, or the antics of one largely flamboyant Gaga.
The Hollywood spider is lying in wait overhead, just waiting for the rest of society to pick the next victim to fall into her web. It is completely up to us as a society of listeners to decide whether an assortment pack of life-size Barbies from Jersey get the spotlight or whether they suffer from spray-tan asphyxiation.
True musicians are like polar bears, in the sense that they are endangered due to global warming. The ice has grown thinner and it is only a matter of time before it breaks away to the salty brine beneath. The music industry is represented by poachers, who are completely unaware of the repercussions that will result from skinning these majestic animals.
The practice of songwriting is slowly becoming a lost art. Recent releases have been less about the actual message and how much sexual aggression pop artists have. For example, in Kanye West's album Late Registration, the song "Roses" is a poetic expression of wrestling with the cold sterile hands of death — a lyrical feat comparative to that of certain 18th-century poets. However, his release "E.T. Remix" featuring musical wonderwoman Katy Perry is less than satisfactory. In one of his verses he "spits" the line "I’m tryna Bath my Ape in your Milky Way." I don’t believe that is an idiom recognized by the general public.
There are refuges of musicians still alive and kicking, but the auto-tune cyborgs are plotting for an attack. A war is hot on the horizon and there will be causalities. You’ve been warned.