In January of 2012 I had the
misfortune of attending a music concert by renowned minimalist composer Steve
Reich. Two hours of root canal without anesthesia would be an inadequate way to
describe the torture though I believe I saw two American black operatives
purchasing CDs of his work during intermission obviously to play at their
extraordinary rendition parties.
If
you are familiar with Mr. Reich then you know what you are in for. Pieces run
from 7 minutes to 1 hour in length, the whole concert is a never changing,
never ending, Gordian knot of undulating hypnotic drivel. The Disney Concert
Hall in Los Angeles was packed elbow to ass with Kool-aid drinkers davening in
rhythm to Reich’s creative discharge.
The
first composition I confess was interesting enough. Reich and a fellow acolyte
came out and did a piece that involved overlapping clapping rhythms that I have
to admit held my interest. The second offering involved a drummer stationed
behind a video screen. Each drum was connected to a prerecorded electronic
musical sound. The drummer beat the ensemble in a cyclical assault resulting in
a 17-minute regurgitation that teenage bulimics would be desirous of.
Right
after its conclusion I was seized with a fear I haven’t experienced since I was
first checked for a hernia prior to beginning middle school football. Oh my
god, am I going to have to sit through the rest of this shit?
The
3rd piece was even worse. Reich ups the ante and brings 15 musicians
on stage, and doubles down on his M.O. this time with his definitive tribute to
the mundane clocking in at 38 minutes. By minute ten I became so agitated with
rage that the normal booing of a subservient performance that would usually
suffice had to be reconsidered and in my mind would not be a strong enough
rebuke for the droppings that masquerades as Mr. Reich’s life work. I wanted to
yell at the top of my lungs in this Frank Gehry designed masterpiece ”FUCK
YOU!!!” This was an unendurable insult and the standard raspberry usually
reserved for newbie strippers and open mic-ers was way too meager in describing
my mind set at the moment. “FUCK YOU!!!”
If
I had seen Steve Reich after the show I would have punched him squarely in the
mouth. “How dare you?” I don’t care if the joint was packed. Twenty six hundred
assholes lovingly inhaling the rancid effluvium billowing from the maestro’s
bilge. It’s the Thousand Fly Rule once again: If a thousand flies land on
something chances are it’s a piece of shit!
Well
dear readers, which in my case numbers one legless hobo who scurries around
town on a skateboard propelled by gnarled hands barely covered in fingerless
oven mitts usually to the local library to not only cadge a free perusal of my
blog, but also, if the head librarian is summarily occupied, to the comings and
goings of something called Busty Midget Cock Riders as well, then you know I
have bigger fish to fry.
Every
day I log on to Facebook I am transported back to that horrible time when I had
to sit through Reich’s prodigious drivel. My time on Facebook is spent
scrolling though a cascade of vapid posts and thinking, “Fuck you!” No one
cares about your daughter’s Bat Mitzvah, dating troubles or that your disbelief
that you just paid $5.99 for a goddamn latte! NO ONE CARES!!! Try to post
something transcendent or don’t post at all. Less is more! Shut Up then shut up
again! Embrace a little solitude for crying out loud. I know you can’t bear to
be alone with your own thoughts and that you even bore the shit out of your own
self, but can’t anyone out there give a brother a break?
Obviously
when I signed up for Facebook I had no clue what the purpose of it was. I
thought if you had something reasoned to say fellow travelers might appreciate
it. Other than my hobo fanboy…boy was I wrong! Instead of a modicum of mature
discourse you are instead treated to the viscous gush of self-inflicted facials
from some very untalented narcissists.
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