It’s tough to break
into the music world today. With known
quantities flooding the market and a persistent influx of new, nigh
indistinguishable artists constantly making entries into a chart system that,
in reality, is more like a “shit music mill,” it’s tough to make any kind of
lasting impact. Some people do it
through sheer luck, like Carly Rae Jepsen.
Some people are incredibly talented, like Annie Clark. Some people are really smart, like Thom
Yorke.
And then there’s you.
If the last twenty seven years of your life have taught you
anything, it’s that you’re neither smart nor lucky nor talented. You are, at best, a middling musician of
average intelligence who gets hit by a car every year and a half or so just so
you don’t forget that the entire universe is aligned against you. So what’s your path to success? The one chosen by mediocre people the world
over for decades now, from Bjork to Vampire Weekend: being as weird as you can
be so that people will pay attention to you.
That’s why today you’re going to release what will become
your single greatest contribution to human civilization: an album that consists
entirely of vampire bats having sex.
It’ll be a miserable, atonal mess of sounds, occasionally
sampled and combined into musical forms but all too often simply permitted to
chaotically mingle in a sonic between-space where nary a note transpires as
vampire bats gasp and yelp and hoot in delight, pain, surprise and satisfaction
during their mercifully occluded fuck sessions.
You’ll release your album into the Christmas market and,
sure enough, it’ll be a huge fucking hit.
Everyone will be like “Holy fuck” and you’ll be all like “I like being
interviewed” and then they’ll be all “Brilliant!” and you’ll be all “Yeah!”
even though you know it’s not true.
Later you’ll release a second album of actual music that
will be critically reviled. But today,
and for the following year and a half, you’ll live fat off of your vampire bats
fucking album. Well done, jackass.
Congratulations on Your Album’s Success!
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