TechNO

Ladies and gentlemen, the past few days have been pretty frustrating. Thanks to Ojai Valley School‘s extremely poor Internet service, I have been unable to write anything on this blog for quite a while.

Either way, I’m back. Now, even though the past few games of the world series have been pretty interesting to say the least, I will not be writing about sports tonight. Rather, this blog will be more on the venting side. I need to blow off steam.
Music has always been a thing that I have enjoyed throughout the years, no question, yet every couple of months, I find myself swigging cokes on a sofa during a school dance and saying one thing, “Jesus, this really sucks doesn’t it?” That last statement was censored by the way.

Nowadays music, what was once soulful and powerful and used as a vent for people to express their feelings (and lets not forget about the necessity for talent) has lost itself through technology. “TechNO” as my friends and I call it, has completely taken over the airwaves and eardrums of seemingly every person who calls themselves a music buff in this sorry generation.

As we listen to sounds that lack soul and have no meaning while thumping bass lines that can drop lungs repeatedly boom to the point of a headache, we ask ourselves just what the hell happened to music. I hear great songs being used as samples and they quickly get turned faster and faster until they become inaudible.

Yes folks, Mozart, Acdc, and 2pac would be pleased to know that some of their greatest works are so disrespected, that they have been abused to the point of nothing more than something that drives people crazy.

I’m guess I might just be blowing off steam as a musician here, but like the song says “I have a feeling” that many may agree with me. The way I see it, I can rave on and on about rave parties and I wanna Dubstep all over the person who created it.

I bet that kid from “Back To The Future,” who travelled 25 years into the future from 1985 would be confused and sad. Personally, I’d rather hear Blondie, Winger, or even *gasp Rick Astley, then to hear ear screeching, lung dropping, soulless, pointless, unemotional, blank Techno.

Truly insulting to know that to the common man, anyone can be a musician. Any computer programmer or scumbag using Garage Band or Virtual DJ and who screws around with it for 10 minutes, think they can produce the same sounds that I, an experienced musician with years of training, can do.

It’s frustrating and sad, and frankly if this is music, then I don’t know what I’m a fan of. All I know is that this garbage I’m being subjected to is not music. We, and our eardrums are victims of our own technology.

And if you TechNO fans out there are simply fans only because it’s some kind of revolutionary, new age movement that you have to be a pot smoking, tweaked out, 90 pound freak of nature to understand and the whole point is to get back at your parents, that’s just sad. Maybe learn a talent or program computers, just don’t insult something so great.

5 thoughts on “TechNO

  1. Next time you find yourself sitting on a sofa swigging cokes at a school dance, you should bring your ipod and listen to some 10 minute guitar solos while you watch everyone else dance and have fun. That might make your experience more enjoyable.

  2. Tom, relax bud I’m just stating the opinions of many, even though most of this is straight up fact. The rest of you might not see his comment because it is pending but I guarantee you that while I listen to said 10 minute guitar solo or whatever better music I’ll choose to listen to, I’ll have more fun and probably will take it somewhere else, away from the mandatory dance. Thanks for putting this idea out there during the senior meeting today as well, seriously I agree with your statement. I shouldn’t whine, I should just get better tunes. Just sucks that your DJ has a fetish for electronica as do the people in my dorm who blast that crap until 3 am.
    Next time we’ll just get better tunes, notice this at the Xmas dance.
    Either way, TechNo sucks, have a nice day.
    love, S.M

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