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May. 3rd, 2022|05:07 pm |
lately I have been eating in a canteen on workdays. Between the bursts of classically sculpted agitating prop (on the hour every hour), and pro-level enunciation of nothing much, the DJ will play modern pop.
Slabs of wafting commercial yearning meeting the air above the mostly middle-aged IT guys and girls scrolling their sleek stubs while working their way through generous dishes (the human chick who dispenses is great and will always ensure hands are met under the plate).
The tracks are, I have noticed (and I gave it some time) all the same in the sense that the voice is part of the machinery of the sounds - in no way distinct: it is as if the voice is generated by the very programmes used to assemble the product - there is no space between any pound of drum or pluck of bass. No words alighting from without on a keyboard line to bring forth a crack of poetry - the kind that would come from a human soul: some kind of graceless marriage of man and application, instead - over and over and over again - punctuated by the rolling consonants and vowels of a Latvian guy summoning some mutual understanding of humour - pro level - and bookmarked, like I said, by more pro Truth about events none of us know much at all about.
A while back - years ago - I drifted away from listening to NABA - they seemed to be forever playing happy robot tracks. Musical snacks for digital breakfasts. |
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