The Unbearable Lightness of Being a Dud

In 1989, I learned how to daydream. Before that time, my mind was a steel trap. Not a particularly fearsome steel trap, mind you; probably one of those mouse-denters that ordinarily retails for about eighty cents at your local hardware store, but a steel trap nevertheless. But in the year of my matriculation, my ability to concentrate was officially cut loose from its moorings, only to drift helplessly over the horizon.
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In Defence of the Power Ballad

Once upon a time, music was not something made by computers. In that not-so-distant age, it was so much more than a ringtone or the sound you heard when a program started up. As wonderful as technological advancement may be, it remains my view that pushing buttons does not, of itself, make you a musician. That’s because the melodies that inspire the human spirit are not to be found in a dos-based programming language or algorithm. They lie in the depths of the human heart. The problem with letting the IT Department write songs is that you get a very limited worldview as a result, as anyone who has recently listened to commercial radio may well attest. The language of music these days is so confined. It’s as if in a bid to reach to broadest selection of people, musicians have resorted to speaking in the musical equivalent of Esperanto when music should really be a whole Tower of Babel kind of experience.
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Journey to the Nightclub of my Soul

There are, according to Dante, nine circles of hell. In no particular order these are Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greedy, Dopey, Sleepy, Sporty, Baby and Ginger. But should the day ever arrive in which the dark lord of the underworld decides that it’s time for an extension, he could do worse than to have ‘nightclubs’ as the official tenth circle.

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