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Monday, November 29, 2010

Worst of 2010: The Death of All Music

Friends and family,

It is with a heavy heart and great sadness that I come to you today to eulogize our dear friend, music, who passed tragically on June 8, 2010.

Music had long been a close friend of mine.  Even from my earliest years, I can remember music by my side, accompanying me for long family drives, kindergarten classes, and birthday celebrations.  Music was a diverse creature, able to change forms throughout its long, productive life.  As a child, music first came to me in the form of a Disney Christmas Carol record and later a Chipmunks' Greatest Hits album.  As I grew, so did music.  It shed its childish routes in the early 90s and took on a form that was more mature, but still evolving throughout its life.

In recent years though, music's health seemed to be digressing rapidly.  Surely, I was not alone in this diagnosis.  I first noticed it around the age of 18, around the same time that a band named Stain'd rose to prominence.  Selfish as it seems now, it was difficult for me to be around music during this period of its life.  We drifted apart.  In the following years, we would meet up occasionally and I would see a faint glimmer in its eye, as if there was life beyond its frail and tragic exterior.  I hoped, as I'm sure many of you did, that music would take hold of this light and fight its way out of its downward spiral.  Sadly, this did not happen.

On June 8, 2010, I lost one of my best friends.  On June 8, 2010, "Pretty Boy Swag" by Soulja Boy Tell 'Em was released to the general public.

I first discovered the death of music a month or so after that horrible day.  Driving with another close friend, "Pretty Boy Swag" began playing on the radio.  Starting innocently enough, I was soon bombarded with what can only be described as the nonsensical ramblings of the mentally handicapped.  I thought to myself, "Only in a world where music has died could such a monstrosity be released on a medium once-designated solely for that dear friend of mine."  Depressed at the departure of music, I sought solace in the bars, hoping that alcohol would help ease my sorrow.  Much to my chagrin, "Pretty Boy Swag" thrived in these locales, serving as a constant reminder of the death that has so greatly affected me.

In this moment, I feel I must confess to a transgression of heinous proportions.  In the dark time following the death of music, I began indulging in the dark wine of "Pretty Boy Swag." Ironically, of course, though I cannot help but feel that my encouragment amongst friends and family helped propel this garbage to #34 on the Billboard Hot 100, if only by the minutest of amounts.  All the parties I've thrown where I've "sung" along to the intoxicating, yet repulsive, "Heeeeeeeys" of "Swag's" chorus; all the terrible dances I've concocted to its lazy production; all of the shots I've taken to mask the effects of its inane lyrics - all of these have only contributed to the popularity of the beast.  For this, friends, I must offer my apologies and ask for forgiveness - from you, of course, but also from music, should our friend be out there somewhere still longing to be intimately involved in the lives of mere people.

Music, I have loved you for as long as I can remember.  And though your presence no longer lingers in the realm of the living, your memory will live on in the form of your various manifestations.  In moments of weakness and sorrow, I will call upon the greatness of your memory to help me through.  In moments of triumph, your exuberance will be my soundtrack. 

I will never forget you, music.  Come back to us.

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