The core of a human’s soul can’t fix the reality of modern times and how we are perceived through the bright windows of our techno sensibility. The revelation of who we are, how we dress, and how we fuck. Even more so, how we listen to music, which defines most of the former. Coupled with the dynastic strangle hold of marketing mascots and the ever shifting pay-to-play ethics, and you have a recipe for disaster. I can be a “modern hustler” sometimes, but mostly I’m fending off these molds of irrelevance by creating sounds in the comforts of solitude, and a loving community. You take a step back, let a beat play for a second, and the whole god damn world changes in front of you as your twitter feed updates. Who’s in, who’s out, whats the new new, and what is Kanye (fake artist) saying now? Its a sad place to be, but who can stop it? How do we stop it? Is it all a sham, coasting down the supernovas of your poor wifi connection? There’s hope to be sure.
As a friend and I discussed this over dinner, ultimately some kind of reclusive beauty of making art for the sake of making it for yourself, wins out. How that progresses into some other kind of persona in your “real” life to make your immediate community better is king, and the rest, well, leave that to the passers by who live life in a small box of madness. The cell phone is the new cubical, and we’re all slaves now.