Music Loud Sing Dance To

History, its histories of full great good perpetuations, offers countless options to exist.

But History is hard upon its millions, billions, particularly, ones; hence, Hiroshima dropped on Tokyo — or similar threats to blow convention, such as it serves, to particles of soot and ash.

Anyway, The Revolution — in music, it was, I’m certain; maybe film as well, but I’m not sure — changed everything, as it relates to song and dance.

The Republic, while still forbidden to poets, who hypnotize tired old men in coffee shops stooped unsuspecting over news — is there no place for venerable codgers to read clear, muscular prose in peace? — allows quiet universities to teach Beatle Holiday Hendrix Blues and Armstrong, though such pedagogies can and do inspire undergraduates to sing loud, louder than bombs, louder, if it can be imagined, than Sousa drones of politic discourse.

Public records indicate that records are demanded by the public, as such media exist in modern digital formations. Sounds disseminated via free radio create opportunities, increase desire for possession, in so far as such abstractions can be possessed — in fairness, the ability to summon sounds at will, pause, rewind, replay them, provided the proper hard and soft ware are available, does indicate some manner of possession.

Business advertising business can therefore be approved and amplified through whatever siren songs appeal to  consumers of this uncertain market.

The energy required to induce arousal in these consumers is low, relative to music fads and formulas known to their forbears. Nevertheless, when talented musicians play, when talented musicians can be found to play, said consumers are apt to dance from late evening to dawn.

Such talent must be harnessed and fashioned into the kinds of sounds the public wants to hear. Taste is unpredictable at best, familiarity with histories of past successes — and failures — virtually meaningless.

“Beat heart be hard,” appears to be a general demand.  “Music loud sing-dance to,” is another.

Who can tell?   The revolution is young, still a-blush with morning’s glow.

History its histories.  Great good options exist millions, billions, ones. Hiroshima dropped on Tokyo. Convention blown to ash.

Little Pinky Toe does what she can, when she must, socked and bound as she is within the Boot, but on the whole she'd rather not. Read other articles by Little Pinky.