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Video; un: rtozier
May. 11th, 2018 01:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
summertimeblues[The feed begins with a man in his late thirties, one hand welded to his forehead in consternation. Adjacent is a swanky looking turntable, and stacks of records can be seen on a table behind the sofa. The titles are indiscernible but it looks to be a ballpark of about fifty albums.
He stares into the camera, desolate.]
All right kids, I'll concede: my folks would have cracked my radio if they heard how much I let The Doors holler out of it. I know it's a pattern and every generation thinks the one after it is a tasteless pack of miscreants. And I've been keeping an open mind. I can't afford not to. Music was my job, and for the most part the stuff hitting the airwaves had been pretty solid. Whoever's been picking out tunes for me up above has been doing pretty damn swell so far, too. Soundgarden was great, Lauren Hill, the Alabama Shakes — there's a lot of good shit I've missed out on because my apocalypse hit so early.
[He takes a deep breath.]
But today, I need an explanation.
[He takes a record out of a sleeve. Sets it on the player and closes his eyes in bitter resignation as the thing gets rolling.
His jaw clenches tight as the music starts.
"Hiya Barbie!"
"Hi Ken!"
"Do you wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken!"
"Jump in!"
"I'M A BARBIE GIRL! IN A BARBIE WO-O-ORLD! LIFE IN PLASTIC, IT'S FANTASTIC!!"
A comely but irate redheaded woman stomps into the background.]
If you don’t shut that off, there’s going to be cats clawing at our window to check out who’s dying!
[Richie rips the record off, vein pulsing in his forehead.]
Music is dying, Bev! It's over! We've lost the war!
[She scoffs, disappearing once more. Richie looks to the camera.
He snaps the record in two with a malicious crack and tosses the pieces behind him.]
I don't know who allowed this to happen, but you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.
[The video cuts out. Please deposit your apologies and condolences below.]
He stares into the camera, desolate.]
All right kids, I'll concede: my folks would have cracked my radio if they heard how much I let The Doors holler out of it. I know it's a pattern and every generation thinks the one after it is a tasteless pack of miscreants. And I've been keeping an open mind. I can't afford not to. Music was my job, and for the most part the stuff hitting the airwaves had been pretty solid. Whoever's been picking out tunes for me up above has been doing pretty damn swell so far, too. Soundgarden was great, Lauren Hill, the Alabama Shakes — there's a lot of good shit I've missed out on because my apocalypse hit so early.
[He takes a deep breath.]
But today, I need an explanation.
[He takes a record out of a sleeve. Sets it on the player and closes his eyes in bitter resignation as the thing gets rolling.
His jaw clenches tight as the music starts.
"Hiya Barbie!"
"Hi Ken!"
"Do you wanna go for a ride?"
"Sure Ken!"
"Jump in!"
"I'M A BARBIE GIRL! IN A BARBIE WO-O-ORLD! LIFE IN PLASTIC, IT'S FANTASTIC!!"
A comely but irate redheaded woman stomps into the background.]
If you don’t shut that off, there’s going to be cats clawing at our window to check out who’s dying!
[Richie rips the record off, vein pulsing in his forehead.]
Music is dying, Bev! It's over! We've lost the war!
[She scoffs, disappearing once more. Richie looks to the camera.
He snaps the record in two with a malicious crack and tosses the pieces behind him.]
I don't know who allowed this to happen, but you ought to be ashamed of yourselves.
[The video cuts out. Please deposit your apologies and condolences below.]
