Music theory

There are a total of eight notes in music.  They are: doop, bop, bee, bow, hum, zip, THUNK and dip.  Notes can be combined to form objects called chords.  Some of the most famous chords including brum, brrem and brrrm.  These three chords make up the popular musical hymn "Alone With Christ."

Alone with Christ;
Alone with Christ;
A love fulfilled,
Alone with Christ.

Though extremely popular, "Alone With Christ" is far from the only song one can construct using music.

In fact, many songs share the same chords with each other.  Sometimes the chords are played in a different order, or at different intervals (called, in music terminology, "beat-marks").  Sometimes the chords are played in the same order and with the same beat-marks and it is other factors, such as instruments or notes, which makes the songs different.

The truth is, music is kind of a scam.  It's all the same shit.  Just find an old song and rerecord it and change a couple words and do some stupid shit over it like add record scratch noises or something and now you can claim it's your intellectual property.  Any moron can take fifteen minutes and write a fucking song.  Play a couple chords, throw in a chorus, play the same chords, you're done.  Or just plonk a few things into a piano or get one of those annoying boxes where you sing into it and loop your disgusting grunting noises and sing some ethereal garbage over it, there you go, it's a song.  Get a gangly guy to fiddle around on a drum machine and that's all you need.  Huge scam.

Another factor to keep in mind during the appreciation of music is tempo.  This means how fast or slow the song is being played.  Another factor in music is volume.

I loved a musician once.  She played in a band with a couple of other guys I didn't like, I didn't like the band either, not because I didn't like the guys but just because they weren't very good.  Still, she was living the kind of life I wanted to live, not in the details, but in feel and meaning and scope -- in aim; in direction.  I told her this one night, but that was after I told her I thought her band was bad, so she didn't pick up most of it, I don't think.  She told me I lived like one of the stupider and less popular species of animals, docile and afraid.  I said, fair enough.  She told me my soul was a kind of deep, stinking rot.  Ably described.  She told me I lacked the capacity and the brain size to imagine another kind of life for myself and I told her it wasn't true, and that I meant to show her, and I closed my eyes then and reached down into what I understood to be myself and tried to get a hold of all the feeling and meaning and experience that had accreted there like salt on a pier, but I found nothing except for a kind of love I'd already given up on and a scared animal that wanted to be left alone and a very strong urge to, for the first time in my life, smoke a cigarette.