Born in the cornfields of Argentina in 1953 as a result of the unclean union of a waitress and a pack mule, Counterpoint (which is merely an alias, true name is Pasquale Valdéz) was doomed to a difficult life. He fled from tyranny at the hands of Peruvian insurgents at the tender age of seven with the help of a kindly drug runner named Alejandro. Separated from his parents, he ended up in notoriously rough Rio de Janeiro, where he learned the art of street fighting and the trade of cosmetic surgery (specializing in sex change operations). In 1967 he emigrated to Switzerland, but possessing no formal medical degree, had difficulty finding employment. In 1969 he relocated again, this time to New York, hoping to adopt a trustworthy Jewish persona so he could practice medicine again. These dreams were shattered like a knocked donkey when he was mistaken for Nelson Mandela, dragged into a gutter and beaten nearly to death under suspicion of time traveling back to 1969 to begin his work on apartheid early. Allegedly, when interrogated, the only remark made to his assailants was "no u".
Not much is known about Counterpoint's whereabouts in 1970s, other than alleged sightings in Idaho, caught etching strange symbols into dead cattle, and at a haberdashery in Moscow. In 1982, he won first prize in the Monroe County Cake Walk. His glory years were 1983-87, during which he was a weekend weatherman on CBS and married a Honduran housecleaner named Consuela. In 1988 his career and marriage collapsed, which sent him into a severe psychotic episode. The next ten years were spent sleeping in bus stations and performing illegal surgeries in exchange for drugs. In 1998 he cleaned up his life by accepting Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior, and landed a book deal. He hopes to someday be a guest on the Oprah Winfrey Show.
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My issue is not so much with any given genre but with the entire situation surrounding 'popular music', which is basically music that serves only to (a.) induce purely escapist entertainment and (b.) cause people to spend money, be it on the band, the cross-marketed clothes, or the tour sponsers. I grew up as a rock musician and still play in a couple of prog-rock/avant-esque groups and the outer rock scene I deal with on a tangential basis, as a whole, is rotten to the core. The music is buried under Everest-sized heaps of b.s. related to publicity, magazines, club promoters, and a million other grubbing little hands that have never touched an instrument. Bands end up spending almost all of their time touring in direct competition with countless other acts and the artistry gets pushed way back on the shelf.
A fundamental requirement of music should be some level of disconnection with the social anxiety and economic tooling that corrupts the worst kind of musics - American Idol tat, gangster rap about using triple-beam scales and driving around in Hummers with Tec-9s, pithy country-pop songs, and genre-tailored rock songs with lots of long hair, eyeliner, and no melody whatsoever.
I've always maintained that auditing this and that part of classical music is almost missing the point. The other genres are responsible for dumping the most garbage in people's ears. Even if somebody's listening to bad classical music, it's still a miraculous leap beyond the tastes of the average 14-40 American dumbshit who's buying Avril Lavigne, Green Day and 3 Doors Down records at Target and Best Buy.