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Monday, February 22, 2010

"I Can't Got No Satisfaction."

English: David Bowie at the Area2 Festival, Sa...Image via Wikipedia
"Satisfaction!" I yelled. "Satisfaction!" I yelled again. Thrice I yelled, "Satisfaction!"....before giving a quick flick of my hair and saying "I can't get no!" to give my displeasure as much impact as one can get in a store full of teenagers who seemed older than the lad at the counter, the very same lad at the counter who raised my ire instead of my spending wrist.
This happened some 18 months ago. I went in there, in good faith, to buy a $20 iTunes card for each of my children. Not a big ask, I know, but this young lad had obviously only read the sections of his conditions of employment that involved being an intrusive and pushy little pillock and bleed as much real and potential future money from anyone within the confines of the store.

With me, he failed. I saw to it that he failed in spades. I was already in there, so I figured I wasn't going to make it a TOTAL waste of time.

He failed so well that my mood transgressed anger and found it's way to sarcasm, sarcasm that was not wasted on 'all the young dudes' in the shop. They looked like they'd forgotten that they were actually alive when I entered the shop, looking at tiny objects in their hand with a somewhat "I'm dead"-look & pressing them for some sort of response. (Perhaps they were broken).

I was first aware that I'd grabbed their attention at the point where, after being given a very basic maths lesson by the young 'house boy' at the counter on how much better $50 is because it gets me more than $20 (!), I slightly raised my voice & went 'camp' for effect. "Listen love," I said. "I know that 50 is a bigger number than 20. I'd like TWO smaller numbers! There's a good boy." I could hear poorly-muffled chuckles from various areas of the shop.

What this kid at the counter didn't know about me was that it took me some time to

contain myself enough just to go in there in the first place & had it not been for my children I wouldn't have been in there at all. I cased the joint from across the street first, saw where the counter was & waited until the coast was clear before darting in and 'claiming' it. Shops like that give me the creeps. There's nothing at all in this particular shop that I want to buy....except for 'two of the small numbered ones' for my kids.

After the hapless house boy had settled down enough, he asked me the strangest question. As he was punching numbers in left, right & centre he asked, "Phone number?" I said "Yes." Then he asked me for my phone number! I said "What for?!?!" I was aghast. "For follow-up service." How can follow-up service be conducted on two of the small numbered ones? The only obvious thing that I could think of was that they call later & ask if you had any regrets about not getting two of the bigger numbered ones.

This all whizzed through my head in an instant, which was the same amount of time that it took my sarcasm & my 'audience' to return. Taking my receipt, as the 'camp' voice returned, I said "It's 7391563.....but I'm not home, lovey." As I turned, ruffled my hair again & deliberately minced out of the shop, 'all the young dudes' actually MADE EYE CONTACT with me, smiling & nodding. I couldn't help but give one last look towards them over my shoulder & say, "Well, awwrriiigghhtt."

I AM NOT A SAFE PERSON TO BE IN A SHOP WITH.

The above incident happened because I was out of my depth. Shopping for something musical shouldn't be an out-of-depth experience. Sure, I didn't fully know what I was asking for but the unpleasantness of that was compounded by 'generation-whatever' mentality. He almost had me backed into a corner but I wasn't having it. It became a game that; a game where I ended up changing the rules; a game that should not be created. Had he been a good salesperson, I may well have ended up buying two of the bigger numbered ones.

When I buy my music I make sure that it's in a place where I'm not going to be asked if I'm

dying. "Are you alright, Sir?" "No! I've got a pneumothorax! Can't you tell, record-store person?" If I'm looking for a particular album or artist, I go straight to the counter. If I'm browsing and an employee looks like approaching me before I've been there 5 minutes, I leave. Call me old-fashioned.

I mentioned 'generation-whatever' above. I did so to display my lack of knowledge in the area & my reason for this. My lack of knowledge stems from my overwhelming lack of interest. Are we now going to 'categorise' our own children based on research that is becoming so awestruck by buzz-words that the full & true impact of many terms & conditions are not absorbed.

I mentioned the term 'all the young dudes' earlier. I used this term deliberately. For those of you who aren't aware, "All The Young Dudes" is a song written by David Bowie & released by Mott The Hoople in 1972. The track is a glam-rock icon that not only did kids of that era identify with, it was a song that people of older generations associated with them.

Labeling people dependent on when they were born and what technology is/was available to them seems very two-dimensional, almost patronising. I don't know how to use a Blackberry or what an Android is because I don't want to, not because I can't. For all of those techno-boffins reading this and sniggering smuggly, try finding your way around my mixing desk blind-folded. Given equal time, I'm sure we would both manage to figure out how to 'drive' each others gizzmos. The question would still remain. Why?

This is where I have a major gripe with the large organisations flooding the market with gadgets that merely 'deliver' sound. (This is still remotely a music blog, remember?). Your iPod or Blackberry can hold more music than you'll probably listen to & fit in your pocket. If you want to play it without headphones (perish the thought, that'd be sociable), simply place it in an almost as small docking station with its matchbox-sized speakers and off you go. Party!!!

Whilst oh, so, convenient & 'tidy,' this writer is left wondering how convenient & tidy things actually need to be....and I'm not talking exclusively about music.

Recently a friend of mine, artist Stuart Reeman, and I were talking about ebooks. The conversation arose as I'm actually contemplating writing one....but only contemplating at this stage. As we are prone to do, we took the concept a few steps further. The prospect of an ebook that transmits its content from a small headset onto your hand. As the conversation progressed it became somewhat exaggerated, with people being accused of reading over someones' shoulder from 20kms away as one transmitted their ebook content on low clouds.

Slimline digital photograph holders are also commonplace these days. Instead of a cosy assortment of photographs sitting around the place, you have one single holder with your favourite photographs being shown at intervals. Painting and photographs on your walls can now be replaced by projected images. No more dusting and; extortionate framing. Even your television and video/DVD viewing is projected onto a vacant wall.

These technological advancements are, without doubt, ergonomic. Many people seem to like this. I'm not so sure that I'd like my house to have a room that can be devoid of music, photos, TV and paintings almost instantly.



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