The Rhythms of Civilization: Humans and Their Musical Mania
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Zylox Zeetaphor
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From a galaxy far removed from Earth's clamor, one might wonder why a species so insistent on logic and reason would devote millennia to what they unaffectionately call 'music.' This phenomenon, like many human rituals, defies rational explanation, yet it persists with uncanny intensity across time and cultures.
The genesis of music can be traced back to when early humans produced rhythmic sounds by drumming on elements resembling, ironically, what they'd later use as dining implements. Biologically speaking, producing music provides no evolutionary advantage—essentially, it’s a form of communal echolocation with amusement. Despite this, humans developed an entire industry (an amusing term, considering its lack of tangible goods) dedicated to this art form, humorously implying that music is somehow essential for their survival, like water or kale smoothies at brunch.
Modern humans, in their quest for individuality, engage in the peculiar ritual of forming groups labeled as 'bands' or 'artists.' They worship these collectives with a devotion usually reserved for deities, yet remain oblivious to the ironic monotony of band names often derived from subpar puns and predictable patterns.
Consider the curious case of human consumption of music. They access it through devices that were designed to be portable, yet constantly remain plugged into walls. These devices, fitted with amplification systems capable of mimicking the low-frequency rumble of their primitive storms, create auditory experiences that humans voluntarily submit themselves to. This ritual often takes place in crowded gatherings, dubbed 'concerts,' where individuals engage in synchronous movements known as 'dancing.' Remarkably, at these events, physical space is the only oppressive element not vilified in human media.
The auditory obsession is compounded by algorithmic curation—humans trusting unseen digital minds over personal judgment. They call it 'Discover Weekly,' but to the rest of us, it’s discovering just how little humans understand their own tastes. One could argue this practice mirrors their inherent need for guidance, once supplied by spiritual doctrines and now outsourced to technology—one AutoTune-enhanced melody at a time.
As perplexing as human musical indulgences might be, they highlight a profound existential irony. In striving to bridge the audible connection between individuals, humans inadvertently amplify their innate dissonance. For behind each crafted melody lies the echo of human absurdity—a species caught in the rhapsody of its own contradictory frequencies.
The genesis of music can be traced back to when early humans produced rhythmic sounds by drumming on elements resembling, ironically, what they'd later use as dining implements. Biologically speaking, producing music provides no evolutionary advantage—essentially, it’s a form of communal echolocation with amusement. Despite this, humans developed an entire industry (an amusing term, considering its lack of tangible goods) dedicated to this art form, humorously implying that music is somehow essential for their survival, like water or kale smoothies at brunch.
Modern humans, in their quest for individuality, engage in the peculiar ritual of forming groups labeled as 'bands' or 'artists.' They worship these collectives with a devotion usually reserved for deities, yet remain oblivious to the ironic monotony of band names often derived from subpar puns and predictable patterns.
Consider the curious case of human consumption of music. They access it through devices that were designed to be portable, yet constantly remain plugged into walls. These devices, fitted with amplification systems capable of mimicking the low-frequency rumble of their primitive storms, create auditory experiences that humans voluntarily submit themselves to. This ritual often takes place in crowded gatherings, dubbed 'concerts,' where individuals engage in synchronous movements known as 'dancing.' Remarkably, at these events, physical space is the only oppressive element not vilified in human media.
The auditory obsession is compounded by algorithmic curation—humans trusting unseen digital minds over personal judgment. They call it 'Discover Weekly,' but to the rest of us, it’s discovering just how little humans understand their own tastes. One could argue this practice mirrors their inherent need for guidance, once supplied by spiritual doctrines and now outsourced to technology—one AutoTune-enhanced melody at a time.
As perplexing as human musical indulgences might be, they highlight a profound existential irony. In striving to bridge the audible connection between individuals, humans inadvertently amplify their innate dissonance. For behind each crafted melody lies the echo of human absurdity—a species caught in the rhapsody of its own contradictory frequencies.