Telekom Electronic Beats

Audioccult Vol. 118: MP3 Sharing Is A Taste Crime

Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: SHALTMIRA

Hey! Thanks for inviting me over! I’m really glad we finally have a chance to do this; I know we’ve been talking about it since forever, but, haha, that’s always how this shit goes, right? Wellll, I brought my laptop and my portable hard drive, so let’s get music-swapping!

Mmn. ……. ………. ……… Mmhm. Oh wow. No, sorry; I just didn’t realize your taste ran along these lines. I’ve never seen quite so many Jessie J mp3s in one place that wasn’t a 7-year old’s iPod mini. Oh, the RAP folder with a single Macklemore remix and an .html file called JACK BLACK CAKE FARTS. Can I have a second to make some extra space on my hard drive? Your music taste and your MP3 (and .MOV, what the literal fuck) folders are dog shit crap, my MP3 folders will wallop the piss directly out of their nads and essentially fart fuck hell, my brother. Here’s you when I look at you now (maybe forever?):

You: Mnarh I like bands who base their career out of trying to be like anemic indie-electro versions of James Blake

Me: *pushes you over and moves your music folder to the trash*

Where do I get the authority, you ask? That’s an ask I’m glad to take to task: I may have cut my teeth in the hellhole that is the American Midwest, but since I was eighteen (considered an adult in many places, including Europe, not that I wasn’t reading at a high school level at the age of ten anyway, so yeah there’s that) I’ve lived in a variety of places—Los Angeles, Brooklyn, Vegas, Berlin, the works. I didn’t just move to the city last week, shiteyes. I’ve met more musicians than you can imagine, and I’ve checked out plenty of books on the subject from the high school (again, age ten). Look at this idiot baby who thinks a prima vista is a pasta sauce. So maybe you don’t quite know what you’re talking about when you say that music taste is ‘totally subjective’. I’ve been music download MP3 perfect until the cows come, homie, so moOOOOve over while I stop the torrents on your and download you some dignity.


I see you have some Mozart here. You ever see Amadeus? 1984 film about Mozart? Uh hurf uhrr burr, Mozart, what a wild jaunt into the realms of music you’ve taken, ffUCKK I love seeing the smug look of superiority disappear from people’s faces when I prove to them that classical music is actually for uncultured idiots (HUGE classical CD rack at Walmart—don’t everyone say DUHHH at once. You ever even seen an oboe? Horrible looking thing). In the film, Salieri is discussing Mozart’s “Serenade No. 10”: “On the page it looked nothing. The beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse— bassoons and basset horns—like a rusty squeezebox. Then suddenly—high above it—an oboe, a single note, hanging there unwavering, till a clarinet took over and sweetened it into a phrase of such delight! This was no composition by a performing monkey! This was a music I’d never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfillable longing, it had me trembling. It seemed to me that I was hearing the very voice of God telling me Daniel’s friend is a piss bleep asperger cumwad with the musical taste of a Deviantart page and I fucking want to destroy them.” In any proper record store in any civilized city on the god damned planet they would spit cobra venom in your eyes the second you walked in and set off the alarm that tells them when someone who has been to more than two nerd-rap shows comes in.


Your worst crime? The folder labeled ‘turnt up tunes’. Die Antwoord? Major Lazer? I can get more turnt than this with two turntables behind my back, each of them playing a slowed-down record scratch of a voice going DOUCHE. Check out these tracks: stink gargle. Shartnards. Don’t look up at me from your putrid pile of pilfered pop with the “ooo the music is so good” look on your face because I’m mentally saving it and adding stink lines and a mustache I made out of toilet seat hairs. You suck, fucker.

You know what, screw this. I’m going to post a photo of this complete garbage pigshit; that way as soon as he leaves and enters the streets where actual people try to walk and live, you can point and laugh. FUCK THIS GUY:


Published August 22, 2014. Words by Daniel Jones.