Music Thesis

Chapter 1 - like a Tornado of Fire

What is music?

Is it a combination of notes? Is it a collection of parts that are more flexibly and dynamically fulfilling as a conglomerated whole than the sum of its parts? Is it supposed to be enjoyed as a form of entertainment that is technical? Or mellifluous? Can you enjoy music based on the theory of music? Or based on what it sounds like, if it sounds good, if you enjoy it, why you enjoy it, and what enjoying music as a form of entertainment - not based on its theoretical and technical analyses, but more on its enjoyment factor dependent on how you view the music you enjoy - means to you, specifically?

I ask this because not many people take this time to ask such a trivial query.

Including me.

Until I had met a figurant so self-contradictory it hurts just to even think about what or how he perceives himself as. He denies it, but he is a biromantic-asexual furry; a self-admittedly autistic and "different" electronic music composer; he's a complete nutjob, one of the most explosive people ever in the history of modern music in the world, who could get angry, and, in a fit of rage, destroy his house just to have the excuse that he does not have the equipment paramount or essential to craft the commission he had received from some dumbass and ineloquent fan with a no-manners attitude with a ridiculous personality who would justify bullying just to get what they wanted.

But, in my experience in the music journalism world and music as a whole, one of the brightest and wisest young music composers in all of music electronica.

Like a tornado of fire, he would take what he's got as an idea, work around it, listen to references just to find what he's trying to look for in the form of music, then wrap his mind around it, and then at the end of the job, he would've crafted and published some of the most innovative and modern music I'd ever encountered in my music journalism career since I started during the Nirvana years. The house are the ideas, and he is the tornado, and he would just burn through them like a knife in warm butter, until he's completely satiated with what he'd just burnt through, and then the crafted material, brilliant as a crystal diamond under shimmery dark moonlight, would merge with his tornado-self, from just another piece of material into another experience, and he would turn, from a tornado of fire into an astronomical nuclear holocaust of raining lava.

As to how he got around his workload, he is passionate as a little kid out to go by himself for the first time in his life alone to the candy store, and buy himself a bottle of pop. That is, if he is not badgered by those elitist "fans" of his who, while flattering in their complimentary words, hide in their casual and friendly banter and worship of that artist, a subliminal message asking him to consider giving them the best of himself. Asking the best of himself.

Our correspondence begins in a furry convention.

20XX. I was corresponding with actually a fellow composer of music electronica, an artist named "Kamex", another bisexual furry composer betrothed as "husband" to another talented composer, "Retrospecter", whose marriage I've booked a name over and will attend - and had attended by and at the time of writing this - both of whom identified in a stream a few odd years ago as "2 gay dragons".

By that time, me and Kamex had been corresponding for a while, and had just been corresponding over the commencing of the publishing of his biography, "A Life in Music and Dragonfucking", edited and written by me, Kamex, and a fellow music journalist who worked previously on a biography for Stephen King, whom he worked with.

Everything was going well: Kamex' biography had become a bestselling success on Amazon Kindle and Booktranscripts.com. And during that correspondence, Retrospecter turned up suddenly and out of nowhere, clamoring: "This guy! This (is) my dog! Dog for life! Bitch! The damn dog did it!" with his "hubby" responding with "Come on, honey, not in front of the fans - do not embarrass me in front of this many people". To which I responded with "This is who you're going to get married to? Boy, he surely must be fun at parties, right Retro?" to which he responded with "He makes me use contraceptives when during intercourse - we are both dudes!" to which then the group of people we were around with were laughing and yelling, people were going crazy, and I'm pretty sure I saw Kamex bitchslap Retro in a fit of embarrassed rage which inspired in Retro an arousal and excitement to which he pursued by kissing and scratching the back of Kamex at the parking lot alleyway. Yeah, that's right. I saw that, Kamex, you little kinky furry bureaucrat! Even in marriage, you gotta be holding something back; you were so unhinged and horny anyone could've seen you two's nastiness. At 2 in the afternoon, too - the literal busiest hour this side of San Diego. Dirty, perverted voyeurists.

Then after that nastiness, I was escorted to Kamex' car by Retro, both of whom were finished with their voyeuristic bullshit by the time I was invited.

Then pretty much out of nowhere, I heard a piece of music. Unassuming in its beginning. Played on the car's music player by Kamex.

"DM Dokuro, huh." said Retro. "You're looking for a good time, aren't you, you little minx?"

"You'd know what a minx is, Mr. Dragon." said Kamex.

I was a bit confused. Who was DM Dokuro? I couldn't help but ask as my curiosity went over the boiling point after 1 minute of keeping the question to myself.

"Um..." I said: "who's DM Dokuro?"

"What?" said Kamex. "You've no idea who DM Dokuro is?"

"Ummm, nope!" I said.

"You... being serious right now?" asked Retro.

"Eh, yep!" I said.

"Well..." said Kamex as he was tapping and rapping the wheel in a fit of excitement over now telling me who DM Dokuro is: "he's a music artist, right? He made this very track: "Infernal Catharsis"."

"He's relatively underground," said Retro: "but he's so good at what he does."

"Ok...?" I uttered in slight confusion.

"Wait, you never've heard about him in all our years of correspondence?" asked Kamex: "I thought you were a journalist!? Your job is to 'journal' what you know, and to learn what is there to journal!"

"Yes, it is." I said. "Very well-structured linguistic forensic work, Mr. Gay Dragon. But I've never heard about him in my 11 years of this job."

"I mean..." said Retro: "in fairness to you, he is underground, is he not? Plus, he works, or rather, worked on a soundtrack for a game called Terraria."

"Terraria." I said. "Terraria. Terraria, Terraria, Terraria. That rings a bell."

"There you go, Mr. Famous Music Critic." said Kamex.

"Oh go on, Kamex." I said. "Suck my dick."

"Hey," said Retro: "ask for consent first. Please. Then pull your pants down."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I said in frustration.