With nothing better to do than become immersed in the entire Saturday newspaper, virus-calibrated cogs of my brain worked like a slide rule to juxtapose articles I'd been reading into strange configurations.
An article on copyright and artificial intelligence, calling out big tech for stealing absolutely everything from absolutely everyone to 'train' AI, merged with one by a TV writer bemoaning the fact that her now-grown children had left home, and there was now nobody there to 'inspire' her scripts. Nobody there to steal from, she meant.
It's not an enormous conceptual leap to land squarely in the lap of songwriters, plundering our private lives for our lyrics. Our ex-partners anxiously scan the words of our songs to see if they are there (often they are not: who wants to give them additional publicity?). Sometimes our songs explain things to us that we didn't know: we think we are writing about one thing, and year later we realise we'd been articulating something else entirely.
Our 'secret' method of communicating in lyrics and music still involves the plundering of episodes that half-belong to other people. One side of a story becomes a story; one person holds up a mirror to the other, but it's a mirror that they made themselves. A bit like A1 reflecting the interests of the tech bros, or rather, the self interests. An avenue of fairground crazy mirrors, it twists the way we'd like to see ourselves into something hideous, which perhaps we are.
Oh, now it has become too complicated. I'm going back to sleep.
1 comment:
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