Sex? No thanks, I’m an artist

Last week my brother and I were riding home when a troublesome noise came over the radio. Some poor fellow was singing about taking his clothes off because the club he happened to be in was warm. After listening for several seconds longer than was necessary, I concluded that the song was bad, and requested the station be changed.

“No!” protested our passenger, my brother’s young girlfriend, “I like this song!”

Well, I’d never really credited that girl with good taste in anything, and now she proved herself incapable of selecting decent music as well. By the time we’d finished arguing the song had finished and the whole debate had become moot point, or so I thought.

It seems as though there is a great demand for bad music among today’s youth, for when the next song came on, it too was about clubs and sex. Again an argument ensued and this time the station was changed despite useless protests reminiscent of France’s antiwar policy.

We settled upon some collection of oldies from the ’80s, only to discover that “having it bad for teacher” also made for poor subject matter. This was my moment of epiphany. The realization that followed was that sex makes for bad music.

The rest of that day was spent in a wondering haze. My mind could not focus on anything around me as it tried to cope with the ramifications of this newfound discovery. Suddenly everything started making sense. I now understood why it was that groups started to show a considerable decline in talent after their first several releases–they’d gotten groupies. It would seem as though the Sex Factor–as I was beginning to call it–was powerful indeed.

I started tuning into the radio intently, hoping to confirm my theory. For days I sat listening to the pop station, reveling in the sheer lack of quality in today’s music. I listened gaily as nearly every one of these precious jewels of feces reeked of sex, or came from musicians who surely were fond of the beast with two backs–or three or four depending on the “artist.”

Suddenly my theory was jeopardized as Madonna came on the air. Madonna has achieved some degree of artistic heights in her day, and her explicit sexual nature was contradicting my theory. It then occurred to me that perhaps the opposite was true of female performers–they become more artistic when exposed to sex. This would explain why the “Virgin-till-I’m-married” performers produced such truckloads of crap before they abandoned their chastity and now produce songs that have fallen off the radio, which I’m no longer required to listen to.

Yes, it seems as though the Sex Factor is in fact ubiquitous throughout the music industry. Even now as I put this remarkable theory to paper, I can hear the horrid sounds that resulted from the free-love period playing over the oldies station in the adjacent room. I can only hope that Viagra doesn’t make too much headway among musicians.

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