Apple Say, Monkey Do: Confessions of an Itunes Harlot

The black and white photo of Friedrich Nietzsche in my front hallway is mocking me. He won’t even turn his head to acknowledge me when I come in the door. Okay, in the picture he’s turned sideways, doing his signature hair-pulling, moustache-twitching, brow-furrowing, bitter misanthrope pose, but there’s a nasty new vibe coming from him. Good Old Freddy is pissed at me because I’ve become a sheep. After years of resisting convention, reading Shakespeare for fun, refusing to buy impractical footwear or watch any movie entitled “Jackass”, I’ve tragically fallen in line.

Worse than a sheep, I’ve become a tramp. Months ago, I purchased a tiny little musical, metal square thing, hoping it would help me focus while I worked, and now I’m a first-rate trollop. I’ll download anything the media passes in front of me. Stuff I hear in the background of sitcoms. Stuff I hear in the car on the way to work. Hell, I download stuff I hear being used to sell odour eaters.

A year ago, I was one of those “I only listen to quality music.” jerks who scoffed at anyone who was a fan of pre-fab stuff. Okay, I listened to crap then too, but I didn’t make it public knowledge. A few weeks ago, I heard the Spice Girls would never reunite again, and I felt myself compelled to click a couple of buttons. I’m now the proud owner of an electronic version of “Wannabe”. Hadn’t I already freed myself from these shackles eons ago when I gave my copy of that CD away (when not even a second-hand place would buy it)? Hadn’t I risen above all of this and become my own, spice-free individual? BAAAA!

My inner Uberfrau is silenced every time I sell the space between my ears for the low, low price of a buck. For less than the cost of a cup of tea, they can have me listening to just about anything. My new cultural identity is tied to a device smaller than my credit card, which, incidentally, has also been dragged into this sad perversion of human individuality. Well, Freddy my friend, you can shove it in your Will to Power. George Michael’s greatest hits is coming out soon, and my mouse finger is itchy.