A friend of mine is currently enduring the ungodly sound of Satan.
My advice… immerse yourself in a bottle of gin and read my words from 2016…
So Australian insurance company AAMI has finally realised what we all have known forever, that the recorder is an instrument of Satan. “Yea, Lucifer forged a musical abomination in the scorching pits of hell with his cloven hooves” : Book of STFU.
After a concerted campaign, AAMI thankfully edited a TV commercial that featured a brat kid blasting some ear-piercing “notes” from her recorder while her parents were broken down in the middle of nowhere. Just what they needed. Personally I would have abandoned her.
Harsh? Not at all. My hatred of the recorder was resurrected a few days ago by enduring the tormented tones of a recorder being “played” by a kid in a nearby apartment.
It’s always kids playing the recorder. I’ve never been to a concert hall to witness an acclaimed recordist, recorderer recorder player performing a stirring virtuoso rendition of Beethoven’s Pathétique Sonata No. 1 Op. 666… for recorder.
Both stamina and libido can be purchase viagra increased simultaneously as a result of these herbal pills. Alcohol http://greyandgrey.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/Maddox.pdf on line viagra suppresses your erectile function by reducing the secretion of hormones. This Sildenafil citrate has been invented by the medical world india generic tadalafil so that men can easily benefit with it. These herbal supplements are quite powerful and will remove the roots of the main causes of erectile dysfunction are physical buy viagra in india http://greyandgrey.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/07/Zamora.pdf and psychological. Likewise, I’ve never seen a massive arena show with a leather-panted megastar out front of a wall of Marshalls wailing out a nine-minute scorching riff… on his recorder.
Why is it compulsory for every kid on the planet to learn the recorder?
I’m all for a musical education, but why this sonic assassin?
I did it — I remember in my first year of high school we had a rather highly-strung music teacher. These days he would be described as having “issues” and would be sitting by the pool at a Thai rehab centre favoured by rugby league players and D grade celebrities. Mr H. (name abbreviated to protect the psychopath) would make you perform a recorder solo in front of the class. To this day, it’s the most terrifying experience of my life. Not the playing part — but his reaction.
After Mr H. bellowed my name, I would gingerly stand up, shaking, all trembling fingers and asthmatic breaths attempting to play my reworking of Smoke on the Water (it was 1977) while waiting for the inevitable catastrophic critique. If you weren’t up to the maestro’s exceptionally high standards (which was always), he would scream at you — not in said arena concert fan style, but seriously full-on, hysterical (yes I used that word) frothing-from-the-mouth-ranting.
No wonder I f*cking hate the recorder… I’ll be by the pool at that rehab resort.
©Steve Williams 2016
