Preamble

Somewhere in flyover country, 1,090 feet above sea level, 10 feet underground, a Mac Mini feeds information to a 32″ television display. On the screen sits a TextEdit document filled with incoherencies. Next to it sits a recording suite, looping the same 16 seconds of synth-powered music over and over and over again. The three individuals…zoom in. The three individuals sitting around the console…farther. Yeah, those three. Those three individuals have been at it for hours, trying to write the perfect choral foundation to build their next favorite song upon. Josh is looking at rugby players on a tablet, shouting cliches and gems all at once. Aaron is pacing, singing melodies into his phone so as not to lose an idea to a cerebral computing error, and James, well James is lying face down mumbling into a pillow, “This is wrong, this is all wrong.”

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