There was a guitarist named Stanley who could play anything except what people wanted him to play, which made him either an artist or unemployed depending which side of the telephone he was standing on. Stanley spent twenty-seven years learning twelve-tone rows, Bulgarian wedding music, Howlin’ Wolf, Webern and several scales he’d invented himself because the existing scales began to seem suspiciously cooperative. None of that helped when he was hired to play a commercial for a company that manufactured frozen chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The producer said, “We want something edgy.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley played something edgy. “No, that’s too edgy.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley removed several edges. “Now it sounds sad.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley played something happier. “Too happy.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What emotion are the nuggets experiencing?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The producer stared at him. “The nuggets aren’t experiencing anything.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Then we’re making progress.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eventually six people entered the control room. Nobody introduced them, but they all had opinions. One represented the advertising agency, one the chicken company, one something called Brand Integrity and one appeared to have wandered in looking for a washroom but nevertheless disliked Stanley’s second attempt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
They formed a semicircle around the mixing console. “Could the guitar sound more purple?” somebody asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley had been in the music business long enough not to ask what this meant. He changed pickups. “Better.” Another man said, “We’re losing the dinosaur.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“There isn’t a dinosaur.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Exactly.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley began to understand that the purpose of the session was not to record music. The purpose was to allow seven adults to survive an afternoon without admitting that nobody knew what they were doing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
He played a single E. Everyone became excited. “That’s it.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Can you make it warmer?” Stanley played the E again. “Too warm.” Again. “That’s very close.” Again. “Could you give it more youth appeal?” Stanley moved the note up an octave. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Brand Integrity woman shook her head. “We tested high E with mothers.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley lowered it again. After three hours they had recorded fourteen versions of the same note. The producer congratulated everyone. “Fantastic session.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley packed his guitar. A week later the commercial aired. The music had been replaced by a ukulele. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley phoned the producer. “What happened?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“The client decided guitar was sending the wrong message.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“What message?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Complexity.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Stanley considered this. He had devoted most of his life to complexity and was impressed that he’d managed to communicate all of it with one E. The cheque arrived two months later. It was more money than he’d earned the previous year. He took the money and wrote a seventeen-minute piece for bass clarinet, prepared piano, electric guitar and the recorded sound of a microwave oven heating six dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. He called it *Variations on a Previously Approved E*. At the premiere eleven people attended. Three walked out. Two were musicians. One was his dentist. Afterward, an elderly woman approached Stanley and said, “I don’t know what that was, but the microwave section made me feel hopeful.” Stanley thanked her. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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