As soon as I returned home from Klaudio’s, where I was subjected this evening by playful friends to the greatest hits of our time, indeed classics of popular culture, such as the best of Talking Heads, Madonna, and Radio Head, I put on a compact disk with shepherds’ music from the high plateaus of Anatolia. After a few minutes, I feel my own self. I feel cleansed. And I feel the ground under my shaky feet once again. When will the gems of my own culture, such as it has become, ever do this for me, I wonder? Mind you, I am not facetious at all. Not in the least. In fact, I am rather contrite about my untoward proclivities.

Addendum I (August 9, 2017)

So many years later, I cleanse myself from awful European and American music by listening to Asian or African music ever more often. The closer to the hearth, the better. More often than not, the music from the so-called west strikes me as horrendous. If I am exposed to it for too long, I can hardly wait to return home for a bout of cleansing. Miraculously, listening to one of my favorite compact disks dispels the horror quite quickly. In fact, it takes me about a quarter of an hour to feel whole once again. By now, I avoid the classics of popular culture like the plague. But I am far from contrite about my proclivities any longer. Not in the least.

Addendum II (February 4, 2024)

To my horror, my troubles with so-called popular music are getting worse as I am getting older. First of all, it strikes me as nothing but kitsch—the entertainment of the common folks (“On Popular Music,” April 6, 2023). More important, all of it strikes me as fake—that is, false, bogus, phony, counterfeit, faux, sham, and even fraudulent. Indeed, it is put together not only to entertain the hoi polloi, but also to gain fame, fortune, and sexual favors (“The Three Fs,” May 31, 2000). Whence my need for cleansing upon return home, I reckon. And the best remedy are ethnographic recordings of music from Asian and African tribes far removed from this spurious civilization. Sadly, though, I am exposed to popular music ever more often. Wherever I go, it can be heard loud and clear, as well as without any respite. Over and over again, my only solace is my fabulous collection of compact disks at home. Alleluia!