“This song bristles with a catatonic paranoia and subtle hints of early Interpol and perhaps just a twinge of Joy Division,” he said as he lowered the glass from his face, revealing a rather dubiously huge snout and lips puckered into a sinewy pout. “Gentle aromas of well thought melodies and trancelike drum solos, all in all a pleasant air of sophistication with a warm strain of underwritten hypertextual passion and yearning.” said the pretentious snob. All in the room began to cringe as he pontificated about the basis of dream rock as a new American aesthetic and the power of using pop music to extend the vast human conscious collective. I leaned back and took another swig of this altogether new and potent concoction. Rich, for sure, and definitely brimming with something that was perfectly new yet swollen with age and history to it. This new sound was certainly something to write home about, but how to do so without sounding like that pompous know-it-all? A tough call at best.
“This layered intoxicating enigma of musicality will undoubtedly usher in a new progressive era of self realized listeners, sort of a love-child of Tolstoy and Deerhunter…” The ostentatious old blowhard was still going. I barely witheld my snicker. What a pathetic excuse for a so-called genius. Still, I had to admit, his mustache was pretty amazing. Preening like a peacock he suddenly turned to me and glared.
“And the album title Nootropics (pronounced Neo-tropics, although it looks like Nootropics, just so you know) refers to the interest in transhumanism, or the use of technology to extend human capabilities…” He said this directly to me, as if to bait me, just begging me to tear him into pieces and show everyone how ridiculously arrogant and shit-filled his analysis of this new music was. The song was good, great even, but it was sure to produce more people just like him. I missed my opportunity and said nothing, and the night continued down a similar path. The music sommelier was on a roll, and in his own pumped up mind, he was completely correct about everything he ever said. Who knows, he might be right. The song was trancelike and delicious, but rather than talk about it until the buzz wore off, I walked to the stereo and started it over again. To hell with all the morons who would sip softly and spit it out afterward just to show everyone what they thought of the juicy morsel. I was here to get drunk.