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  • So what's this story I hear you like to tell people? You compare me to an instrument, you claim to have played me like a grand piano, seducing me into obeying your every touch. But the truth is that I seduced you, right? Right. Yeah, you've never been able to resist a finely tuned instrument, especially one dressed in black and white. Alabaster skin, yes, I remember, you ran your finger down my naked arm, very lightly, and said the black fabric was a perfect contrast to my skin tone. How clever.

    You caressed my shoulders, tentatively, as if to get a sense of how to make me submit to your hands. When a Maestro is testing you, you don't hold back. I gave all that I had. My sound was impeccable, and you were unable to resist, you lost yourself in my timbre; I made you forget all about the note sheets. We struck a chord, all right; we hit the right note.

    You started out so cocky, didn't you, thinking you were in control. You played me so beautifully, like no one ever had before. But the music was a little too lovely, just a tad too delicate for my taste; I prefer music that bites. I decided to take over, and you played along for dear life, your hands desperately clinging to my body, I went full speed ahead and you could barely hang on. I had your full attention; I had your soul. You had to give in to the superior force, your hands broke into a rebellious gallop, your fingers like wild horses, feverish, furious, and the music was indescribable, detached from all scales and tonal systems. An eruption, this music, violent and unpolished. I think it took you by surprise, I think it shook you, you stopped playing so abruptly it left me trembling a little.

    You tried to collect yourself, you got up to leave. This instrument is high maintenance, you said, and much too expensive, there was no way you could afford it. When being calmly informed that this particular instrument was not for sale anyway, you headed for the door, quickly, but then you stopped and turned around, and the way you looked at me in that moment, the spark in your eyes, and the way your lips parted as you took a deep breath, I swear my knees were about to cave in. My body was still reverberating, a low buzz. The pitch was deep, like a roar, growling, like an undercurrent, yes, I knew what I was doing. I have seduced musicians before.

    You moved toward me, slowly. "How do you want it," you asked, presumptuously, "loud or soft?" Loud or soft; how about both. I watched your hands, I trembled, I felt your hands, I felt the storm rising, I felt the music, I still feel the music, I feel it. "Should I do another one, would you like another one?" God, yes.


    The video of Christopher O'Reilly playing "Karma Police" is worth watching, I promise, especially when he reaches the third minute. From then one...! Screw the story; just watch him play. Seriously.
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