An abandoned warehouse was the destination as I caught a ride with the head of R&D of the predominate audio-weapons manufacturer. We pull in and exit the pristine new black SUV, enter the building, and then begin to descend on what appears to be a wooden pallet with cases of beer.
Upon reaching the sub-basement the first machine was unveiled. "Atomic Heels" approached with a menacing tone, but soon kicked into a vocal life lesson. At the end of the demonstration I was sure there was a profession I was destine for that wasn't this. Test successful. Strutting with to the second machine "Last Believer, Drop Dead", there was a misdirection with this demonstration. Perhaps a rage enhancer would be on the docket, and for the first 1:28 I was sure I was right. Indeed misdirection was the game, the narrow tone that was had took us to the battlefield of spirituality. I walked away unscathed due to my atheist beliefs.
Third machine, "Have I Run Out", was slow to start and didn't offer any audio assault that was worth noting. In addition the build up didn't pay off to the climax, which unfortunately didn't come soon enough. "Underneath The Concrete", which in reality we were, was next to demonstrate. It sent vibes through me that made me feel as if John Cusack was drawing animations next to me at a summer get-away. The nostalgia machine was in top notch form. The fifth machine fired up for my assessing. In my eyes appeared my long lost love from a decade ago. Breathy voices were talking but all I could focus on was her. Five and on half minutes later, she was gone. "Now You're Gone" had lived up to its name, and more.
Trying to shake this incident from my head I ventured forward. I was warned about the machine "The Walls Are Starting To Crack", however after a slow start the demonstration derailed into an annoying clutter of sound. There were redeeming points, but as a whole, it was less than effective. Once again I was treated to a nostalgia machine. "I Never Thought To Ask" blared its audio assault on the auditors, and proved to be as deadly as a mediocre hair-band ballad. This one was worth passing unless the enemy was drunk and freshly dumped. Final machine, the make or break of this project. The switch falls and we are hit with a heavy audio attack. 1:50 hits and the repetitive face kicking ceases. Solace at last. Which is short lived when the chorus comes back with punishing riffs. It felt as if we had been water-boarded for 10 straight minutes when the last of the sound cannon finished us off with what can only be described as stellar noise.
I awoke in my penthouse condo with receipts form contracts apparently signed by myself. These machines would see production on my account whether I remembered or not. We can only hope they are used for good, instead of evil. I can't say this will be the same for you, but that is how it happened for me.