My band was asked to make a tape.
Do you remember those? Some people don't remember tapes. So I thought I'd explain them to you.
This is about evolution.
Music was once a thing that only existed when it was played by people on instruments like bongo drums and electric guitars.
And then music evolved to exist even when there were no instruments around.
LP's are the evolutionary precursor to "tapes". They can be used to dispute Intelligent Design, and, strangely, some of the foundations of natural selection. You see, before the LP was a vinyl cylinder. Music was recorded on it. The needle passed across it.
The LP is round. The needle moves from the outer part of the circle to the inner. As it moves out to in, there is an inevitable lean that warps the sound. It's imperceptible. Or, nearly. It's perceptible to some.
The cylinder's system was direct. Hill and dale, they called it. The lean was much, much slighter.
The round record is an example of a successful and yet inferior species.
If there was an intelligent designer, we'd still be using cylinders. They are superior.
And also natural selection is supposed to select for superior species.
I guess this is an example of mankind picking its favorites, messing with natural selection.
"Tapes" were the evolutionary stage between long playing records—made of a vinyl polymer—and the currently, slowly going extinct compact disc, which is also made of plastic. The "tape" first emerged from the trees in which long playing records lived. They were big round spools.
They evolved: a smaller size and exoskeleton made more sense, so they grew an outer shell through mutation, and the smaller, faster members of the species were selected out by nature. They ran quicker. They were better protected.
They thrived. For a while.
Now everything is ones and zeros, and exists in some sort of form without a body. It's all information.
Just like us. We'll be all information some day. Just like music.
Soon, I will try to explain the 8-track. Must study first. Until then, I won't be able to blog.
