Dear Bass Fanatic
I pulled up to a stoplight today, and was surprised (as anyone would be) to find my bowels loosening. On further inspection, I found that my teeth were chattering as well, and my brainwaves were being forced into a subtle rhythm that made me slightly nauseated.
Heeeeey-Ya.
It was the Escalade (surprise!) stopped next to me at the stoplight. At first I assumed that there was something horribly awry in the engine compartment, but then I realized that the driver seemed to be actually enjoying the testicle-shrivelling rhythm. So…
Dear Bass Fanatic: I want you to know that I’m saying this because I care. About my own reproductive organs, of course, but also about your musical deprivation, because I’m such a philanthropist.
There is a whole world of notes out there – entire octaves – that you are missing out on. And not just notes, either, oh no; lyrics, too.
Maybe your stereo was installed improperly. Maybe nobody ever told you that that little knobs marked “BASS” and “VOL” actually turn – counterclockwise – to produce an entire world of musical possibilities that don’t make your fellow male motorists feel like they’re constantly on the freefall ride at Six Flags.
I implore you to experiment with these knobs…. before your bassline ruptures my spleen.
Love,
Pip
