"Dear Mr. Edison: I am astonished and terrified at the results of this evening's experiment. Astonished at the wonderful form you have developed and terrified at the thought that so much hideous and bad music will be put on records forever." -- Sir Arthur Sullivan.
Returning to his stool he relit his cigar, which had gone out. Eight o’clock, and the place was dead. They must have known it was my birthday, he thought ruefully. The band was to start at eleven, for some reason. Maybe he’d hang around, listen to some music for a change. Although he had to say, most of what passed for music today left him cold. No lyrics or melodies. Say what you would about some of the shit he’d grown up listening to, at least you could find a tune in there somewhere, usually. But now…what had happened? -- Chapter 31, The Misforgotten.