Music Monopoly

            “Here’s three hundred.  Now, hand it over.”

                “Pacific Avenue, coming right up.”

                Six people huddled over the game board, hypnotized by the rolling dice.  It was just another one of their usual get-togethers, an opportunity to commune and to exercise their new rights as young adults to stay out however late they wanted.  It was just a harmless game of Monopoly.

                “Aw, too bad, now shell over those twelve bucks.”  One added in twelve to their calculated assets as another subtracted twelve.  Unlike traditional games, they were using calculators to keep track of their cash to speed up the process. They understood how a slow-paced game of bill trading could easily put one to sleep this late in the night, or, rather, early in the morning.  It was the same game, with a minute technological twist.

                “Alright, hurry up and roll- it’s not like we’ve got all night or anything!” jaunted one.

                “Just shut up and hand me the dice,” retorted another as he was slowly passed the die.  He balled them up in his fist and began to shake his hands together vigorously.  The dice cackled in his hands as they were turned helplessly in every direction.  He let them fly.

                 Nine.

                “Well, too bad I already own that property.”  The dice were passed on.  The next player took them into his fists and began shaking the numbers up.

                “You know, statistically, seven should be the most common number rolled.”

                “Will you just go on and throw the dice already!”  He did.

                Two.

                “If we were playing craps, snake eyes!”

                “How do you play craps, anyways?”

                “I dunno- does anybody?”

                “Naw, I don’t think anybody really knows.  They just go up to the table, pull out their money, throw the dice, and accept whatever the guy with the stick does.  I’ll bet he just randomly chooses where to push the money chips around to even.”

                “Park Place.  Hmm.  I think I’ll take it.”  He subtracted three hundred and fifty from his calculator as he was passed the deed.

“Oh well, doubles- roll again.”  He took them in hand again, and gave a quick shuffle before letting them dance across the board.

                “Two again!  What are the chances of that?”

                “One in one thousand two hundred ninety-six.”

                “Never mind,” said one as she let her voice trail off.

                “Well, let’s see.  Mortgage New York Avenue and that’ll put me at six hundred thirty-three dollars… Subtract four hundred, now pass me the big money!”

                “You had to have had those dice rigged or something.  Nobody ever takes a monopoly of Park Place and Boardwalk on the same turn!”

                “Wow, and I still have just enough for a house on one…”

                “No fair!”

                The game continued for a while longer as interest in the game itself grew less.  Soon enough, before anybody could begin going bankrupt, they began to doze off.  There was no declared winner, but indeed, they enjoyed the night.  A little bit of friendly property hassling did them all a little bit of good, but to one, it put an idea into his head.

                Tappa tappa tap tappa tap tap tappa tappa tappa tap tap.  Silence.  Click click.  Silence.  Bang.  Silence.  Click.  Tappa tappa tappa tap tappa tappa tap tap tap tappa tap tappa tappa.  Click click.  Silence.  Bang.  Silence.  Click.  Tappa tappa tap tap tappa…

                He sat at his computer typing away, trying to accomplish something.  He kept trying.  He kept failing.  Bang!  He slammed his fists onto the desk again after another failed attempt. 

“How?  How am I supposed to write a stupid little simple function with this incompetent program!?!”  He hit the desk in another futile attempt to have the desk sooth him.

He hadn’t slept in a few nights- and nor had the tea maker- and nor had the toilet, for that matter.  He was determined to get this computer to do what he wanted.  It was easy on his older model.  In fact, he had even done so- but the process was so slow that it would’ve taken another ten years to complete his idea.  He figured his idea well worth ten years.  No, he needed a faster computer.  And thus, he got this one- the fastest one out on the market.  It would still take a few months to finish everything up, but patience always pays off.

He paused for a moment.  The radio had another announcement to make.  “Leading pop group Prophet of Revenue has announced its retirement and break-up as of this Monday.  Lead singer Trea Egapo says the split will be devastating.  She also admits that she doesn’t know how or if she will be able to continue her life.”

He leaned over and clicked the radio off as he let out a faint snicker.  He shook his head and muttered to himself, “Just wait.”

He glanced back at his computer screen and read over the commands he had typed in already.  He read over them again.  What next?  He had tried transferring his old program’s commands to his new computer, but soon found that the new software was incompatible with the older version.  Stupid technology.  Why was everything new so much more complicated than before?  He began at the top again and perused every syllable he had typed.  Hmm- he hadn’t noticed that before.

Tappa tappa tappa tap tap tappa tappa tap tap tappa tappa tap.  Silence.  Click click.  Silence.

“So, you want another one?”

“Yup.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How many of those things you got, anyhow?”

“A lot.”

“And just exactly how many is ‘a lot,’ sir?”

“Well, exactly, I’m not entirely sure,” he said with a grimace spreading over his face.  He was almost done with his plan.

“What on earth are you talking about? Just give me a direct number so I can get it all into the system right.”

“Do you know how high infinity is?”

“Yeah, sorta. Why?”

“Subtract one.”

“Now, c’mon, sir- get real.  You’re holding up the line.  How many of those do you have?”

“Hold on just a second, then.”  He pulled out a piece of paper and pencil.  He laid the paper out on the desk.  At the top left corner, he wrote a four.  “Excuse me for a second,” he said as he gripped the pencil like a dagger.  He began jack hammering the pencil onto the paper, marking dots sporadically everywhere.  The man behind the desk eyed him suspiciously.

“Now what is the meaning of…” He cut off the man with a motion of his unused hand.  After thirty more seconds, and a few hundred more dots, he stopped his spasmodic motion and gripped the pencil more normally.  At the bottom right corner of the paper now covered in dots, he wrote in, “. = 0.”

“That’s how many of these I have.”

The jaw of the man behind the counter dropped.   “There’s no way in Hades that you could have written so many different pieces of music- much less copyright…”

He pulled onto the counter a laptop, which caused the man to quit speaking mid-sentence.  He pressed a button and the screen lit up, revealing a musical score.  On it, you could see a hundred measures, each full of thirty-second notes.  He pressed a button.  The screen began cycling through different scores, each preceding score with only a minute change to it, causing the entire cycle to look like a sort of cartoonist movie.  The man behind the counter slumped back down in his chair in defeat, eyes glazed over in disbelief.

“You see, in essence, I do just want to copyright a bit of music.  I am sorry- I did mislead you a little bit, but can you imagine how far I would have gotten, or rather, not gotten, if I had told you I was here to copyright all music?”

The man behind the desk slowly moved his head upwards, eyes still glazed, “Paper or plastic?”

“You see, no matter how free and limitless music seems, there is still a bound.  A limit of notes, a limit of time, a limit of skilled players is evident to anybody that cares to glance into the realm of music.  Endless possibilities.  Though, even a bird thinks it can go anywhere until it runs into the bars.  I have shown you that the end is not near- it is here.  Every piece of music ever to be pieced together by a mastermind such as Mozart or Beethoven is right here, in my hands.  I do not publish those which have already been created before me.  But of all the musical genius to come- I have exploited it all.  It is mine.  I am the musical genius, the last of them all.  I have mastered every limit of the marriage of pitch and time.”

With that, he switched off the television.  He was pleased to see that his interview with the press went well.  Already, he had sued many of the biggest pop stars that tried to publish music immediately after his success.  They had not known it yet- but it was indeed a copyright infringement- to his benefit.  He was nice though- only took from them enough- and left enough to live for a while, but not enough to live for the rest of their lives.  They would have to go get jobs and support society soon.  Flapping vocal cords was one thing, but flapping them and making a million bucks?  Outrageous!  He worked to make his money- he worked hard.  He wanted to make sure that if anybody else were to accumulate any sort of fortune, they would have to work for it.  Nearly work themselves to death.  Yes, he was pleased.

Not only was he pleased with his plan, but he was pleased with his current state of affairs as well.  Drip.  He felt a morsel of moisture plop onto his arm.  He frowned and looked up.  Drip.  Ow, right in his eye.  That would need fixing, but only after he had made the money.  He lifted himself and pushed the ratty green old couch out of the way.  He lifted his leg out and scooted a garbage can underneath the roof leak.

He needed to lie low for a while.  Many people were mad, very mad.  Just let everything settle a bit, and then make his announcement to the world.  Yes, further patience was all that was needed.

Days passed.  He had made a small impact from the get go.  The lawsuits brought him a bit of attention, but it was blown over quickly since the case really didn’t take much work to solve.  Anybody that actually had believed what they heard on the news regarding this whole incident figured that everything was all right.  Enough music had been created before hand to last the human race till its demise, right?  There was enough variety there to support everybody’s interest. Right?

Indeed, it had blown over like a summer squall.  Or so it seemed.  No, what they really felt was the eye of the hurricane.

It had been a few months since he had fulfilled his plan.  Money continued to roll in as people purchased music to listen to- which funneled to him because of his copyright to it all.  The radio stations that broadcast the “Top 40” songs had been playing the same thing for the recent months.  Nothing had changed.  Ratings had dropped.  Oldies had begun to creep up into the “Top 40” again.  Even a bit of classical music began to make its way into the mix.  A rash increase of nighttime driving-sleeping incidents made its way into the papers.  One thing was constant throughout the entire country.  Every radio station around America played Don McLean’s “American Pie” at least once every hour.  Everybody was beginning to get into a bad, sullen mood.  Everybody’s eyes began turning towards him.

His mail service had been discontinued.  Upon request, the post office told him that his mailbox was getting too full of letters simply saying, “What have you done!?!”  Only a few more days.

America began to boycott American music.  Radios were beginning to play any and every type of foreign music.  From Spanish to Greek to Uzbekistani to Chinese- everything was being played.  Nobody could understand a word of it- but the change of music was a severe relief to everybody.  Still, the thought lingered, “What about American music?”

He noticed that there was no profit whatsoever.  It was time.

Thoughts began to race through his mind- Am I too late?  Am I too early?  No, now is time.

He arranged for a time for the press to meet him.  They had only a few hours to get there- but it was going to be the story of a lifetime.  What was he going to do?  Nobody knew.  He didn’t even know.  He was just going to get up there and ad lib his way through.

“Good afternoon all,” he began.  “Everybody knows what I have done.  Nobody has escaped its effects.  First of all- I apologize for any inconvenience I have caused.  Dreadful time it has been.  Even I got sick of listening to my computer moan and groan and try to find a pleasant melody.  All of it was useless.  All of it was vain.  To the simple mind, anyhow.  The situation, I leave now in your hands.  That is to say, everybody’s hands.  All I wanted to do was exemplify the idiosyncrasies of today’s society.  A majority, a rather vast majority, of you works for your living.  It is us that work that keep the United States rolling, economically and socially.  Now, why is it that we, the important ones, get paid the least?  Well, you may say, ‘I make a healthy salary.’  Indeed, as do I.  But, you must compare to those around.  Every one of us listens to music.  Every one of us desires to be entertained.  Our ears want it.  And thus, the music industry thrives.

“But, look again.  What about energy?  Just about everybody uses electricity.  But if you work for a power company, do you make millions of dollars a year?  No!  Just about everybody listens to a radio.  And just because everybody listens to music, does that mean a single artist deserves to make millions of dollars?  No!  I could understand their getting a healthy salary such as our majority, but more?  Outrageous!  As has been shown, even though the music industry fails, our economy still trudges forward.  What if our power industries all failed?  So many important documents would be lost!  The economy would crash.  Do they not deserve more?

“It is not just the power company that deserves much credit- many other industries attribute directly to America’s survival.  They are America's support.  Without them, we all collapse.  Too many people deserve much more credit than they get.  Too many people get much more credit than they deserve.

“Overpriced is the music industry.  All of it.  Music is a great force- but not great enough to earn so much more than you, or I.  I wish that everybody could earn salaries based on actual utility to society and the country as a whole.  Though seemingly impossible, it can be done.  It would also be thought impossible to create and copyright every combination of music.”  He paused to smile largely.

“Last on my agenda is to set things straight.  I would bet that all of you have been mocking me because of my outlandish gains in money over the recent months because of my achievement.  Unfortunately to say, you are all wrong.  I cannot count that money as personal gain for I did not earn it.  Though, while it is indeed in my possession, I would like to now decree that it all be donated to charitable organizations.  And, once that has been completed, than I will lift every copyright on music to my name.

“And to all a good night.”  He smiled again at the cameras and waved.  He felt good.  His plan had been completed.  He had carried out every goal.  He had gotten everybody’s attention.  He felt very good.  In fact, he felt so good, he went back to his house and plopped himself down on his ratty couch next to the leak.  He picked up his phone, pushed in seven numbers.  The phone on the other end rang a little bit and finally somebody picked up.

“Hello?” said the voice on the other line.

“How about some monopoly?”

 -Keith Smithson-