The Outstater

May 9, 2025

A Global Music Catastrophe

THERE IS ALWAYS a generational clash of musical tastes. As for me, though, now three generations past my teenage collection of Buddy Holly monophonics, the progression has reached the point I no longer recognize what is playing as music.

It has been explained to me that this is to be expected, that each generation has an ear for a different style, that it is what God intended. 

I’m not buying it. Indeed, we may be nearing the point of mathematically running out of God’s musical notes in the popular genres, particularly those that can be organized in a legally distinct arrangement.

Yes, we are approaching a global music catastrophe.

My AI helper tells me that a 16-note melody from 12 pitch classes has \(12^{16} \approx 1.8 \times 10^{17}\) possible combinations. But subtracting for copyright and perceptual factors, plus sequences that are musically obnoxious, it is possible we have reached the limit of practical space for “original” compositions that are commercially viable.

So I am right. What I am hearing now is not music but rather just noise.

The real test, however, is not mathematically but a comparison with the classics. And thanks to Spotify, I can accept the challenge, calling up examples on demand. 

My preference for this discussion is the authentic, home-grown music developed night by night in smoky taverns and bars, not manufactured whole by studio engineers in Nashville or Los Angeles. The musician I lead with is the guitarist banjoist and vocalist Jalan Crossland.

Crossland, born and raised in Ten Sleep, Wyoming, is a legend — at least to some of us. He wrote the incomparable “Trailer Park Fire.” I can share it with you here but the lyrics sing themselves:

Oh my God! Smell them tires!
Someone save the baby it’s a trailer park fire!

Well how did the whole thing get out of hand?
I was burning spiders with an aerosol can.

Oh my my! Smell them tires!
Someone save the baby it’s a trailer park fire!

Someone get in there! Kick down the door!
Daddy left his Harley on the living room floor!

Oh my my! Smell them tires! 
Someone save the baby it’s a trailer park fire!

They don’t make ’em like that anymore. — tcl

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