Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I’m eager to check in on Lilisa and Otoha, our two fledgling rockers who now stand on the brink of their first public performance. That said, they’re not technically performing as a rock duo; hoping to test the waters as they seek like-minded bandmates, they’ve instead volunteered to fill in for a larger symphonic group, playing the bass and drums to accompany a congenial group of musicians whose group motto is “have fun together.”
This will, of course, be a total disaster. Otoha is not interested in “having fun together;” she is a ruthless maniac who seeks only to dominate her fellow players, and has already proven herself the most selfish drummer this side of Whiplash. For Otoha, rock seems to mean “indulgence” – indulgence in vulgarity, indulgence in ferocity, and indulgence in a total abandonment of the harmony-enforcing restrictions of high-class ladyship.
Otoha has fully internalized the compartmentalization Lilisa is still struggling to achieve, but the self-absorbed nature of her rebellion seems to leave little room for solidarity, community, or true reinvention – things that, while admittedly not “hardcore” in the same way as a sick drum fill, are just as essential to the philosophy of rock and roll. Struggling to pay for gas while sleeping in a van, drifting from friends and family as they gravitate towards socially proscribed careers, challenging an increasingly uncertain future with the flimsy saber of “artistic fulfillment” – such a tenuous life can only be made tolerable through embracing music as a community unto itself, through becoming a conduit of shared humanity expressed in glorious, deeply personal sound. Is there room in Otoha’s heart for such a selfless ideal, or does that raised middle finger stand as the beginning and end of her philosophy? Let’s find out!