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The New York Times ran a story last Thursday about a service that ranks in societal importance next to dog psychiatrists and fish pedicures.
…it is just in the last five years that a handful of music consultants, mostly in New York and London, have begun to specialize in creating custom domestic soundtracks. From Aspen lodges to bungalows in Belize, they are compiling playlists to match their clients’ décor.
Isn’t this what online music services like Pandora are for? Or hopefully, sites like Black Plastic Bag or Pitchfork? I’ve always felt the thrill of discovery adds to the enjoyment of music, but ignorance is bliss.
Also, does the service come with a servant that hits the play button with a white gloved hand?
Even if the music a client likes isn’t insipid, stylists warn, it might be all wrong for a given space. “You’re not going to have Johnny Cash playing in a fantastic retreat in the West Indies,” Mr. Gibson said. “It just wouldn’t work.”
I’m not so sure that these paid cultural gatekeepers actually like music, ’cause Johnny Cash works everywhere — from Wasilla to Kim Jong Il’s deathbed. So following Gibson’s logic, If I’m flying transatlantic my choices are moe.’s Plane Crash or Steve Miller’s Jet Airliner? No chamber pop to go with the Valium and scotch?
Sure, I’m harboring a fair amount of resentment. Getting paid well to pick music for rich clients with “insipid” taste sounds like a decent gig. Expect the part where I recommend Iron Maiden’s The Trooper for martial disputes.