Play Music Together

I have a new game.  It’s not a game, but Lennart calls it a game.

”Mom, Dan has a new game.”

He’s so pumped.

“You collect points and then you can buy new avatars and people dance if they like what you’re doing,” Lennart explains.

“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” I ask. Of course she doesn’t, and I doubt I would either if I weren’t the one playing the game.  If Lennart explained what I’m doing this moment to somebody, it’d probably go like this: You put your feet up on a table, wiggle your fingers a little bit, eat gummi bears, and look around the room for inspiration.  I call it writing.

The game that Lennart likes so much is a souped-up chatroom called Turntable.fm.

On this website, people play the role of DJ in various rooms, categorized generally by genre, while others listen to your music, chat about other music, discover new music, and perform other transitive-buzzverbs on music.  The social manipulation that grabbed Lennart instantly is that every listener is given a simple choice: press the green AWESOME button or the red LAME button.  For everyone who presses AWESOME while you’re playing a song, you get a point (and their avatar bops its head in a way that’s far too realistically self-conscious).  If enough people choose LAME, you get boo’d off the stage.  But getting points isn’t THAT cool, right?  Wrong, it absolutely is, because the more points you have, the more options you have for what outfit your DJ wears.

And if I sound like I’m detached and way above the treadmill of unlocking silly regalia for my part-time personality of e-DJ, it’s because I wish that I were detached and way above that treadmill.

As I’m writing this, I’m listening to Turntable and Lennart is supposed to be brushing his teeth and getting in bed but he’s begging that I find a room with an empty DJ seat and play a song so we can desperately ask for approval.  Because its usually fringe, unpopulated rooms that have free places for DJs, I’ve had to resort to playing Trance, Reggae, and 50s Soul — which I know nothing about.  I have Lennart choose a song at random that was played in that same room earlier that day, and then we stare at the screen and wait while the other DJs play and Lennart dances, grooves, moshes around the room.

”He’s playing a really cool song.”

“Yeah.  Do you listen to 60s R&B a lot Lennart?”

“Not a lot, but a little.”  His humor is occasionally so subtle that it’s unbelievable he’s nine years old. “How many more minutes?”

He’s patient.  I ask if he wants me to call him when we’re on, but he likes waiting.  He has me translate what the other people in the chat room are saying. “What’s he saying?” “He’s saying that he likes this song.” “And him?” “He likes it too. It’s not a very interesting conversation.” “Oh!  He said something long.  What is it?”

He touches the screen, which would probably bother me if I weren’t so excited by his enthusiasm. “I can’t tell you.” “Why not?” “Lennart, if I tell you what he just said, your mother won’t let me live here anymore.”

And we’re on. We’re playing a song that I’ve never heard before, and immediately three people congratulate me on my taste and become my fans (which means they get an e-mail anytime I start playing on Turntable). “You can be my fan too,” says PoopStar69.  ”I don’t really participate in the fan thing, sorry,” I say. My fan count goes from 9 down to 8. By the end of the song, though, we’ve gotten eight points and the awkward, sparse crowd is filled with sluggard head-boppers.  We’re well on our way to unlocking the thousand-point behemoth: a giant gorilla with an undersized head and a large collection of “bling.”

“Another song?  Please?”

“Goodnight Lennart.”

“Okay, but tomorrow we’re playing again?”

“Yes, tomorrow we’re playing again.”

And in fact, I’m playing right now while he goes to bed.  I think he’ll be proud of me at breakfast that I’ve got 425 points now.