“MY COMPUTER IS FUCKED,” a eulogy

NOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOO!

Si, babbo natale, e vero! And my laptop is so shitty I can’t even write proper Italian without using character map─and really, fuck character map. What’s’is mean? Well, computery Cazazze music is on hold indefinitely, because how’m I s’posed to get my work done when every time I boot up the RAM is literally ticking down the seconds, of a randomised total, I’m sure, until it decides to throw a shitfit and freeze everything? If I can be happily trotting along one moment and losing eight hours of work the next, what’s the point?

Of course, I’m not surprised things turned out this way. While my computer was brand new, top of the line, custom built in 2007, now it’s a heap of shit that might as well be held together with blu-tack and paperclips. I hate saying that, really, I do, it’s sad that the thing I worked so hard to earn the money to buy (you heard it here first, folks) should now be reduced to a puling mess, apologising in pathetic Droopy-like tones everytime it starts chugging to get its shit together. It isn’t dead yet, but usage will have to be very sparing from now on.

It has happened before, and I know how to fix it, but at some point you’ve got to consider these matters in terms of life-support: is it worth the time, money, and effort to keep the old chap running? What quality of life will it have if I fork out for new RAM only to have to do the same thing again a few years down the line, by which time even more functions of the motherboard (the CPU fan power connector doesn’t work any more, so the processor is probably sweating like it’s in the desert) will have begun to fail? It’s a losing battle, and I hate to put a loyal dog down, but what else can I do?

Buying a new computer isn’t financially feasible at this point, unless of course I choose not to join friends on what promises to be the trip of a lifetime, that is to say choose not to journey to Scotland and continental Europe for the best part of two months for a mere £1500. Sure, I could buy a new workstation with that, a glorious beast with what would otherwise be excessive memory capacity and masses of fast-access storage space, maybe throw-in a super-duper headphone amp while I’m at it. Yes, that would be great, but it’s one or the other, and given the fact that I’ve never been outside the UK before, I know which one I’m going for right now.

Does this mean no more Cazazza Dan, you ask? Absolutely not! It just means the work I produce for the foreseeable future will be done differently, more hungrily, and it will be even more a case of advanced jury rigging and MacGyver craziness (turns out you can play Beethoven’s 5th entirely with rubber band guitars) than it ever has been in the past, but greater men have made do with far less. In the history books, they’ll call this my neo-primitivist period, because musicologists love assigning nonsensical terms to things people do, and because in 100 years’ time it’s Cazazze all the way, baby!

Here’s to you, computer. From The Salad right through to Problem Zero, you’ve held out much longer than anyone could’ve expected and helped me to do all my best (and some of my worst) work. Without you none of the forty-odd releases I’ve put out over the past seven or eight years would ever have happened. You’re a real champ and I will always love you, but you can finally rest now, going gently into that good neon-lit night. Pace, mio fratello.

And yeah, I am talking to my computer like it’s a person. Eat shit.

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