I'm seated at a little round table in a maze of rooms, all with skylights. Seems to be one huge, many-lobed cafe. This room alone's big as most cafes, but the whole maze must seat a thousand or more.

I hear faint music--oh, it's that hit, "Ballad of the Cafeteria"--sung live. But that voice... this is no local cover band--that's the songwriter himself!

Cup my ear, amplifying it a bit. But not enough, so I squeeze & shape my ears to maximize my directional hearing and block the cafe chatter. Nearby people look at me amused & condescending--either they don't hear the song at all, or they do but just don't care they're getting a live show from a world-class musician. They have business to discuss! You know. Real life.

Slowly the singer nears. Wandering through the crowd, playing the Ballad live and solo.

At last he walks by our table.

I put a dollar out. Most ignore him, but a few others do too. By custom you don't give it directly, you leave it on the table.

He actually makes eye contact before taking it, verifying it's meant for him, not a waiter. I nod.

Someone casually mentions an equally famous band that played here last week. For spare change.

But why do I feel something's wrong? That's what musicians do. Since, in our business world, that's all the arts are worth.

AFTERTHOUGHT

Note the date. I dreamed this as the vote was being counted in the 2020 presidential election. By that evening it was clear Biden had a solid win, but unclear if Trump--Mister Business himself--would leave peaceably. He and his supporters were loud and getting louder. "Reject the vote, it must be rigged!" Evidence? Yell the same thing louder. Repeat until coup achieved.

More broadly, dear readers... note the year. This dream's also about the Covid pandemic--the world of cafes and live venues we lost and may never get back. But they were already under siege. Americans, or at least Republicans, do not fund the arts and drown out any message they don't like. Business is business!

If not live venues, how about online? Even there it's hard to find the art, music or stories that sing to you in particular--the majority gets in the way, biasing searches toward celebrities and pop, marginalizing your issues, mis-classifying your passions. Just like the business folk yakking away in my dream, drowning out the music of the individual. "Tyranny of the majority", as they called it in the American Revolution. Though the Trump minority tyrannizes fine. Power of the crowd! The Beatles got it slightly wrong: all you need is loud.

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