Officially, the recorder is taught to children to introduce them to music and improve cognitive skills. In reality, it’s to help the school separate the musical wheat from the harmonically challenged mouthbreathing chaff. For some, mastering the recorder is a step towards the dream of becoming a synth player in a low-rent EDM band that will one day earn them a backstage wristy off a gurning groupie at Origin.
Conditions you to pull a cone – For most, it’s a lesson in so much more than musical mediocracy. See, while you’re poorly attempting to hot, cross, bun your way to a pass mark, you are developing lung capacity and the ability to use a shotty on a bong. These will be essential some years later in life.
Personal Hygiene – it teaches the important knowledge for boys & girls on the importance of maintaining hygiene on all long cylindrical things that someone may blow on one day. Ask anyone who has emptied out the business end of a recorder after a vigorous 2-hour rehearsal. Move over Adventure World, that is the real tunnel of terror.
It also teaches the kids the importance of not being a forgetful little shit head. A lesson you won’t need to learn twice when you forget yours and are forced to use the spare class recorder which has been in more mouths than Johnny Sin.
Teaches you not to be shit at things – you guessed it, the recorder also teaches a young child to try and not be bad at things. At that age, the shame of fumbling your way through Mary Had a Little Lamb in front of your class will leave a decent psychological imprint.
See, modern schooling is all about reducing your self-worth down to a single crunch moment. You’ll need these coping mechanisms should you do an Amber Heard on your year 12 exam bed.
It teaches you how to wage war on your neighbours – It’s not all grubbiness and a public humiliation though! It’s also a fantastic way for parents to launch a full-scale aural-assault on their annoying neighbours by having their kids play the song of their people at 8 am on a Sunday.
See how they enjoy their bacon & eggs while your kids reduce the sweet, corny melody of a recorder to an enraged goose fighting back against a French farmer with a fistful of liver fattening feed.
Our little ones won’t know it at the time but they are vital in every parent’s petty dispute with their dick head neighbours. For that, we thank you for your services little tooterinos.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
